Too Curious. A novel

Front matter

£ ftovjcl. BV EDWARD J. GOODMAN. ' Too curious man ! Why dost thou seek to know Events which, good or ill, foreknown are woe?' Dkyden. LONDON : RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. Publishers iix Ort'ruvij to "f)cv the OJuccn. iSSS. "Seikatetl TO MY DEAR DAUGHTER, ALICE. CONTENTS. CHAPTER fACE I. THE GIFT BESTOWED i II. THE GIFT APPLIED ----- 7 III. I FOLLOW THE STRANGER - - - - 16 IV. BREAKING BAD NEWS - - - 30 A'. THE TEST BY WRITING - - - 48 VI. A BETTER DAY - - . - - 64 VII. FRANK RAYNER - - - - - Si VIII. JIR. BLOO.M REAPPEARS - - - - 95 IX. AT THYME BANK - - - - - no X. LOVE AND LUCRE - - - - - 1 30 XI. A SUPPER-PARTY - - - - - 1 43 XII. FRED WAINWRIGHT- - - - - 1 57 XIII. FRANK'S PARTNER - - - - - 1 7 1 XIV. ON THE SICK LIST - - - - - 193 XV. BY THE SEA ------ 207 XVI. ON THE BEACH .... - 220 XVII.

TWO VISITORS ..... 229 XVIII. THE TRAVELLER ■'■ - • - - 245 XIX. IN THE STUDY - t - - - 261 XX. PALMISTRY ------ 272 XXI. PEDRO GOMEZ - » • - - 2S5 CONTENTS. VIII CHAPTER PACE XXII. BINKS'S SHARES ----- 298 XXIII. FLIGHT ------ 310 XXIV. A SISTER'S APPEAL - 327 XXV. THE MARINER'S REST - - - - 339 XXVI. ETHEL ------ 354 XXVII. CAPTURE - - - " " " 364 XXVIII. CONVICTION ----- 374 XXIX. PARTING ------ 3S3 XXX. THE GIFT REVOKED - 391 XXXI. CONCLUSION - - - - -

Chapter I. The Gift Bestowed

It was not a ghost. It was not a dream. I saw no shape, I heard no sound. I was as fully awake as I am /low. I beheld every object within sight in my room — the book-case by my side ; the mantelpiece littered with my old pipes, and letters, and odds and ends ; the faded curtains drawn across the window opposite ; my carved oak table and chairs ; the terra cotta bust of Bacon on the bracket in a corner. Every one of these and other objects I specially noticed to prove whether I was awake or sleeping. And there they were. I could hear the clock ticking in the silence of the night. I could hear the footsteps of men outside, coming home late to their chambers, and the muffled rumble of the vehicles rolling down the street in the distance. No ; it certainly was not a dream, nor did it express itself through the medium of any audible / I sound.

I may hereafter, perhaps, call it a Voice ; but it was a voice in the sense only that one's thoughts are vocal, like Hamlet's soliloquies. But this was a dialogue, not a monologue. It was as though some other mind had entered my brain, and was talking with my own mind, speaking words that answered mine — words over which my will had no command, unanticipated and foreign to my thoughts, as much as though they were uttered by some other visible and palpable entity. It came to me, this strange visitation, in the midst of my musings. And ah ! what sad thoughts they were ! Never was man more depressed by his fate. As 1 sat there, in my solitary chambers in the Temple, in my old armchair by the fireside, my book put down upon the table beside my extinguished pipe, all the troubles of my miserable lot weighed heavy on my soul, and with many a sigh of despondency and disappointment I gave free rein to my melancholy thoughts.

Here was I, Angus Paul, poor, with few friends — few at least that could be of any use to me — an all but briefless barrister ; a man with imperfect education and mediocre capacity, as I only too well knew ; gifted, I fear, with no great energy or power of endurance ; irritable, sensitive, unbusinesslike ; with a past sadly wasted, and no prospects to look forward to hopefully — could there be a more un fortunate being on earth ? There might be, perhaps, but what of that ? When things go badly with you, what comfort is it to reflect that they might be THE GIFT BESTO WED. 3 worse ? And so I mused on and on, passing from one gloomy thought to another, my heart sinking lower and lower every moment, as I found each avenue of possible escape from my troubles hope lessly blocked. The future — my future — what was it to be ?

What lay behind that dark impenetrable veil ? What would happen when I came to the end of my slender resources ? Where was I to look for work ? How pay the rent of my rooms ? How live ? I, who lately lost my only client by sheer ignorance and blundering — I, whose desk was filled with manu scripts ' declined with thanks' — I, whose few relations were tired of assisting me, to whom, indeed, I could not bring myself to apply for assistance any more. And so my mind ran on, step by step, till it reached the strange crisis of which I have to speak. Gradually my thoughts passed from the sad realities of my position into a dream of the im possible — for so I thought it at the time — a dream which almost involuntarily grew and grew into a deep and passionate longing to achieve its object. The future — the future — oh for the power to pene trate, if only by the faintest glimpse, behind that dark curtain, and foresee, if only by a single day, by a single fact, what is to be!

On this idea I dwelt long and intensely. I have no words to describe how forcibly this fancy took possession of me. It held my mind like a mania. Conscious as I was of its futility, its utter folly, I 1—2 could not shake it off. I laughed at myself, I reasoned with'myself. I tried to divert my thoughts to other channels — even back again to my woes and disappointments. In vain. The future— the future; still did that eager, fierce craving to know what no man was ever given to know, since the age of miracles, dominate my brain, taking a thousand definite and fantastic forms. It was a dream, yet no dream. I had, as it were, lost all power over my own mind as helplesslyas though I were sleeping indeed. Then came that strange phenomenon. For the hundredth time I had, almost against my will, repeated the idle aspiration : ' Oh that I could foresee the future !' when, what shall I call it ? — a voice ? a second brain within my own brain ? — answered, 'You shall!' I lay back in my chair, as in a nightmare — paralyzed, appalled.

All efforts to think, to control or direct my thoughts, ceased. I simply sat and waited, feeling, I could not tell why, that some awful revelation was coming to me. I had not long to wait. Presently that strange inner voice within my brain spoke once more : ' You wish to foresee the future. Be it so. From this moment the power belongs to you. But under such limitations as will be imposed upon you, and as you yourself will discover when you put the Gift to use. What you may, and what you may not know, experience will denote. But three conditions THE GIFT BESTOWED. 5 are at once laid down for you. No fact of the future can be known to you until you have put your wish in a form of words. Nothing which you foresee can you in any way reveal to any other living being. Nor can you control the course of any event on which your foresight bears.' Here the voice paused or ceased.

For a moment I was too astonished to respond. But presently the impulse came upon me to inquire, ' For how long can I retain this wondrous Gift ? — for a short time only, or while I live ?' The voice replied : ' For so long as you may please to exercise it. Once express a deliberate wish that the Gift may pass from you, and it is gone for ever. Meanwhile, 'tis yours. Take it, and use it well.' Then this strange colloquy, if I may call it so, came to an end. The fancy faded from my mind as completely as it had previously absorbed it. I was myself again, the same commonplace prosaic being that I was before, and my thoughts turned to a dozen trivialities of my small domestic menage — the books and papers that I had to put away, the little arrangements I was accustomed to make for my next morning's breakfast, a business letter or two that I had to write, and so forth.

And then it was time to retire, for the hour was late, and, though not conscious of it at the moment, my brain was exhausted by the strange experience I had passed through. I had quite forgotten it, or, if I thought of it at all, it was only as of any other of the hundred fancies that arise in every man's brain in idleness and solitude. So I lighted my candle, extinguished my lamp, went to bed, and at once fell into a pro found and dreamless sleep.

Chapter II. The Gift Applied

I sleet so well that it was somewhat later than usual when I awoke in the morning. I got up, took my bath, had my breakfast, and conned my daily paper, nor for a moment recalled the vision of the night before. But as I sat in my armchair, enjoying my morning pipe and carelessly running my eye over the news of the day, suddenly the visitation of the previous night rushed into my mind. I do not know how I came to think of it ; but the idea of foreseeing the future once more seized upon me with all its former force, and held me captive. That voice, that promise ! — what could it be ? Ridiculous ! It was a dream, a mere idle fancy ; like a thousand dreams and fancies, such as I too often indulged in when I should have been thinking of more practical things. Yet no, I could not shake it off. Little by little the whole scene came before me again ; my meditations, the strange answer to my thoughts, the promise, and the stipulations.

Could there be anything in it ? Once more I tried to regard it as an absurdity. But in vain. Had I been a lunatic possessed by some fantastic hallucina tion I could not have been more completely under the control of this fixed idea. The future— the future! Was it possible that I could really command the power, even to the slight est extent, of penetrating its mysteries ? The bare possibility of such a thing was fascinating, yet almost beyond conception. At that moment I confess I could not realize the idea of possessing such a power, even under the restrictions laid down in my vision. I could think of it enly as an endowment so vast, so perplexing, that no human mind could grasp or exercise it. Could the power of superhuman foresight be possible under any conceivable circum stances ? With such a Gift at command, the very conditions of one's life must be changed.

Imagine, for example, the position of a man whose Gift of foresight should tell him that, within the space of a month, or a year, or many years, he himself would die of some lingering disease or by some terrible disaster. His whole existence during that space of time must surely be an intolerable burden, and, as he approached nearer and nearer to the period of his doom, he would feel as one condemned, beyond hope of reprieve, to suffer death upon the scaffold. Ah ! it is one thing to crave for such a privilege, not be lieving that it could be granted, and another to find it actually within one's reach. Even at this moment, ere I put the promise to the proof, I shrank with something like dismay from the thought of exercising it. In my imagination it stood before me even as the monster fashioned by the fabled Frankenstein appeared to him who had called it into being — at once a triumph and a terror.

But presently I checked this current of reflection. Of course it could not possibly be. The whole idea was too preposterous, too ridiculous to be entertained or realized. Yet — no, I could not get rid of the impression. I could not free my mind from the growing conviction that there must be something in it after all. I threw myself back in my chair. I endeavoured to work myself up into the precise frame of mind in which I encountered the vision. I sought to recall the voice, or what ever the mysterious influence may have been, and question it again. But my exertions were fruitless, and I met with no response. Every effort in this direction only seemed to provoke an impulse to laugh at the fancy as a delusion ; yet still with a sort of involuntary consciousness that it was no delusion. I felt at last that it was useless to puzzle my brain any longer over the matter.

So I rose from my chair, put away my pipe, and dressed myself. It was a brilliantly fine autumn day. I had nothing to do, unfortunately; so I thought I would take a stroll in the nearest park and shake off this ridiculous notion. I did go out. I walked into Fleet Street, and up the Strand. I tried to divert my mind by looking into the shop-windows. But the notion, all fantastic as it was, would not be shaken off. It haunted me like a ghost. Every object I encountered, every person that passed by me, suggested to my mind the question, What would its, or his oi lier, future be ? If indeed I possessed this strange power, that, it seemed to me, would surely be the best mode of testing it. True, I had asked for it in order to inquire into my own future ; but for the reasons I have stated I shrank from making, at any rate, the first experiment on myself.

Yet, little by little, an eager desire to put the matter to the proof grew upon me ; at least, I thought, there would be no harm in trying my power — if, indeed, I really possessed it — upon some extraneous and trifling object ; and if it failed — why, it failed, and there was an end of it. But how should I begin ? Naturally a thousand opportunities of proving my prophetic capacity pre sented themselves in all directions. Every man, woman, and child whom my eye encountered, offered me the chance of turning fortune-teller — at any rate, so far as the satisfaction of my own curiosity was concerned. I had but to select some chance passer by, and ask in my own mind what his or her suture would be at any coming period ; and if I should get any answer whatever, here would be prac tical evidence of the fact I wished to ascertain.

Yet of what use could that be ? How could I prove the truth of my predictions without waiting days, weeks, years— besides having to obtain the personal acquaintance of those whom I sought to make the objects of my forecasts ? No ; if anything were to be done, it must be in some small and immediate way. So I cast my eyes about in search of some suitable person whose movements I might make the subject of a preliminary test. Presently I chanced to direct my attention to a stout elderly gentleman, who happened to be peer ing in at the window of a jeweller's shop. He was a good-looking man, with a somewhat florid com plexion, and a genial, amiable expression of coun tenance. He was neatly dressed, and presented the very type of a comfortable, well-to-do British pater familias. Nothing could be more ordinary or commonplace than his appearance ; and the very thought of prophesying the future of so essentially prosaic an individual seemed in itself absurd.

Nevertheless there was all the more temptation in the fact to select him as the object of my first experiment. I did not propose to dip far into the future with regard to him ; and, if I failed, the result would not seem so humiliating as it might be if I employed my powers of foresight on any person more romantic or important. Anyhow, he would do to make a beginning with. As I have said, the elderly stranger was looking into a jeweller's shop-window. I had now to put in words the precise question which I wished to ask with regard to his future ; and all I could think of at the moment was to inquire of myself, or of my other self, if indeed I were in association with some supernatural agency — ' What will he do next?' A barely perceptible interval of time elapsed before I experienced the strange phenomenon that then manifested itself.

Exactly as had happened on the previous night, when a second mind, in dependent of, and separate from, my own seemed to answer my thoughts, so now a distinct reply, in a form of words, came into my brain without any effort of will on my own part, and that reply was : ' He will proceed on his way! I confess that I felt a little disappointed by this rather obvious answer. Certainly I did not need a ghost from the grave to tell me that. Still, the old gentleman might have entered the shop, before which, by-the-bye, he lingered for some considerable time, and then my prophecy would have proved abortive. He even went as far as the door, as though about to go in ; but he. appeared to change his mind and walked on. So far so good. But the occurrence might have happened under any circum stances, and really proved nothing.

It was clear then that I must direct my next question to a more definite object ; and so, still confining my attention to the elderly stranger, I mentally asked : ' What house will he first enter ?' At once, clear and distinct in my mind, in the same manner as before, came the reply : ' No. 304, Old Bond Street! Here was something definite to go upon, at any rate. Emphatic and unmistakable as the answer was, I still could not but laugh at it as a fancy arising from some abnormal condition of my brain — possibly stomach. Nevertheless, my curiositywas thoroughly aroused, and I resolved to follow my victim — if I might so call him — and track him to his destination, whatever it might be. He continued his march, and a very easy-going, dawdling one it certainly was. He appeared to have a positive passion for looking in at shop-windows, preferably those of jewellers, and though he repeatedly seemed on the point of entering one of these establishments he always desisted and went further.

I followed him, at a respectful distance, never losing sight of him for a moment, till he reached Charing Cross. The pursuit was a tedious one, and myheart sank at the prospect of the fascinations which would probably delay his progress, when he should reach the attractive shops of Piccadilly and the Burlington Arcade; for somehow, with a sort of gambler's instinct, I began to feel confident that this was the route he would take. But no ; strange to say — if it were strange, for every now and then I laughed at the absurdity of my expectation — when he reached Charing Cross he hesitated, and instead of proceed ing westward he turned his steps in a different direc tion, and, crossing the east side of Trafalgar Square, walked up St. Martin's Lane. This was not the nearest way to Old Bond Street, certainly ; still, I did not give up all hope.

He might be only, for some purpose, taking a slightly circuitous course, and after all, if he turned off into Cranbourn Street, it would not make much difference. Nevertheless, he pursued his journey on through Seven Dials— this time more rapidly, thank goodness ! as there were no jewellers' shops to attract him. But still he proceeded north ward till he reached New Oxford Street. ' Now,' I thought, ' he will go westward.' Yet no, he crossed the street, turned to the right, and, to my utter disgust, went on till he arrived at Bedford Square and actually ascended the steps of a house in that respectable locality, and knocked at the door. 'The game is up,' I mentally ejaculated. 'The spirit — or whatever it is — has played me false.' If he entered that house, there, of course, was an end to my gift of prophecy.

The street door was opened, and there was a brief colloquy between the stranger and the servant. The former took out his card-case, and left a card ; then turned on his heel and descended to the pavement. He had not entered the house. So there was hope yet. And to my great joy — for the adventure, trifling as it was, had really obtained a powerful hold upon me — he again bent his steps in a westerly direction, and once more we were in Oxford Street and among the jewellers' shops. It was a weary chase, but I was determined to see it out to the end. On, on he crept at a tortoise pace with his everlasting pauses to gaze at brooches and rings and bracelets — what an occupation for a respectable old gentleman, presumably the father of a family ! — and the same tedious process was repeated as he turned at last down Regent Street.

Still he had not yet entered any house, and was so far going in the right direction. Almost maddened with curiosity and impatience, I followed him step by step along Regent Street to Piccadilly Circus. There he pursued the right road — sure enough — up Piccadilly, and at last reached the corner of Old Bond Street itself. Here he paused for a considerable time, as though in doubt as to the route he should next take; but to my great delight he turned the corner and entered the very street brought to my mind. A few steps more, and, with a feeling of excitement that I can hardly describe, I saw him at length stop before one more jeweller's shop. Then, after a longer delay than ever, he went to the door, opened it, and entered the house. I looked up at the number over the shop. It was 304 !

Chapter III

I FOLLOW THE STRANGER. I felt as though I was stunned. For a moment my brain seemed to stand still. I did not know what to think. Was it possible that I really pos sessed the Gift — that the event of the night before was no dream ? Or, stay ; might it not be that I was still dreaming ? No ; that could not be. Here was I, looking in at a Bond Street window ; there were the fashionable loungers and others passing up and down the footway ; there were the cabs and carriages running to and fro along the road ; the whole palpable, material life of the world moving around me on every side. A clumsy porter, elbow ing his way by, struck me on the shoulder with his burden, and apologized. No ; there was no mistake about it. I was fully awake, and in the heart of busy London — I, a seer, a foreteller of events, a prophet !

I laughed at first; then I felt a little frightened; for, strange and novel as my position was, there was something rather awful in it. Yet, after all, was it not possible that — with my mind fixed on the past night's dream, for so I could not help still calling it / FOLLOW THE STRANGER. 17 ■ — I might have made a lucky guess, might be the victim of one of those curious coincidences which are by no means uncommon in everyday life ? Then, again, was I quite sure that the number, 304, was that which really came into my mind ? Might not the name of Old Bond Street itself have been an afterthought when we were well on our way to that thoroughfare? I mention these doubts to show the extreme state of perplexity in which I found myself, and the difficulty I had in realizing the fact of my possessing what was nothing less than a supernatural gift.

Anyhow, I was determined not to rest satisfied with this apparent confirmation of the promise. And as I had begun with the old gentleman in the shop, and had had such a success with him, I thought I would make him the subject of a further experiment. So I waited for him, gazing into the jeweller's window as long as I reasonably could do so without exciting the suspicions of the police, and then walked backwards and forwards, never losing sight of the shop-door till my unknown friend should come out. He kept me there a long time, at least an hour, for he was evidently making some purchase of importance. At last, after several journeys to the door, followed by repeated returns to the counter, to have one word more with the shopkeeper, he made his appearance. He had a small parcel in his hand, which he was holding carefully, whence I naturally inferred 2 •* that he was carrying an article of jewellery of some value.

Indeed, I heard the jeweller observe to him : ' Yes, sir, I would not put it in your pocket if I were you, but just hold it as you are doing.' 'Thank you,' replied the stranger. 'Good-day.' Once more the old gentleman started on his travels. This time he proceeded northward, up Bond Street, and, I was glad to find, lost his interest in the shop-windows. ' Now,' I said to myself, ' for a further trial of the Gift ;' and I still resolved to confine the test to the movements of the old gentleman. ' Where,' I then mentally asked, ' will he go next ?' Again came the answer in my mind positively, clearly, and by no effort of will on my part : ' To the University College Hospital! I felt a little startled at first by this announce ment. What on earth should he go to the hospital for ? However, on eyeing him narrowly, I thought he had a sort of professional air about him, and might be a doctor.

If so, his visit to the hospital would be easily accounted for. But a prosperous looking medical man, such as he seemed to be, would hardly be wasting all his morning rambling about the streets and gazing into shop-windows, even if he were bent on purchasing a present for wife or daughter or niece, or other female favourite. And he— indeed we, I may say— had been at it for nearly / FOLLOW THE STRANGER. 19 three hours. Of course, I need hardly say that, with my wonderful Gift I could easily have solved the mystery by asking what he was going to do at the hospital ; but somehow I felt reluctant to spend my power too freely, and already felt that to antici pate every fact of the future must take a good deal of interest out of life, and deprive one of all the pleasures arising from the sensation of surprise.

So I contented myself, for the present, with merely inquiring as to the next destination of the stranger, and leaving the rest to the course of events. On we sped, at a much faster pace than before, the doctor, as I began to call him, being apparently eager to get home with his present, or to take it to the fair lady for whom it was intended. ' I am afraid it will be a bad look-out for his patients at the hospital if he is in such a hurry,' thought I. But he was a curious old fellow — curious indeed in more senses than one — and rather imprudent too. For just as he had arrived near the end of New Bond Street he stepped into a doorway, unfastened his parcel, took out the jewel-case it contained, and opened it to inspect the articles of jewellery enclosed in it. These were evidently very valuable, for even at some little distance I could see in the shadow of the doorway the unmistakable sparkle of diamonds.

He put up the parcel again, clumsily enough, and proceeded on his way; but in a somewhat absent minded manner, for he walked much less deliberately 2—2 than before, and frequently jostled or was jostled by other foot-passengers. And now Oxford Street was reached. I was within about twentyyards of him, still keeping him well in view, and as he was bound for the University College Hospital, for I really took it for granted that my prediction was correct, I expected, of course, that he would turn to the right. But greatly to my surprise he turned to the left, and proceeded in the direction of the Marble Arch. ' This is odd,' I thought; ' is he going to lead me another dance around London ? If it were not for the sake of testing my forecast I should get a little tired of this sort of thing.' He walked some distance up the road westward, never pausing on his way, when suddenly he stopped, and, in that nervous, hurried manner which I had noticed ever since he made his purchase, rushed into the road with the evident intention of crossing it.