Page:Weird Tales volume 02 number 03.djvu/41

40 I, Colonel John Wykeham, of His Majesty’s —rd Regiment of Foot, plodding on through it all, ankle deep in mud, and, it would appear, miles from even the outskirts of civilization, when by good rights I should have been seated before a blazing fire in the best house in all Bath, soaking the inside with the choice of mine host’s cellars rather than soaking outside in this plaguey storm.

Damn the Frenchman! He was responsible. You see, the mare had received a bullet at Badajos, and the wound, breaking out afresh, had been the cause of us landing in this pretty pickle.

However, ’twas no use crying over spilt milk. We must perforce make the best of bad luck and what progress we could against the elements. We might, perchance, discover some lonely farm-house, or even (cheering thought) some wayside inn that would at least afford shelter for the pair of us.

Now scarce had this thought crossed my mind than in front of me, some distance up the road, my eye caught a tiny twinkling spot which might have been a star, but that there were no others visible. The Shepherds of Bethlehem could not have welcomed the guiding Star more than I welcomed that point of light, and with a word of encouragement to the mare, I pressed forward with renewed hope.

Gradually the beacon became larger and assumed a definite shape—a square latticed window. Then, as the rain beat down with increased fury, and the thunder rolled more and more deafeningly, a flash of lightning, more vivid and more intensely blue than any as yet, pierced the blackness like a knife, giving me a brief glimpse of an old, weather-beaten building, and above the door a signboard that creaked dismally as it swung in the wind.

But it was the inscription that caused an unexplainable, indescribable shiver to run swiftly down my spine, which immediately gave place to a clammy, heated perspiration, and I trembled— I, John Wykeham, who had passed through the greatest battles of the campaign without turning a hair, trembled like a little child with an awful, nameless dread as I beheld the words: "The Bleeding Heart," and, beneath, a crude design of a heart dripping blood.

This I saw for merely a second, and then it vanished, leaving me standing there, a pale phosphorescent glow floating before my eyes, until a cold hand touched mine and took the bridle from me.

With an effort, I pulled myself together, and as my vision slowly became clearer I could distinguish a figure, exceedingly tall and thin, that, when I addressed it, simply shook its head and pointed to its ears and mouth.

Motioning me to follow, this strange guide led the way to what had once been a serviceable stable, but which was now sorely in need of repair. Having seen to it that the mare was provided for, and washed and dressed her wound as well as might be, I returned and entered the doorway of the inn.

"A rough night and a wet, sir, is't not?" said a deep rasping voice at my elbow.

I turned suddenly at the words, thinking to see some big, bluff personage. But what I did see was the direct antithesis of the voice in a small, undersized hunchback who stood before me, rubbing his thin hands together and staring at me with a smile half servile, half sardonic upon his lips.

And as I gazed at this creature the same unaccountable feeling of revulsion passed over me as when the lightning revealed that sign of the "Bleeding Heart," for his eyes were green and seemed to look right through me as at the shades of departed souls.

In fact, so strong was this feeling that instinctively I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see I know not what. But there was naught but impenetrable darkness and the pit-pit-pat of rain which brought me back to the present and reminded me that I was wet and hungry, while a huge fire blazed on the open hearth within.

"Damme, host," said I, "you're right. 'Tis as evil a night as I remember. Quickly; bring out of your best, for I’m famished an’ chilled to the very marrow."

"You shall have it, sir," he replied. Tis plain fare, truly, for 'tis rarely now that these walls see company, but none-the-less ’tis wholesome, and the contents of my cellars are not to be surpassed."

The green eyes peered through me as he spoke, and then he shuffled slowly from the room, while I, casting off my dripping cloak and discarding my long riding-boots, stretched my body at full length in the big arm-chair and cast about me to see what manner of place I had come to.

The room was nigh as tumbledown as the outside had appeared to be. It was roughly square, but was broken by many corners and recesses into the shadows of which the feeble light of the candles could not penetrate. The single window was minus many of its diamond panes, and what remained were cracked and broken, admitting fierce gusts of air which caused the candles to gutter noisily. There was about the place a peculiar earthy smell, a mouldering smell indicative of neglect and decay, but which, to my overstrained senses, conveyed the impression of a newly-opened tomb.

Somewhere without, the water dripped from the roof on to some metal article with a hollow, ringing plom-plom-plom, so that I was fain to draw my chair nearer to the fire and was right glad when the innkeeper returned, bringing food and drink, plain, as he had said, but wholesome, and I fell to heartily.

Now as I proceeded to satisfy the need of the inner man, what should that knave of a hunchback do but take up from the table, where I had laid them, my sword and pistols.

"Ho, there, rascal!" I bellowed, springing up. "What are you at, think you? Replace them at once, ere I knock that hump from your back!"

"Nay, sir," said he, dropping the things as though they burnt him, "I meant no harm, I was but going to convey them to your chamber as is my custom with what few guests come this way."

"Well, well, 'tis all right; there's no bones broken," I assured him, sinking down again. "But long companionship with danger makes an old campaigner wary of parting with his best friends." And I arranged the weapons carefully at my elbow.

"I did not think at the moment, sir, said the fellow apologetically, "for 'tis rare any traveler stops at this poor place."

I wondered at the man's persistence, for 'twas the third time he had referred to his lack of trade. Why should he be so particular to impress this facet upon me?

"Your business is not so prosperous these days?" I asked him.

"No, sir; yours is the first strange foot that has trod this floor this six days."

I looked at the fellow hardly as he said this, for my eye, wandering round the room, had espied at that instant, on a little shelf to the left of the fire-place, a pistol of peculiar workmanship, the like of which I had seen but once before in the possession of my friend and brother officer, Major Owens. Yet, if it were his, how did it come here? Certainly he had passed along this road three days before on his way to Bath, where I should have met him this very night, but he could not have stayed here, for did not the inn-keeper himself say that