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CHAPTER III.THE THOUSAND AND ONE BOTTLES So it was that on the twenty-ninth day of February, at the beginning of the thaw, this singular person fell out of infinity into Iping village.
Next day his luggage arrived through the slush, and very remarkable luggage it was.There were a couple of trunks indeed, such as a rational man might need.
But in addition there were a box of books, big fat books, of which some were just in an incomprehensible handwriting, and a dozen or more crates, boxes and cases, containing objects packed in straw, as it seemed to haul, tugging with a casual curiosity at the straw, glass bottles,
The stranger, muffled in hat, coat, gloves, and wrapper, came out impatiently to meet Fearenside's cart, while Hall, who was having a word or so of gossip preparatory to helping them in, out he came, not noticing Fearenside's dog, who was sniffing in a dilettante spirit at Hall's legs.
"'Come along with those boxes,' he said."'I've been waiting long enough.'And he came down the steps towards the tail of the cart, as if to lay hands on the smaller crate.
No sooner had Fearenside's dog caught sight of him, however, than it began to bristle and growl savagely, and when he rushed down the steps it gave an undecided hop and then sprang straight at his hand.—'Ah!'
cried Hall, jumping back, for he was no hero with dogs, and Fearenside howled,—'Lie down!'and snatched his whip.
They saw the dog's teeth had slipped the hand, heard a kick, saw the dog execute a flanking jub and get home on the stranger's leg, and heard the rip of his trouser-ring.
Then the finer end of Fearonside's whip reached his property, and the dog, yelping with dismay, retreated under the wheels of the wagon. It was all the business of a swift half-minute.No one spoke.Everyone shouted.
The stranger glanced swiftly at his torn glove and at his leg, made as if he would stoop to the latter, then turned and rushed swiftly up the steps into the inn.They heard him go headlong across the passage and up the uncarpeted steps to his bedroom.
"'You brute, you!'said Fearenside, climbing off the wagon with his whip in his hand, while the dog watched him through the wheel."'Come here!'said Fearenside. Hall had stood gaping.—'He was bit,' said Hall.—'I better go to see to him.'
And he trotted after the stranger.He met Mrs. Hall in the passage.—'Garry is dag,' he said,—'bitten.'
He went straight upstairs, and the stranger's door being ajar, he pushed it open, and was entering without any ceremony, being of a naturally sympathetic turn of mind. The blind was down and the room dim.
He caught a glimpse of a most singular thing, what seemed a handless arm waving towards him, and a face of three huge indeterminate spots on white, very like the face of a pale pansy.
Then he was struck violently in the chest, hurled back, and the door slammed in his face and locked.It was so rapid that it gave him no time to observe.A waving of indecipherable shapes, a blow, and a concussion.
There he stood on the dark little landing, wondering what it might have been that he had seen. A couple of minutes later he rejoined the little group that had formed outside the coach and horses.
There was Fearenside, telling about it all over again for the second time.There was Mrs. Hall, saying his dog didn't have no business to bite her guests.
There was Huckster, the general dealer from over the road, interrogative, and Sandy Wedgers, from the forge, judicial, besides women and children, all of them saying fatuities.I wouldn't let him bite even me, I knows.
It hasn't right to have such dogs. What did Biden for, then?"and so forth.Mrs. Hall, staring at them from the steps and listening, found it incredible that he had seen anything so very remarkable happen upstairs.
Besides, his vocabulary was altogether too limited to express his impressions.He don't want no help, he says, he said in answer to his wife's inquiry.We'd better be taking of his luggage in.
"'You ought to have it cauterized at once,' said Mr. Huxter, "'especially if it's all inflamed.'"'I'd shoot, and that's what I'd do,' said a lady in the group."Suddenly the dog began growling again."'Come along!'
cried an angry voice in the doorway, and there stood the muffled stranger with his collar turned up and his hat-brim bent down."'The sooner you get those things in, the better I'll be pleased.'
It is stated by an anonymous bystander that his trousers and gloves had been changed. "'Was you hurt, sir?'said Fairinside."'I'm rare sorry that I—' "'Not a bit,' said the stranger."'Never broke the skin.Hurry up with those things.'
He then swore to himself, so Mr Haller says. Directly the first crate was in, in accordance with his directions, carried into the parlour.
The stranger flung himself upon it with extraordinary eagerness, and began to unpack it, scattering the straw with an utter disregard of Mrs Hall's carpet, and from it he began to produce bottles, little fat bottles containing powders,
Small and slender bottles containing coloured and white fluids.Fluted blue bottles labelled Poison.Bottles with round bodies and slender necks.Large green glass bottles.Large white glass bottles.Bottles with glass stoppers and frosted labels.
Bottles with fine corks.Bottles with bungs.Bottles with wooden caps.Wine bottles.Salad oil bottles. putting them in rows on the chiffonnier, on the mantle, on the table under the window, round the floor, on the bookshelf—everywhere.
The chemist's shop in Bramblehurst could not boast half so many.Quite a sight it was.Crate after crate yielded bottles until all six were empty, and the table high with straw.
The only things that came out of these crates beside the bottles were a number of test-tubes and a carefully packed balance.
and directly the crates were unpacked, the stranger went to the window and set to work, not troubling in the least about the litter of straw, the fire which had gone out, the box of books outside, nor for the trunks and other luggage that had gone upstairs.
When Mrs. Hall took his dinner to him, he was already so absorbed in his work, pouring little drops out of the bottles into test-tubes, that he did not hear her until she had swept away the bulk of the straw and put the tray on the table, with some little emphasis, perhaps, seeing the state that her floor was in.
Then he half turned his head and immediately turned it away again.But she saw he had removed his glasses, they were beside him on the table, and it seemed to her that his eye-sockets were extraordinarily hollow.
He put on his spectacles again and then turned and faced her.She was about to complain of the straw on the floor when he anticipated her.
"'I wish you wouldn't come in without knocking,' he said in the tone of abnormal exasperation that seemed so characteristic of him. I knocked, but seemingly— Perhaps you did.
But in my investigations—my really very urgent and necessary investigations—the slightest disturbance—the jar of a door—I must ask you— Certainly, sir.You can turn the lock, if you are like that, you know.Any time.A very good idea, said the stranger.
This straw, sir, if I can be so bold as to remark— Don't.If the straw makes trouble, put it down in the bill. And he mumbled at her words suspiciously like curses.
He was so odd, standing there, so aggressive and explosive, bottle in one hand and test-tube in the other, that Mrs. Hall was quite alarmed.But she was a resolute woman.In which case I should like to know, sir, what you consider— A shilling.
Put down a shilling.Surely a shilling's enough.So be it, said Mrs. Hall, taking up the table-cloth and beginning to spread it over the table.If you're satisfied, of course.He turned and sat down, with his coat-collar to water.
All the afternoon he worked, with the door locked, and, as Mrs. Hall testifies, for the most part in silence.
But once there was a concussion, and a sound of bottles ringing together, as though the table had been hit, and the smash of a bottle had flung violently down, and then a rapid pacing athwart the room.
Fearing something was the matter, she went to the door and listened, not caring to knock.I can't go on, he was raving, I can't go on.Three hundred thousand, four hundred thousand, the huge multitude!Cheated!All my life it may take me!
Patience, patience indeed!Fool!Fool! There was a noise of hobnails on the bricks in the bar, and Mrs. Hall had, very reluctantly, to leave the rest of his soliloquy.
When she returned, the room was silent again, save for the faint crepitation of his chair, and the occasional clink of a bottle.It was all over.The stranger had resumed his work.
When she took in his tea, she saw broken glass in the corner of the room under the concave mirror, and a golden stain that had been carelessly wiped.She called attention to it."'Put it down in the bill,' snapped her visitor.
For God's sake, don't worry me.If there's damage done, put it down in the bill."And he went on ticking a list in the exercise-book before him. "'I'll tell you something,' said Fir inside mysteriously.
It was late in the afternoon, and they were in the little beer-shop of Iping Hanger."'Well?'said Teddy Henfrey."'This chap you are speaking of, what my dog bit.Well, he's black, leastways his legs are.
I see through the tear of his trousers and the tear of his glove.You'd have expected a sort of pinky to show, wouldn't you?Well, there wasn't none, just blackness.I tell you he's as black as my hat.'
"'My sex,' said Henfrey, "'it's a rummy case altogether.Why, his nose is as pink as paint!'"'That's true,' said Fearnside, "'I knows that, and I tell you why I'm thinking.That man's a pie-bowled teddy, black here and white there, in patches.
And he's ashamed of it.He's a kind of Arf breed, and the colours come off patchy, instead of mixing.I've heard of such things before, and it's the common way with horses, as any one can see.'
Chapter 4 Mr. Cuss Interviews the Stranger I have told the circumstances of the stranger's arrival in Eyping, with a certain fullness of detail, in order that the curious impression he created may be understood by the reader.
But, excepting two odd incidents, the circumstances of his stay until the extraordinary day of the club festival may be passed over very cursorily.
There were a number of skirmishes with Mrs Hall on matters of domestic discipline, but in every case until late April, when the first signs of penury began, he overrode her by the easy expedient of an extra payment.
Hall did not like him, and whenever he dared he talked of the advisability of getting rid of him.But he showed his dislike chiefly by concealing it ostentatiously, and avoiding his visitor as much as possible.
"'Wait till the summer,' said Mrs. Hall sagely, when the artists are beginning to come.Then we'll see.He may be a bit overbearing, but Bill's settled punctual is Bill's settled punctual, whatever you'd like to say."
The stranger did not go to church, and indeed made no difference between Sunday and the irreligious days, even in costume.He worked, as Mrs. Hall thought, very fitfully.
Some days he would come down early and be continuously busy, on others he would rise late, pace his room, fretting audibly for hours together, smoke, sleep in the arm-chair by the fire. Communication with the world beyond the village, he had none.
His temper continued very uncertain, for the most part his manner was that of a man suffering under almost unendurable provocation, and once or twice things were snapped, torn, crushed, or broken in spasmodic gusts of violence.
He seemed under a chronic irritation of the greatest intensity. His habit of talking to himself in a low voice grew steadily upon him, but though Mrs. Hall listened conscientiously, she could make neither head nor tail of what she heard.
He rarely went abroad by daylight, but at twilight he would go out, muffled up invisibly, whether the weather were cold or not, and he chose the loneliest paths and those most overshadowed by trees and banks.
His goggling spectacles and ghastly bandaged face under the penthouse of his hat
came with a disagreeable suddenness out of the darkness upon one or two home-going labourers, and Teddy Henfrey, tumbling out of the scarlet coat one night at half-past nine, was scared shamefully by the stranger's skull-like head—he was walking hat in hand—lit by the sudden light of the opened inn-door.
Such children as saw him at nightfall dreamt of bogeys, and it seemed doubtful whether he disliked boys more than they disliked him, or the reverse.But there was certainly a vivid enough dislike on either side.
It was inevitable that a person of so remarkable an appearance and bearing should form a frequent topic in such a village as Iping. Opinion was greatly divided about his occupation.Mrs. Hall was sensitive on the point.
When questioned, she explained very carefully that he was an experimental investigator, going gingerly over the syllables as one who dreads pitfalls.
When asked what an experimental investigator was, she would say, with a touch of superiority that most educated people knew such things as that, and would thus explain that he discovered things.
Her visitor had had an accident, she said, which temporarily discoloured his face and hands, and, being of a sensitive disposition, he was averse to any public notice of the fact.
Out of her hearing there was a view largely entertained that he was a criminal trying to escape from justice by wrapping himself up so as to conceal himself altogether from the eye of the police.This idea sprang from the brain of Mr. Teddy Henfrey.
No crime of any magnitude dating from the middle or end of February was known to have occurred.
Elaborated in the imagination of Mr Gould, the probationary assistant in the National School, this theory took the form that the stranger was an anarchist in disguise, preparing explosives, and he resolved to undertake such detective operations as his time permitted.
These consisted for the most part in looking very hard at the stranger whenever they met, or in asking people who had never seen the stranger leading questions about him.But he detected nothing.
Another school of opinion followed Mr. Fearenside, and either accepted the piebald view or some modification of it, as, for instance, Silas Durgan, who was heard to assert, if he chooses to show himself at fairies he'll make his fortune in no time, and, being a bit of a theologian, compared the stranger to the man with the one talent.
Yet another view explained the entire man by regarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic.That had the advantage of accounting for everything straight away. Between these main groups there were waverers and compromisers.
Sussex folk have few superstitions, and it was only after the events of early April that the thought of the supernatural was first whispered in the village.Even then it was only credited among the women folk.
But whatever they thought of him, people in Eyping on the whole agreed in disliking him. His irritability, though it might have been comprehensible to an urban brain-worker, was an amazing thing to these quiet Sussex villagers.
The frantic gesticulations they surprised now and then, the headlong pace after nightfall that swept him upon them round quiet corners, the inhuman bludgeoning of all tentative advances of curiosity, the taste for twilight that led to the closing of doors, the pulling of blinds, the extinction of candles and lamps—who could agree with such goings-on?
They drew aside as he passed down the village, and when he had gone by, young humorists would go up with coat-collars and down with hat-brims, and go pacing nervously after him in imitation of his occult bearing.
There was a song, popular at the time, called The Bogeyman.
Miss Satchel sang it in the schoolroom concert, in aid of the church lamps, and thereafter, whenever one of the two villages were gathered together and the stranger appeared, a bar or so of this tune, more or less sharp or flat, was whistled in the midst of them.
Also, belated little children would call Bogeyman after him, and make off tremulously elated.Cuss, the general practitioner, was devoured by curiosity.
The bandages excited his professional interest, the report of the thousand-and-one bottles aroused his jealous regard.
All through April and May he coveted an opportunity of talking to the stranger, and at last, towards Whitsuntide, he could stand it no longer, but hit upon the subscription list for a village nurse as an excuse.
He was surprised to find that Mr. Hall did not know his guest's name."'He give a name,' said Mrs. Hall, an assertion which was quite unfounded."'But I didn't rightly hear it.'She thought it seemed so silly not to know the man's name.
Cuss rapped at the parlour door and entered.There was a fairly audible imprecation from within."'Pardon my intrusion,' said Cuss, and then the door closed and cut Mrs Hall off from the rest of the conversation.
She could hear the murmur of voices for the next ten minutes, then a cry of surprise, a stirring of feet, a chair flung aside, a bark of laughter, quick steps to the door, and Cuss appeared, his face white, his eyes staring over his shoulder.
He left the door open behind him, and without looking at her strode across the hall and went down the steps, and she heard his feet hurrying along the road.He carried his hat in his hand.
She stood behind the door, looking at the open door of the parlour. Then she heard the stranger laughing quietly, and his footsteps came across the room.She could not see his face where she stood.
The parlour-door slammed, and the place was silent again.Cuss went straight up to the village to bunting the vicar."'Am I mad?'Cuss began abruptly, as he entered the shabby little study."'Do I look like an insane person?'"'What's happened?'
said the vicar, putting the ammonite on the loose sheets of his forthcoming sermon."'The chap at the inn?' Well, give me something to drink, said Cass, and he sat down.
When his nerves had been steadied by a glass of cheap sherry—the only drink the good vicar had available—he told him of the interview he had just had.Went in, he gasped, and began to demand a subscription for that nurse fund.
He had stuck his hands in his pockets as I came in, and he sat down lumpily in his chair.Sniffed.I told him I had heard he took an interest in scientific things.He said yes.Sniffed again.
Kept on sniffing all the time, evidently recently caught an infernal cold. No wonder, wrapped up like that.I developed the nurse idea, and all the while kept my eyes open.Bottles, chemicals, everywhere.
Balance, test-tubes in stands, and a smell of evening primrose.Would he subscribe?Said he'd considered him.Asked him, point-blank, was he researching?Said he was.A long research? Got quite cross.
A damnable long research, said he, blowing the cork out, so to speak.Oh!said I. And out came the grievance.The man was just on the boil, and my question boiled him over.
He had been given a prescription—a most valuable prescription, although what for he wouldn't say.Was it medical?Damn you!What are you fishing after?I apologise. dignified sniff and cough.He resumed.He'd read it.Five ingredients.
Put it down, turned his head.Draft of air from window lifted the paper.Swish, rustle.He was working in a room with an open fireplace, he saw.Saw a flicker, and there was the prescription burning and lifting chimney-wood.
Rushed towards it just as it whisked up the chimney.So, just at that point, to illustrate his story, out came his arm. no hand, just an empty sleeve.Lord, I thought, that's a deformity.Got a cork-arm, I suppose, and has taken it off.
Then I thought, there's something odd in that.What the devil keeps the sleeve up and open if there's nothing in it? There was nothing in it, I tell you, nothing down it, right down to the joint.
I could see right down it to the elbow, and there was a glimmer of light shining in through a tear of cloth."'Good God!'I said.Then he stopped, stared at me with those black goggles of his, and then at his sleeve."'Well?'"'That's all.'
He never said a word, just glared, and put his sleeve back in his pocket quietly. I was saying, said he, that there was the prescription burning, wasn't I?"Interrogative cough."'How the devil,' said I, "'can you move an empty sleeve like that?'
"'Empty sleeve?'"'Yes,' said I, "'an empty sleeve.' It's an empty sleeve, is it?You saw it as an empty sleeve."He stood up right away.I stood up too.He came towards me in three very slow steps and stood quite close, sniffed venomously.
I didn't flinch, though I'm hanged if that bandaged knob of his and those blinkers aren't enough to unnerve anyone coming quietly up to you. "'You said it was an empty sleeve,' he said."'Certainly,' I said.
At staring, and saying nothing, a bare-faced man, unspectacled, starts scratch.'Then very quietly he pulled his sleeve out of his pocket again, and raised his arm towards me, as though he would show it to me again.He did it very, very slowly.
I looked at it.Seemed an age."'Well,' said I, clearing my throat, "'there's nothing in it.' I had to say something.I was beginning to feel frightened.I could see right down it.
He extended it straight towards me, slowly, slowly, just like that, until the cuff was six inches from my face.Queer thing to see an empty sleeve come at you like that.And then—well, something—exactly like a finger and thumb, it felt—nipped my nose.
Bunting began to laugh.There wasn't anything there, said Cuss, his voice running up into a shriek at the there.It's all very well for you to laugh, but I tell you I was so startled I hit his cuff hard and turned around and cut out of the room.
I left him. Cuss stopped.There was no mistaking the sincerity of his panic.He turned round in a helpless way and took a second glass of the excellent vicar's very inferior sherry.
When I hit his cuff, said Cuss, I tell you it felt exactly like hitting an arm.And there wasn't an arm.There wasn't the ghost of an arm.Mr. Bunting thought it over.He looked suspiciously at Cuss. It's a most remarkable story," he said.
He looked very wise and grave indeed.It's really, said Mr. Bunting with judicial emphasis, a most remarkable story.
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