Next moment they had surged as on the top of a wave to the room within. Nothing could be more strange than the scene presented there. The room was curtained all round with red, hung above a man’s height with ruddy thick folds, upon which the firelight threw a still warmer flicker. A shaded lamp filled it with softened light, and from above, from what seemed a large skylight, a white stream of moonlight fell in, making a curious disturbing effect in the warm artificial light. These accessories, however, though they told afterwards, were as nothing to the sight that burst upon the eyes of the new-comers. In the centre of the room stood a tall old man, with a long pallid face, straggling white hair, and a white beard. His face was distorted with excitement, his voice bellowing forth a succession of cries, or rather roars, like the roars of a wild animal. His loose lips gave forth these utterances with flying foam and a sort of mechanical rapidity: “I know what you’ve come for? I can pay up! I can pay up! I’ve plenty of money, and I can pay up! But I won’t be taken, not if it costs me my life!”
These were the words that finally emancipated themselves from the stammering utterance and became clear.
Vicars stood behind this wild figure holding both his arms, but it was only by glimpses that the smaller man was visible holding the other as in a vise.
“Come, sir, come, sir, no more of this; they’ll take you for a fool,” he said.
And then this King Lear resumed. The foam flew from his lips; his great voice came out in its wild bellowing, the very voice which Janet had heard so often. It had seemed to her to utter but an inarticulate cry, but this, it would seem, was what it had been saying all the time—words in which there{259} was some meaning—though what that meaning was, or whether the speaker himself understood it, who would say?
The policeman and his attendant had edged towards the doorway, and stood there huddled upon one another. The leader of the search had been willing to face a revolver, but the madman was a thing for which he was not prepared. He stood against the doorway ready to retreat still further in case there should be any further advance. Meredith and Gussy had passed into the room, and stood together, she very anxious, he very eager, at the side, where those wild eyes had not caught them. Behind was Dolff very pale, standing half concealed by the group formed by the madman and his attendant, raising his head to look over them to the two in the doorway who had come to look for him, and had received so unexpected a check.
Mrs. Harwood stumbled into the midst of this strange scene with her tottering uncertain stride, driving Janet with her. She put up her hand to hold back the dreadful insane figure. She was at one of the moments in life when one is afraid of nothing, shrinks from nothing.
“Take him back to his seat, Vicars,” she said, “take him back. Adolphus!” The tottering, helpless woman stood up straight, and put her hand upon the madman’s breast. The eyes that had been blind with misery changed and dissolved as if to dew in their orbits, consolidated again, opened blue and strong like a relighted flame. She fixed them upon the staring red eyes of the maniac. “Adolphus, go back, be silent, calm yourself. There is no need for you to say anything. I am here to take care of you. Let Vicars put you back in your chair.”
“I will not be taken,” he said, “I will not be taken! I can pay up. I have got money, plenty of money. I will pay up!”
“Vicars,” cried Mrs. Harwood, imperiously, “put him back in his chair.”
She held her hand on his breast, and fixed her eyes upon his, pushing him softly back. The roarings grew fainter, fell into a kind of whimpering cry.
“I’ll pay it all—I have plenty of money. Don’t let them take me away—I’ll pay everything up!”
“Go back and rest in your chair, Adolphus. Put him in his chair.”
The astonished spectators all stood looking on while the old servant and this woman, whom force of necessity had moved from her own helplessness, subdued the maniac. Vicars{260} had partially lost his head, he had lost control of his patient, but this unlooked-for help restored him to himself. Between them they drew and guided the patient back to the chair, which was fitted with some mechanical appliances, and held him fast. Mrs. Harwood seemed to forget her weakness entirely; she tottered no longer, but moved with a free step. She turned round upon the frightened policeman at the door.
“Now go,” she said, “you have done your worst; whatever you want, go; you can get no further satisfaction here.”
The intruder breathed more freely when he saw the madman sink into quietude. He said, with a voice that quivered slightly.
“I am very willing to go: but that young gentleman has to go along with me!”
“Come on,” cried the other man, whose teeth were chattering in his head. “Come on; we’ve got nothing to do here.”
“I’m going: when that young gentleman makes up his mind to come with me.”
“What young gentleman? Why, bless you, that ain’t the young gentleman!” said the man, who had struggled out into the passage, and was now only kept from running by the other’s strong retaining grasp.
It was not wonderful that the policeman was indignant. He let his friend go with an oath, and with a sudden push which precipitated him into the outer room.
“You d——d fool! to have led me such a dance; and as much as our lives are worth, and come to nothing at the end.”
The man fell backward, but got up again in a moment and took to his heels, with the noise as of a runaway horse in the dark passage. The policeman, reassured to see that the madman was secured, had the courage to linger a moment. He turned to Meredith with a defiant look.
“It has come to nothing, sir, and I ask your pardon that I’ve been led into giving you this trouble by an ass. But I make bold to ask is this house licensed? and what right has anyone got to keep a dangerous madman in it without inspection, or any eye over ’im? I’ll have to report it to my superior.”
“Report it to the—devil, and be off with you,” Meredith said.
The party stood round, staring into each other’s faces, when the strangers thus withdrew. The madman struggled against the fastenings that secured him.
“Julia,” he said, “don’t let them take me!” He tried to get hold of her with his hands, feeling for her as if he did not see,{261} and began to cry feebly, in a childish, broken voice, “Don’t let them take me! I have got enough to pay everybody. I kept it for you and the children. It was for you and the children; but I’ll pay up, I’ll pay everybody; only don’t let them take me, don’t let them take me!” he whimpered, tears—piteous, childish tears—suffusing the venerable face.
“Oh,” cried Gussy, “don’t let him cry; for God’s sake don’t let him cry! I cannot bear it—I cannot bear it—it is too much.”
“I’ll never complain any more,” said the patient; “I’m very comfortable, I don’t want for anything. You shall pay them all up yourself if you don’t believe me. I’ll give you the money—only don’t let them send me away! I’ve got it all safe here,” he said. “Stop a moment, I’ll give it you: and all these ladies and gentlemen can prove it, that I gave it you to pay up.” He struggled to get his arms free, trying to reach his breast-pocket with one hand. “Vicars, get it out, and give it to your mistress. The money—the money, you know, to pay everybody up. Only,” he cried, putting the piteous hands together which were held fast and could do so little, “don’t, Julia—don’t let them take me away!”
“Oh, mamma,” cried Gussy, “I can’t bear it—I can’t bear it.”
She fell on her knees and covered her face.
“Who is he?” said Dolff. T............