The Joss: a Reversion
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 23: The Trio Return.
How long I remained unconscious I could not say. When I did come to, during some seconds I was unable to realise my position. It was like waking out of an uncomfortably heavy sleep. Consciousness returned by degrees, and painfully; as it were, by a series of waves, which were like so many shocks. I was oppressed by nausea, my eyes were dim, my brain seemed reeling, as if it were making disconcerting efforts to retain its equilibrium. It was some time before I understood that I was still in my own room; yet, longer before I had some faint comprehension of the situation I was in, and of what was taking place about me.
It was probably some minutes before I completely understood that I was trussed like a fowl, and that the exquisite pain which I was enduring was because of the tightness and ingenuity of my bonds. I was on the floor with my back against the wall. Cords which were about my wrists were attached to my ankles, passed up my back, then round my throat, so that each movement I made I bade fair to choke myself. It was a diabolical contrivance. The cords were thin ones—red-hot wires they seemed to me to be, they cut my wrists like knives, and burned them as with fire. My legs were drawn under my body in an unnatural and uncomfortable position. They were torn by cramp, yet whenever I made the slightest attempt to ease them I dragged at the cord which was about my throat. One thing seemed plain, if the worst came to the worst I should experience no difficulty in committing suicide. Apparently I had only to let my head forward to be strangled.
By way of making the condition of affairs entirely satisfactory something sharp had been forced into my mouth, which not only acted as a gag, effectually preventing my uttering a sound, but which made it difficult for me to breathe. That it was cutting me was made plain by the blood which I was compelled to swallow.
As I have said, it was not at first that I had a clear perception of the personal plight that I was in. When it dawned on me at last I had a morbid satisfaction in learning that I was not alone in it. Someone so close on the left as to be almost touching me was in a similar plight. It was St. Luke. I had mistily imagined that that seafaring associate of the more and more mysterious Benjamin Batters had been in some way responsible for my misadventure. Not a bit of it. I had wronged the honest man. So far as I could perceive, his plight was an exact reproduction of my own. The same attention had been paid to his physical comfort; only apparently the gag had been so placed in his mouth as to leave him more freedom to gasp, and to grunt, and to groan.
Who, then, was responsible for this pretty performance? What man, or men, had I so wronged as to be deserving this return? The problem was a nice one. I looked for the solution.
I found it, and, in doing so, found also something else, which filled me with such a tumult of passion that I actually momentarily forgot the egregious position I was in.
Miss Purvis had been served as I had been.
She had either, wondering at my delay, or startled by the noise, peeped into the office, and so disturbed the ruffians at their work; or the miscreants, penetrating into the inner room, had found her there and dragged her out. However it had been, there she was, trussed and gagged against the wall upon my right. They had shown no respect for a woman, but had handled her precisely as they had done St. Luke and me. My brain felt as if it would have burst as I thought of the indignity with which they must have used her, and of the agony, mental and bodily, she must have endured, and be enduring still. Her face—her pretty face!—was white as the sheet of paper on which I write. Her eyes—her lovely eyes!—were closed. I hoped that she had fainted, and so was oblivious of suffering and shame. Yet, as I watched her utter stillness, I half feared she might be dead.
The gentlemen who were responsible for this pleasant piece of work were three. They were there before me in plain sight. It was with an odd sense that it was just what I had expected that I recognised the trio who had already paid me a visit in the silent watches of the night. There was the imposing, elderly, bald-headed gentleman, who represented length without breadth; there, also, were his two attendant satellites. How to account for their assiduous interest in my unpretending office was beyond my power. Nor did I understand why it should have been necessary to use quite such drastic measures against the lady, St. Luke, and myself. Still less—I admit it frankly—when I observed their conspicuous lack of avoirdupois, did I gather how they had managed to make of us so easy a prey. Under ordinary conditions I should have been quite willing to take the three on single-handed. The truth probably was that St. Luke and I had unwittingly played into their dexterous hands. Had we not been engaged in matching ourselves against each other we should have been more than a match for them. But when they came in, and found the sailor man upon the floor prisoning me close within his arms, all they had to do was to slip one cord round my throat, and another round his. We were at their mercy. No man can show much fight when he is being strangled; especially when the job is in the hands of a skilled practitioner. Never mind what the theory is, that is the teaching of experience.
What they wanted, with so much anxiety, in my office, I was unable to guess. They had already purloined the God of Fortune.
Stay! It had been returned to me again. I had dropped it on the floor; been unable to find it. Could it be that they were after it a second time. I wondered. What peculiar significance, what attribute, could that small plaything have?
Beyond doubt they were treating my belongings with scant regard for the feelings of their owner? If they failed to find what they were seeking it would not be for want of a thorough quest. Pretty well everything the apartment contained they subjected to a minute examination. They allowed nothing to escape them. It was delightful to watch them. If I had been suffering a little less physical inconvenience I should have enjoyed myself immensely. They might be Orientals; but if they were not professional burglars in their own country then they ought to have been. They were artists any way.
To note one point—there was such order in their methods. They began at one corner of the room, and they worked right round it, emptying boxes, turning out drawers, pulling the books out of their covers, and the stuffing out of the chairs, and the furniture to pieces generally, in search of secret hiding-places. Then they began tapping at the walls, tearing off scraps of paper here and there, to see what was behind. It beat me to imagine what it was that they were after, though it was flattering to think what a first-rate hand at concealment they must be taking me to be. Apparently they were under the impression that a solicitor had plenty of waste time which he occupied by secreting odds and ends in solid walls. The rapidity with which they did all they did do was simply astonishing, particularly when one had to admit with what thoroughness it was done. But when they came to dragging the carpet up, and tearing boards from the floor, I began to wonder if they were going through the house piecemeal.
The litter was beyond description. My practice might not have been a large one, but my papers were many. When a large number of documents are thrown down anywhere, anyhow, they are apt to look untidy. Even in that moment of martyrdom I groaned in spirit as I thought of the labour which their rearrangement would involve.
One mental note I did take; that, despite the eagerness with which they turned out papers from every possible receptacle, they seemed to attach to them but scant importance. That they were after something connected with Mr. Benjamin Batters I had no doubt. Yet they unearthed the Batters’ papers among the rest—even the Batters’ bonds!—and tossed them on one side as if they contained nothing which was of interest to them. If they were able to read English I could not tell, but every now and then the tall, thin party glanced at a paper as if it was not altogether Double Dutch to him.
At last, short of pulling the room itself down about their ears, they had, apparently to their own entire dissatisfaction, exhausted its resources. There was a pause in the operations. There ensued a conclave. The elderly gentleman spoke, while, for the most part, the others listened. What was being said I had no notion. They were sparing of gesture, so no meaning was conveyed through the eye to the brain. I am no linguist. My knowledge of Eastern tongues is nil. I did not know what language they were speaking; had I known I should have been no wiser. One fact, however, was unmistakable; their words were accompanied by glances in my direction, which I did not altogether relish. If ever I saw cruelty written on a human countenance it was on the faces of those three gentlemen. Theirs was the love of it for its own sake. Their faces were rather inhuman masks, expressionless, impassive, unfeeling. It was not difficult to conceive with what ingenuity they could contrive tortures with which to rack the nerves of some promising subject. It was easy to believe that they would put them into practice with the same composure with which they would observe the sensations of the object of their curious experiments.
I had already had some experience of their skill in more than one direction, and I did not desire a practical demonstration of it in yet another.
And for the present I was to be spared the exhibition. It seemed that they all at once bethought themselves that there were other apartments of mine which still remained unsearched. Whereupon off they went to search them. To us they paid no need. Plainly they were sufficiently acquainted with the good qualities of their handiwork to be aware that from us they need fear nothing. That we might be able to free ourselves without assistance was a million to one chance which it was unnecessary to consider. Until some one came to loose us we were bound. Of that they were absolutely sure. So they left us there to keep each other company, and to console each other if we could, while they went to overhaul the rest of my establishment. It was a pleasant thought for me to dwell upon.
Miss Purvis’ eyes were open, but that was about the only sign of life she showed. They wandered once or twice towards me; wandered was just the word which expressed the look which was in them. Her face was white and drawn. There was that about it which made me doubt if even yet she was conscious of what was being done; I wondered if the pain which she was suffering had taken effect upon her brain. It would not have been surprising if it had. It was only by dint of a violent and continued exercise of will that I myself was able to retain, as it were, a hold upon my senses. There was, first of all, the torture of the cramped position. Then there was the way in which the cords cut into the flesh—what particular kind of cords had been used I could not make out, but I suspected fiddle-strings. Then there was the fact that the slightest movement made with a view of obtaining relief threatened not only strangulation but decapitation too.
I wondered what the time was. A laundress, one Mrs. Parsons, was supposed to arrive at eight. It must be nearly that. I had been up for hours; I was convinced that it was hours. It must be after eight. If the woman had any regard for punctuality, at any moment she might appear. If she did not arrive within five minutes she should be dismissed. How could she expect to keep my rooms in proper order if her habits were irregular? I had long wondered how it was my chambers did not do me so much credit as they might have done; I had an eye for such things although she might not think it. Now I understood. If Mrs. Parsons would only have the sense, the honesty, the decency, to keep to her engagements and come at once, while those scoundrels were engaged elsewhere, in a moment I should be free. Then I would show them.
A clock struck seven. It must be wrong. There was a second, third, fourth, all striking seven. An hour yet before the woman was even due! And whoever heard of a laundress who was punctual? Before she came what might not happen? For another hour, at least, we were at the mercy of these ingenious adventurers.
They reappeared. What havoc they had wrought in the rooms in which I lived, and moved, and had my being, I could only guess. Either, from their point of view, they had not done mischief enough, or the result of what they had done had not been satisfactory. Plainly, they were discontented. Their manner showed it. The tall gentleman spoke to his two associates in a tone which suggested disapprobation of their conduct. They seemed, with all possible humility, to be endeavouring to show that the fault was not entirely theirs. This he appeared unwilling to concede. Finally, flopping down on to their knees, touching the floor with their foreheads, they grovelled at his feet. So far from being appeased by this show of penitence, putting out his right foot, he gave each of them a hearty kick. The effect this had on them was comical. They sprang upright like a pair of automata, endeavouring to carry themselves as if they had been the recipient of the highest honours.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.