"Yes," I answered, "and I am pleased to see you; do sit down." He sank
into my best armchair, and placed his bag on the floor beside him.

"Since we met in the afternoon," he said, "I have written a letter to
your dean, expressing the great pleasure I felt in listening to your
choir, and at the same time I inclosed a five-pound note, which I begged
him to divide among the choir boys and men, from Alexander Poulter, Esq.,
of Poulter's Pills. You have of course heard of the world-renowned
Poulter's Pills. I am Poulter!"

Poulter of Poulter's Pills! My heart sank within me! A five-pound note! My
airy castles were tottering!

"I also sent him a couple of hundred of my pamphlets, which I said I
trusted he would be so kind as to distribute in the close."

I was aghast!

"And now, with regard to the special object of my call, Mr. Dale. If you
will allow me to say so, you are not making the most of that grand voice
of yours; you are hidden under an ecclesiastical bushel here--lost to the
world. You are wasting your vocal strength and sweetness on the desert
air, so to speak. Why, if I may hazard a guess, I don't suppose you make
five hundred a year here, at the outside?"

I could say nothing.

"Well, now, I can put you into the way of making at least three or four
times as much as that. Listen! I am Alexander Poulter, of Poulter's Pills.
I have a proposal to make to you. The scheme is bound to succeed, but I
want your help. Accept my proposal and your fortune's made. Did you ever
hear Moody and Sankey?" he asked abruptly.

The man is an idiot, thought I; he is now fairly carried away with his
particular mania. Will it last long? Shall I ring?

"Novelty, my dear sir," he went on, "is the rule of the day; and there
must be novelty in advertising, as in everything else, to catch the public
interest. So I intend to go on a tour, lecturing on the merits of
Poulter's Pills in all the principal halls of all the principal towns all
over the world. But I have been delayed in carrying out my idea till I
could associate myself with a gentleman such as yourself. Will you join
me? I should be the Moody of the tour; you would be its Sankey. I would
speak my patter, and you would intersperse my orations with melodious
ballads bearing upon the virtues of Poulter's Pills. The ballads are all
ready!"

So saying, he opened that bag and drew forth from its recesses nothing
more alarming than a thick roll of manuscript music.

"The verses are my own," he said, with a little touch of pride; "and as
for the music, I thought it better to make use of popular melodies, so as
to enable an audience to join in the chorus. See, here is one of the
ballads: 'Darling, I am better now.' It describes the woes of a fond
lover, or rather his physical ailments, until he went through a course of
Poulter. Here's another: 'I'm ninety-five! I'm ninety-five!' You catch the
drift of that, of course--a healthy old age, secured by taking Poulter's
Pills. Ah! what's this? 'Little sister's last request.' I fancy the idea
of that is to beg the family never to be without Poulter's Pills. Here
again: 'Then you'll remember me!' I'm afraid that title is not original;
never mind, the song is. And here is--but there are many more, and I won't
detain you with them now." He saw, perhaps, I was getting impatient. Thank
Heaven, however, he was no escaped lunatic. I was safe!

"Mr. Poulter," said I, "I took you this afternoon for a disinterested and
philanthropic millionaire; you take me for--for--something different from
what I am. We have both made mistakes. In a word, it is impossible for me
to accept your offer!"

"Is that final?" asked Poulter.

"Certainly," said I.

Poulter gathered his manuscripts together and replaced them in the bag,
and got up to leave the room.

"Good evening, Mr. Dale," he said mournfully, as I opened the door of the
room. "Good evening"--he kept on talking till he was fairly out of the
house--"mark my words, you'll be sorry--very sorry--one day that you did
not fall in with my scheme. Offers like mine don't come every day, and you
will one day regret having refused it."

With these words he left the house.

I had little appetite for my dinner that evening.




_The Pipe_

    "RANDOLPH CRESCENT, N.W.

    "MY DEAR PUGH--I hope you will like the pipe which I send with
    this. It is rather a curious example of a certain school of
    Indian carving. And is a present from

    "Yours truly, Joseph Tress."

It was really very handsome of Tress--very handsome! The more especially
as I was aware that to give presents was not exactly in Tress's line. The
truth is that when I saw what manner of pipe it was I was amazed. It was
contained in a sandalwood box, which was itself illustrated with some
remarkable specimens of carving. I use the word "remarkable" advisedly,
because, although the workmanship was undoubtedly, in its way, artistic,
the result could not be described as beautiful. The carver had thought
proper to ornament the box with some of the ugliest figures I remember to
have seen. They appeared to me to be devils. Or perhaps they were intended
to represent deities appertaining to some mythological system with which,
thank goodness, I am unacquainted. The pipe itself was worthy of the case
in which it was contained. It was of meerschaum, with an amber mouthpiece.
It was rather too large for ordinary smoking. But then, of course, one
doesn't smoke a pipe like that. There are pipes in my collection which I
should as soon think of smoking as I should of eating. Ask a china maniac
to let you have afternoon tea out of his Old Chelsea, and you will learn
some home truths as to the durability of human friendships. The glory of
the pipe, as Tress had suggested, lay in its carving. Not that I claim
that it was beautiful, any more than I make such a claim for the carving
on the box, but, as Tress said in his note, it was curious.

The stem and the bowl were quite plain, but on the edge of the bowl was
perched some kind of lizard. I told myself it was an octopus when I first
saw it, but I have since had reason to believe that it was some almost
unique member of the lizard tribe. The creature was represented as
climbing over the edge of the bowl down toward the stem, and its legs, or
feelers, or tentacula, or whatever the things are called, were, if I may
use a vulgarism, sprawling about "all over the place." For instance, two
or three of them were twined about the bowl, two or three of them were
twisted round the stem, and one, a particularly horrible one, was uplifted
in the air, so that if you put the pipe in your mouth the thing was
pointing straight at your nose.

Not the least agreeable feature about the creature was that it was
hideously lifelike. It appeared to have been carved in amber, but some
coloring matter must have been introduced, for inside the amber the
creature was of a peculiarly ghastly green. The more I examined the pipe
the more amazed I was at Tress's generosity. He and I are rival
collectors. I am not going to say, in so many words, that his collection
of pipes contains nothing but rubbish, because, as a matter of fact, he
has two or three rather decent specimens. But to compare his collection to
mine would be absurd. Tress is conscious of this, and he resents it. He
resents it to such an extent that he has been known, at least on one
occasion, to declare that one single pipe of his--I believe he alluded to
the Brummagem relic preposterously attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh--was
worth the whole of my collection put together. Although I have forgiven
this, as I hope I always shall forgive remarks made when envious passions
get the better of our nobler nature, even of a Joseph Tress, it is not to
be supposed that I have forgotten it. He was, therefore, not at all the
sort of person from whom I expected to receive a present. And such a
present! I do not believe that he himself had a finer pipe in his
collection. And to have given it to me! I had misjudged the man. I
wondered where he had got it from. I had seen his pipes; I knew them off
by heart--and some nice trumpery he has among them, too! but I had never
seen _that_ pipe before. The more I looked at it, the more my amazement
grew. The beast perched upon the edge of the bowl was so lifelike. Its two
bead-like eyes seemed to gleam at me with positively human intelligence.
The pipe fascinated me to such an extent that I actually resolved
to--smoke it!

I filled it with Perique. Ordinarily I use Birdseye, but on those very
rare occasions on which I use a specimen I smoke Perique. I lit up with
quite a small sensation of excitement. As I did so I kept my eyes perforce
fixed upon the beast. The beast pointed its upraised tentacle directly at
me. As I inhaled the pungent tobacco that tentacle impressed me with a
feeling of actual uncanniness. It was broad daylight, and I was smoking in
front of the window, yet to such an extent was I affected that it seemed
to me that the tentacle was not only vibrating, which, owing to the
peculiarity of its position, was quite within the range of probability,
but actually moving, elongating--stretching forward, that is, farther
toward me, and toward the tip of my nose. So impressed was I by this idea
that I took the pipe out of my mouth and minutely examined the beast.
Really, the delusion was excusable. So cunningly had the artist wrought
that he succeeded in producing a creature which, such was its uncanniness,
I could only hope had no original in nature.

Replacing the pipe between my lips I took several whiffs. Never had
smoking had such an effect on me before. Either the pipe, or the creature
on it, exercised some singular fascination. I seemed, without an instant's
warning, to be passing into some land of dreams. I saw the beast, which
was perched upon the bowl, writhe and twist. I saw it lift itself bodily
from the meerschaum.


II

"Feeling better now?"

I looked up. Joseph Tress was speaking.

"What's the matter? Have I been ill?"

"You appear to have been in some kind of swoon."

Tress's tone was peculiar, even a little dry.

"Swoon! I never was guilty of such a thing in my life."

"Nor was I, until I smoked that pipe."

I sat up. The act of sitting up made me conscious of the fact that I had
been lying down. Conscious, too, that I was feeling more than a little
dazed. It seemed as though I was waking out of some strange, lethargic
sleep--a kind of feeling which I have read of and heard about, but never
before experienced.

"Where am I?"

"You're on the couch in your own room. You _were_ on the floor; but I
thought it would be better to pick you up and place you on the
couch--though no one performed the same kind office to me when I was on
the floor."

Again Tress's tone was distinctly dry.

"How came _you_ here?"

"Ah, that's the question." He rubbed his chin--a habit of his which has
annoyed me more than once before. "Do you think you're sufficiently
recovered to enable you to understand a little simple explanation?" I
stared at him, amazed. He went on stroking his chin. "The truth is that
when I sent you the pipe I made a slight omission."

"An omission?"

"I omitted to advise you not to smoke it."

"And why?"

"Because--well, I've reason to believe the thing is drugged."

"Drugged!"

"Or poisoned."

"Poisoned!" I was wide awake enough then. I jumped off the couch with a
celerity which proved it.

"It is this way. I became its owner in rather a singular manner." He
paused, as if for me to make a remark; but I was silent. "It is not often
that I smoke a specimen, but, for some reason, I did smoke this. I
commenced to smoke it, that is. How long I continued to smoke it is more
than I can say. It had on me the same peculiar effect which it appears to
have had on you. When I recovered consciousness I was lying on the floor."

"On the floor?"

"On the floor. In about as uncomfortable a position as you can easily
conceive. I was lying face downward, with my legs bent under me. I was
never so surprised in my life as I was when I found myself _where_ I was.
At first I supposed that I had had a stroke. But by degrees it dawned upon
me that I didn't _feel_ as though I had had a stroke." Tress, by the way,
has been an army surgeon. "I was conscious of distinct nausea. Looking
about, I saw the pipe. With me it had fallen on to the floor. I took it
for granted, considering the delicacy of the carving, that the fall had
broken it. But when I picked it up I found it quite uninjured. While I was
examining it a thought flashed to my brain. Might it not be answerable for
what had happened to me? Suppose, for instance, it was drugged? I had
heard of such things. Besides, in my case were present all the symptoms of
drug poisoning, though what drug had been used I couldn't in the least
conceive. I resolved that I would give the pipe another trial."

"On yourself? or on another party, meaning me?"

"On myself, my dear Pugh--on myself! At that point of my investigations I
had not begun to think of you. I lit up and had another smoke."

"With what result?"

"Well, that depends on the standpoint from which you regard the thing.
From one point of view the result was wholly satisfactory--I proved that
the thing was drugged, and more."

"Did you have another fall?"

"I did. And something else besides."

"On that account, I presume, you resolved to pass the treasure on to me?"

"Partly on that account, and partly on another."

"On my word, I appreciate your generosity. You might have labeled the
thing as poison."

"Exactly. But then you must remember how often you have told me that you
_never_ smoke your specimens."

"That was no reason why you shouldn't have given me a hint that the thing
was more dangerous than dynamite."

"That did occur to me afterwards. Therefore I called to supply the slight
omission."

"_Slight_ omission, you call it! I wonder what you would have called it if
you had found me dead."

"If I had known that you _intended_ smoking it I should not have been at
all surprised if I had."

"Really, Tress, I appreciate your kindness more and more! And where is
this example of your splendid benevolence? Have you pocketed it,
regretting your lapse into the unaccustomed paths of generosity? Or is it
smashed to atoms?"

"Neither the one nor the other. You will find the pipe upon the table. I
neither desire its restoration nor is it in any way injured. It is merely
an expression of personal opinion when I say that I don't believe that it
_could_ be injured. Of course, having discovered its deleterious
properties, you will not want to smoke it again. You will therefore be
able to enjoy the consciousness of being the possessor of what I honestly
believe to be the most remarkable pipe in existence. Good day, Pugh."

He was gone before I could say a word. I immediately concluded, from the
precipitancy of his flight, that the pipe _was_ injured. But when I
subjected it to close examination I could discover no signs of damage.
While I was still eying it with jealous scrutiny the door reopened, and
Tress came in again.

"By the way, Pugh, there is one thing I might mention, especially as I
know it won't make any difference to you."

"That depends on what it is. If you have changed your mind, and want the
pipe back again, I tell you frankly that it won't. In my opinion, a thing
once given is given for good."

"Quite so; I don't want it back again. You may make your mind easy on that
point. I merely wanted to tell you _why_ I gave it you."

"You have told me that already."

"Only partly, my dear Pugh--only partly. You don't suppose I should have
given you such a pipe as that merely because it happened to be drugged?
Scarcely! I gave it you because I discovered from indisputable evidence,
and to my cost, that it was haunted."

"Haunted?"

"Yes, haunted. Good day."

He was gone again. I ran out of the room, and shouted after him down the
stairs. He was already at the bottom of the flight.

"Tress! Come back! What do you mean by talking such nonsense?"

"Of course it's only nonsense. We know that that sort of thing always is
nonsense. But if you should have reason to suppose that there is something
in it besides nonsense, you may think it worth your while to make
inquiries of me. But I won't have that pipe back again in my possession on
any terms--mind that!"

The bang of the front door told me that he had gone out into the street. I
let him go. I laughed to myself as I reГ«ntered the room. Haunted! That was
not a bad idea of his. I saw the whole position at a glance. The truth of
the matter was that he did regret his generosity, and he was ready to go
any lengths if he could only succeed in cajoling me into restoring his
gift. He was aware that I have views upon certain matters which are not
wholly in accordance with those which are popularly supposed to be the
views of the day, and particularly that on the question of what are
commonly called supernatural visitations I have a standpoint of my own.
Therefore, it was not a bad move on his part to try to make me believe
that about the pipe on which he knew I had set my heart there was
something which could not be accounted for by ordinary laws. Yet, as his
own sense would have told him it would do, if he had only allowed himself
to reflect for a moment, the move failed. Because I am not yet so far gone
as to suppose that a pipe, a thing of meerschaum and of amber, in the
sense in which I understand the word, _could_ be haunted--a pipe, a mere
pipe.

"Hollo! I thought the creature's legs were twined right round the bowl!"

I was holding the pipe in my hand, regarding it with the affectionate eyes
with which a connoisseur does regard a curio, when I was induced to make
this exclamation. I was certainly under the impression that, when I first
took the pipe out of the box, two, if not three of the feelers had been
twined about the bowl--twined tightly, so that you could not see daylight
between them and it. Now they were almost entirely detached, only the tips
touching the meerschaum, and those particular feelers were gathered up as
though the creature were in the act of taking a spring. Of course I was
under a misapprehension: the feelers _couldn't_ have been twined; a moment
before I should have been ready to bet a thousand to one that they were.
Still, one does make mistakes, and very egregious mistakes, at times. At
the same time, I confess that when I saw that dreadful-looking animal
poised on the extreme edge of the bowl, for all the world as though it
were just going to spring at me, I was a little startled. I remembered
that when I was smoking the pipe I did think I saw the uplifted tentacle
moving, as though it were reaching out to me. And I had a clear
recollection that just as I had been sinking into that strange state of
unconsciousness, I had been under the impression that the creature was
writhing and twisting, as though it had suddenly become instinct with
life. Under the circumstances, these reflections were not pleasant. I
wished Tress had not talked that nonsense about the thing being haunted.
It was surely sufficient to know that it was drugged and poisonous,
without anything else.

I replaced it in the sandalwood box. I locked the box in a cabinet. Quite
apart from the question as to whether that pipe was or was not haunted, I
know it haunted me. It was with me in a figurative--which was worse than
actual--sense all the day. Still worse, it was with me all the night. It
was with me in my dreams. Such dreams! Possibly I had not yet wholly
recovered from the effects of that insidious drug, but, whether or no, it
was very wrong of Tress to set my thoughts into such a channel. He knows
that I am of a highly imaginative temperament, and that it is easier to
get morbid thoughts into my mind than to get them out again. Before that
night was through I wished very heartily that I had never seen the pipe! I
woke from one nightmare to fall into another. One dreadful dream was with
me all the time--of a hideous, green reptile which advanced toward me out
of some awful darkness, slowly, inch by inch, until it clutched me round
the neck, and, gluing its lips to mine, sucked the life's blood out of my
veins as it embraced me with a slimy kiss. Such dreams are not restful. I
woke anything but refreshed when the morning came. And when I got up and
dressed I felt that, on the whole, it would perhaps have been better if I
never had gone to bed. My nerves were unstrung, and I had that generally
tremulous feeling which is, I believe, an inseparable companion of the
more advanced stages of dipsomania. I ate no breakfast. I am no breakfast
eater as a rule, but that morning I ate absolutely nothing.

"If this sort of thing is to continue, I will let Tress have his pipe
again. He may have the laugh of me, but anything is better than this."

It was with almost funereal forebodings that I went to the cabinet in
which I had placed the sandalwood box. But when I opened it my feelings of
gloom partially vanished. Of what phantasies had I been guilty! It must
have been an entire delusion on my part to have supposed that those
tentacula had ever been twined about the bowl. The creature was in
exactly the same position in which I had left it the day before--as, of
course, I knew it would be--poised, as if about to spring. I was telling
myself how foolish I had been to allow myself to dwell for a moment on
Tress's words, when Martin Brasher was shown in.

Brasher is an old friend of mine. We have a common ground--ghosts. Only we
approach them from different points of view. He takes the
scientific--psychological--inquiry side. He is always anxious to hear of a
ghost, so that he may have an opportunity of "showing it up."

"I've something in your line here," I observed, as he came in.

"In my line? How so? _I'm_ not pipe mad."

"No; but you're ghost mad. And this is a haunted pipe."

"A haunted pipe! I think you're rather more mad about ghosts, my dear
Pugh, than I am."

Then I told him all about it. He was deeply interested, especially when I
told him that the pipe was drugged. But when I repeated Tress's words
about its being haunted, and mentioned my own delusion about the creature
moving, he took a more serious view of the case than I had expected he
would do.

"I propose that we act on Tress's suggestion, and go and make inquiries of
him."

"But you don't really think that there is anything in it?"

"On these subjects I never allow myself to think at all. There are Tress's
words, and there is your story. It is agreed on all hands that the pipe
has peculiar properties. It seems to me that there is a sufficient case
here to merit inquiry."

He persuaded me. I went with him. The pipe, in the sandalwood box, went
too. Tress received us with a grin--a grin which was accentuated when I
placed the sandalwood box on the table.

"You understand," he said, "that a gift is a gift. On no terms will I
consent to receive that pipe back in my possession."

I was rather nettled by his tone.

"You need be under no alarm. I have no intention of suggesting anything of
the kind."

"Our business here," began Brasher--I must own that his manner is a little
ponderous--"is of a scientific, I may say also, and at the same time, of a
judicial nature. Our object is the Pursuit of Truth and the Advancement of
Inquiry."

"Have you been trying another smoke?" inquired Tress, nodding his head
toward me.

Before I had time to answer, Brasher went droning on:

"Our friend here tells me that you say this pipe is haunted."

"I say it is haunted because it _is_ haunted."

I looked at Tress. I half suspected that he was poking fun at us. But he
appeared to be serious enough.

"In these matters," remarked Brasher, as though he were giving utterance
to a new and important truth, "there is a scientific and nonscientific
method of inquiry. The scientific method is to begin at the beginning. May
I ask how this pipe came into your possession?"

Tress paused before he answered.

"You may ask." He paused again. "Oh, you certainly may ask. But it doesn't
follow that I shall tell you."

"Surely your object, like ours, can be but the Spreading About of the
Truth?"

"I don't see it at all. It is possible to imagine a case in which the
spreading about of the truth might make me look a little awkward."

"Indeed!" Brasher pursed up his lips. "Your words would almost lead one to
suppose that there was something about your method of acquiring the pipe
which you have good and weighty reasons for concealing."

"I don't know why I should conceal the thing from you. I don't suppose
either of you is any better than I am. I don't mind telling you how I got
the pipe. I stole it."

"Stole it!"

Brasher seemed both amazed and shocked. But I, who had previous experience
of Tress's methods of adding to his collection, was not at all surprised.
Some of the pipes which he calls his, if only the whole truth about them
were publicly known, would send him to jail.

"That's nothing!" he continued. "All collectors steal! The eighth
commandment was not intended to apply to them. Why, Pugh there has
'conveyed' three fourths of the pipes which he flatters himself are his."

I was so dumfoundered by the charge that it took my breath away. I sat in
astounded silence. Tress went raving on:

"I was so shy of this particular pipe when I had obtained it, that I put
it away for quite three months. When I took it out to have a look at it
something about the thing so tickled me that I resolved to smoke it. Owing
to peculiar circumstances attending the manner in which the thing came
into my possession, and on which I need not dwell--you don't like to dwell
on those sort of things, do you, Pugh?--I knew really nothing about the
pipe. As was the case with Pugh, one peculiarity I learned from actual
experience. It was also from actual experience that I learned that the
thing was--well, I said haunted, but you may use any other word you like."

"Tell us, as briefly as possible, what it was you really did discover."

"Take the pipe out of the box!" Brasher took the pipe out of the box and
held it in his hand. "You see that creature on it. Well, when I first had
it it was underneath the pipe."

"How do you mean that it was underneath the pipe?"

"It was bunched together underneath the stem, just at the end of the
mouthpiece, in the same way in which a fly might be suspended from the
ceiling. When I began to smoke the pipe I saw the creature move."

"But I thought that unconsciousness immediately followed."

"It did follow, but not before I saw that the thing was moving. It was
because I thought that I had been, in a way, a victim of delirium that I
tried the second smoke. Suspecting that the thing was drugged I swallowed
what I believed would prove a powerful antidote. It enabled me to resist
the influence of the narcotic much longer than before, and while I still
retained my senses I saw the creature crawl along under the stem and over
the bowl. It was that sight, I believe, as much as anything else, which
sent me silly. When I came to I then and there decided to present the pipe
to Pugh. There is one more thing I would remark. When the pipe left me the
creature's legs were twined about the bowl. Now they are withdrawn.
Possibly you, Pugh, are able to cap my story with a little one which is
all your own."

"I certainly did imagine that I saw the creature move. But I supposed that
while I was under the influence of the drug imagination had played me a
trick."

"Not a bit of it! Depend upon it, the beast is bewitched. Even to my eye
it looks as though it were, and to a trained eye like yours, Pugh! You've
been looking for the devil a long time, and you've got him at last."

"I--I wish you wouldn't make those remarks, Tress. They jar on me."

"I confess," interpolated Brasher--I noticed that he had put the pipe down
on the table as though he were tired of holding it--"that, to _my_
thinking, such remarks are not appropriate. At the same time what you have
told us is, I am bound to allow, a little curious. But of course what I
require is ocular demonstration. I haven't seen the movement myself."

"No, but you very soon will do if you care to have a pull at the pipe on
your own account. Do, Brasher, to oblige me! There's a dear!"

"It appears, then, that the movement is only observable when the pipe is
smoked. We have at least arrived at step No. 1."

"Here's a match, Brasher! Light up, and we shall have arrived at step No.
2."

Tress lit a match and held it out to Brasher. Brasher retreated from its
neighborhood.

"Thank you, Mr. Tress, I am no smoker, as you are aware. And I have no
desire to acquire the art of smoking by means of a poisoned pipe."

Tress laughed. He blew out the match and threw it into the grate.

"Then I tell you what I'll do--I'll have up Bob."

"Bob--why Bob?"

"Bob"--whose real name was Robert Haines, though I should think he must
have forgotten the fact, so seldom was he addressed by it--was Tress's
servant. He had been an old soldier, and had accompanied his master when
he left the service. He was as depraved a character as Tress himself. I am
not sure even that he was not worse than his master. I shall never forget
how he once behaved toward myself. He actually had the assurance to accuse
me of attempting to steal the Wardour Street relic which Tress fondly
deludes himself was once the property of Sir Walter Raleigh. The truth is
that I had slipped it with my handkerchief into my pocket in a fit of
absence of mind. A man who could accuse _me_ of such a thing would be
guilty of anything. I was therefore quite at one with Brasher when he
asked what Bob could possibly be wanted for. Tress explained.

"I'll get him to smoke the pipe," he said.

Brasher and I exchanged glances, but we refrained from speech.

"It won't do him any harm," said Tress.

"What--not a poisoned pipe?" asked Brasher.

"It's not poisoned--it's only drugged."

"_Only_ drugged!"

"Nothing hurts Bob. He is like an ostrich. He has digestive organs which
are peculiarly his own. It will only serve him as it served me--and
Pugh--it will knock him over. It is all done in the Pursuit of Truth and
for the Advancement of Inquiry."

I could see that Brasher did not altogether like the tone in which Tress
repeated his words. As for me, it was not to be supposed that I should put
myself out in a matter which in no way concerned me. If Tress chose to
poison the man, it was his affair, not mine. He went to the door and
shouted:

"Bob! Come here, you scoundrel!"

That is the way in which he speaks to him. No really decent servant would
stand it. I shouldn't care to address Nalder, my servant, in such a way.
He would give me notice on the spot. Bob came in. He is a great hulking
fellow who is always on the grin. Tress had a decanter of brandy in his
hand. He filled a tumbler with the neat spirit.

"Bob, what would you say to a glassful of brandy--the real thing--my boy?"

"Thank you, sir."

"And what would you say to a pull at a pipe when the brandy is drunk!"

"A pipe?" The fellow is sharp enough when he likes. I saw him look at the
pipe upon the table, and then at us, and then a gleam of intelligence came
into his eyes. "I'd do it for a dollar, sir."

"A dollar, you thief?"

"I meant ten shillings, sir."

"Ten shillings, you brazen vagabond?"

"I should have said a pound."

"A pound! Was ever the like of that! Do I understand you to ask a pound
for taking a pull at your master's pipe?"

"I'm thinking that I'll have to make it two."

"The deuce you are! Here, Pugh, lend me a pound."

"I'm afraid I've left my purse behind."

"Then lend me ten shillings--Ananias!"

"I doubt if I have more than five."

"Then give me the five. And, Brasher, lend me the other fifteen."

Brasher lent him the fifteen. I doubt if we shall either of us ever see
our money again. He handed the pound to Bob.

"Here's the brandy--drink it up!" Bob drank it without a word, draining
the glass of every drop. "And here's the pipe."

"Is it poisoned, sir?"

"Poisoned, you villain! What do you mean?"

"It isn't the first time I've seen your tricks, sir--is it now? And you're
not the one to give a pound for nothing at all. If it kills me you'll send
my body to my mother--she'd like to know that I was dead."

"Send your body to your grandmother! You idiot, sit down and smoke!"

Bob sat down. Tress had filled the pipe, and handed it, with a lighted
match, to Bob. The fellow declined the match. He handled the pipe very
gingerly, turning it over and over, eying it with all his eyes.

"Thank you, sir--I'll light up myself if it's the same to you. I carry
matches of my own. It's a beautiful pipe, entirely. I never see the like
of it for ugliness. And what's the slimy-looking varmint that looks as
though it would like to have my life? Is it living, or is it dead?"

"Come, we don't want to sit here all day, my man!"

"Well, sir, the look of this here pipe has quite upset my stomach. I'd
like another drop of liquor, if it's the same to you."

"Another drop! Why, you've had a tumblerful already! Here's another
tumblerful to put on top of that. You won't want the pipe to kill
you--you'll be killed before you get to it."

"And isn't it better to die a natural death?"

Bob emptied the second tumbler of brandy as though it were water. I
believe he would empty a hogshead without turning a hair! Then he gave
another look at the pipe. Then, taking a match from his waistcoat pocket,
he drew a long breath, as though he were resigning himself to fate.
Striking the match on the seat of his trousers, while, shaded by his hand,
the flame was gathering strength, he looked at each of us in turn. When he
looked at Tress I distinctly saw him wink his eye. What my feelings would
have been if a servant of mine had winked his eye at me I am unable to
imagine! The match was applied to the tobacco, a puff of smoke came
through his lips--the pipe was alight!

During this process of lighting the pipe we had sat--I do not wish to use
exaggerated language, but we had sat and watched that alcoholic scamp's
proceedings as though we were witnessing an action which would leave its
mark upon the age. When we saw the pipe was lighted we gave a simultaneous
start. Brasher put his hands under his coat tails and gave a kind of hop.
I raised myself a good six inches from my chair, and Tress rubbed his
palms together with a chuckle. Bob alone was calm.

"Now," cried Tress, "you'll see the devil moving."

Bob took the pipe from between his lips.

"See what?" he said.

"Bob, you rascal, put that pipe back into your mouth, and smoke it for
your life!"

Bob was eying the pipe askance.

"I dare say, but what I want to know is whether this here varmint's dead
or whether he isn't. I don't want to have him flying at my nose--and he
looks vicious enough for anything."

"Give me back that pound, you thief, and get out of my house, and bundle."

"I ain't going to give you back no pound."

"Then smoke that pipe!"

"I am smoking it, ain't I?"

With the utmost deliberation Bob returned the pipe to his mouth. He
emitted another whiff or two of smoke.

"Now--now!" cried Tress, all excitement, and wagging his hand in the air.

We gathered round. As we did so Bob again withdrew the pipe.

"What is the meaning of all this here? I ain't going to have you playing
none of your larks on me. I know there's something up, but I ain't going
to throw my life away for twenty shillings--not quite I ain't."

Tress, whose temper is not at any time one of the best, was seized with
quite a spasm of rage.

"As I live, my lad, if you try to cheat me by taking that pipe from
between your lips until I tell you, you leave this room that instant,
never again to be a servant of mine."

I presume the fellow knew from long experience when his master meant what
he said, and when he didn't. Without an attempt at remonstrance he
replaced the pipe. He continued stolidly to puff away. Tress caught me by
the arm.

"What did I tell you? There--there! That tentacle is moving."

The uplifted tentacle _was_ moving. It was doing what I had seen it do, as
I supposed, in my distorted imagination--it was reaching forward.
Undoubtedly Bob saw what it was doing; but, whether in obedience to his
master's commands, or whether because the drug was already beginning to
take effect, he made no movement to withdraw the pipe. He watched the
slowly advancing tentacle, coming closer and closer toward his nose, with
an expression of such intense horror on his countenance that it became
quite shocking. Farther and farther the creature reached forward, until on
a sudden, with a sort of jerk, the movement assumed a downward direction,
and the tentacle was slowly lowered until the tip rested on the stem of
the pipe. For a moment the creature remained motionless. I was quieting my
nerves with the reflection that this thing was but some trick of the
carver's art, and that what we had seen we had seen in a sort of
nightmare, when the whole hideous reptile was seized with what seemed to
be a fit of convulsive shuddering. It seemed to be in agony. It trembled
so violently that I expected to see it loosen its hold of the stem and
fall to the ground. I was sufficiently master of myself to steal a glance
at Bob. We had had an inkling of what might happen. He was wholly
unprepared. As he saw that dreadful, human-looking creature, coming to
life, as it seemed, within an inch or two of his nose, his eyes dilated to
twice their usual size. I hoped, for his sake, that unconsciousness would
supervene, through the action of the drug, before through sheer fright
his senses left him. Perhaps mechanically he puffed steadily on.

The creature's shuddering became more violent. It appeared to swell before
our eyes. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the shuddering ceased. There
was another instant of quiescence. Then the creature began to crawl along
the stem of the pipe! It moved with marvelous caution, the merest fraction
of an inch at a time. But still it moved! Our eyes were riveted on it with
a fascination which was absolutely nauseous. I am unpleasantly affected
even as I think of it now. My dreams of the night before had been nothing
to this.

Slowly, slowly, it went, nearer and nearer to the smoker's nose. Its mode
of progression was in the highest degree unsightly. It glided, never, so
far as I could see, removing its tentacles from the stem of the pipe. It
slipped its hindmost feelers onward until they came up to those which were
in advance. Then, in their turn, it advanced those which were in front. It
seemed, too, to move with the utmost labor, shuddering as though it were
in pain.

We were all, for our parts, speechless. I was momentarily hoping that the
drug would take effect on Bob. Either his constitution enabled him to
offer a strong resistance to narcotics, or else the large quantity of neat
spirit which he had drunk acted--as Tress had malevolently intended that
it should--as an antidote. It seemed to me that he would _never_ succumb.
On went the creature--on, and on, in its infinitesimal progression. I was
spellbound. I would have given the world to scream, to have been able to
utter a sound. I could do nothing else but watch.

The creature had reached the end of the stem. It had gained the amber
mouthpiece. It was within an inch of the smoker's nose. Still on it went.
It seemed to move with greater freedom on the amber. It increased its rate
of progress. It was actually touching the foremost feature on the smoker's
countenance. I expected to see it grip the wretched Bob, when it began to
oscillate from side to side. Its oscillations increased in violence. It
fell to the floor. That same instant the narcotic prevailed. Bob slipped
sideways from the chair, the pipe still held tightly between his rigid
jaws.

We were silent. There lay Bob. Close beside him lay the creature. A few
more inches to the left, and he would have fallen on and squashed it flat.
It had fallen on its back. Its feelers were extended upward. They were
writhing and twisting and turning in the air.

Tress was the first to speak.

"I think a little brandy won't be amiss." Emptying the remainder of the
brandy into a glass, he swallowed it at a draught. "Now for a closer
examination of our friend." Taking a pair of tongs from the grate he
nipped the creature between them. He deposited it upon the table. "I
rather fancy that this is a case for dissection."

He took a penknife from his waistcoat pocket. Opening the large blade, he
thrust its point into the object on the table. Little or no resistance
seemed to be offered to the passage of the blade, but as it was inserted
the tentacula simultaneously began to writhe and twist. Tress withdrew the
knife.

"I thought so!" He held the blade out for our inspection. The point was
covered with some viscid-looking matter. "That's blood! The thing's
alive!"

"Alive!"

"Alive! That's the secret of the whole performance!"

"But--"

"But me no buts, my Pugh! The mystery's exploded! One more ghost is lost
to the world! The person from whom I _obtained_ that pipe was an Indian
juggler--up to many tricks of the trade. He, or some one for him, got hold
of this sweet thing in reptiles--and a sweeter thing would, I imagine, be
hard to find--and covered it with some preparation of, possibly, gum
arabic. He allowed this to harden. Then he stuck the thing--still living,
for those sort of gentry are hard to kill--to the pipe. The consequence
was that when anyone lit up, the warmth was communicated to the adhesive
agent--again some preparation of gum, no doubt--it moistened it, and the
creature, with infinite difficulty, was able to move. But I am open to lay
odds with any gentleman of sporting tastes that _this_ time the creature's
traveling days _are_ done. It has given me rather a larger taste of the
horrors than is good for my digestion."

With the aid of the tongs he removed the creature from the table. He
placed it on the hearth. Before Brasher or I had a notion of what it was
he intended to do he covered it with a heavy marble paper weight. Then he
stood upon the weight, and between the marble and the hearth he ground the
creature flat.

While the execution was still proceeding, Bob sat up upon the floor.

"Hollo!" he asked, "what's happened?"

"We've emptied the bottle, Bob," said Tress. "But there's another where
that came from. Perhaps you could drink another tumblerful, my boy?"

Bob drank it!


FOOTNOTE

    "Those gentry are hard to kill." Here is fact, not fantasy.
    Lizard yarns no less sensational than this Mystery Story can be
    found between the covers of solemn, zoological textbooks.

    Reptiles, indeed, are far from finicky in the matters of air,
    space, and especially warmth. Frogs and other such
    sluggish-blooded creatures have lived after being frozen fast in
    ice. Their blood is little warmer than air or water, enjoying no
    extra casing of fur or feathers.

    Air and food seem held in light esteem by lizards. Their blood
    need not be highly oxygenated; it nourishes just as well when
    impure. In temperate climes lizards lie torpid and buried all
    winter; some species of the tropic deserts sleep peacefully all
    summer. Their anatomy includes no means for the continuous
    introduction and expulsion of air; reptilian lungs are little
    more than closed sacs, without cell structure.

    If any further zoological fact were needed to verify the
    dГ©nouement of "The Pipe," it might be the general statement that
    lizards are abnormal brutes anyhow. Consider the chameleons of
    unsettled hue. And what is one to think of an animal which, when
    captured by the tail, is able to make its escape by willfully
    shuffling off that appendage?--EDITOR.




The Puzzle


I

Pugh came into my room holding something wrapped in a piece of brown
paper.

"Tress, I have brought you something on which you may exercise your
ingenuity." He began, with exasperating deliberation, to untie the string
which bound his parcel; he is one of those persons who would not cut a
knot to save their lives. The process occupied him the better part of a
quarter of an hour. Then he held out the contents of the paper.

"What do you think of that?" he asked. I thought nothing of it, and I told
him so. "I was prepared for that confession. I have noticed, Tress, that
you generally do think nothing of an article which really deserves the
attention of a truly thoughtful mind. Possibly, as you think so little of
it, you will be able to solve the puzzle."

I took what he held out to me. It was an oblong box, perhaps seven inches
long by three inches broad.

"Where's the puzzle?" I asked.

"If you will examine the lid of the box, you will see."

I turned it over and over; it was difficult to see which was the lid. Then
I perceived that on one side were printed these words:

    "PUZZLE: TO OPEN THE BOX"

The words were so faintly printed that it was not surprising that I had
not noticed them at first. Pugh explained.

"I observed that box on a tray outside a second-hand furniture shop. It
struck my eye. I took it up. I examined it. I inquired of the proprietor
of the shop in what the puzzle lay. He replied that that was more than he
could tell me. He himself had made several attempts to open the box, and
all of them had failed. I purchased it. I took it home. I have tried, and
I have failed. I am aware, Tress, of how you pride yourself upon your
ingenuity. I cannot doubt that, if you try, you will not fail."

While Pugh was prosing, I was examining the box. It was at least well
made. It weighed certainly under two ounces. I struck it with my knuckles;
it sounded hollow. There was no hinge; nothing of any kind to show that it
ever had been opened, or, for the matter of that, that it ever could be
opened. The more I examined the thing, the more it whetted my curiosity.
That it could be opened, and in some ingenious manner, I made no
doubt--but how?

The box was not a new one. At a rough guess I should say that it had been
a box for a good half century; there were certain signs of age about it
which could not escape a practiced eye. Had it remained unopened all that
time? When opened, what would be found inside? It _sounded_ hollow;
probably nothing at all--who could tell?

It was formed of small pieces of inlaid wood. Several woods had been used;
some of them were strange to me. They were of different colors; it was
pretty obvious that they must all of them have been hard woods. The pieces
were of various shapes--hexagonal, octagonal, triangular, square, oblong,
and even circular. The process of inlaying them had been beautifully done.
So nicely had the parts been joined that the lines of meeting were
difficult to discover with the naked eye; they had been joined solid, so
to speak. It was an excellent example of marquetry. I had been over-hasty
in my deprecation; I owed as much to Pugh.

"This box of yours is better worth looking at than I first supposed. Is it
to be sold?"

"No, it is not to be sold. Nor"--he "fixed" me with his spectacles--"is it
to be given away. I have brought it to you for the simple purpose of
ascertaining if you have ingenuity enough to open it."

"I will engage to open it in two seconds--with a hammer."

"I dare say. _I_ will open it with a hammer. The thing is to open it
without."

"Let me see." I began, with the aid of a microscope, to examine the box
more closely. "I will give you one piece of information, Pugh. Unless I am
mistaken, the secret lies in one of these little pieces of inlaid wood.
You push it, or you press it, or something, and the whole affair flies
open."

"Such was my own first conviction. I am not so sure of it now. I have
pressed every separate piece of wood; I have tried to move each piece in
every direction. No result has followed. My theory was a hidden spring."

"But there must be a hidden spring of some sort, unless you are to open it
by a mere exercise of force. I suppose the box is empty."

"I thought it was at first, but now I am not so sure of that either. It
all depends on the position in which you hold it. Hold it in this
position--like this--close to your ear. Have you a small hammer?" I took a
small hammer. "Tap it softly, with the hammer. Don't you notice a sort of
reverberation within?"

Pugh was right, there certainly was something within; something which
seemed to echo back my tapping, almost as if it were a living thing. I
mentioned this to Pugh.

"But you don't think that there is something alive inside the box? There
can't be. The box must be air-tight, probably as much air-tight as an
exhausted receiver."

"How do we know that? How can we tell that no minute interstices have been
left for the express purpose of ventilation?" I continued tapping with the
hammer. I noticed one peculiarity, that it was only when I held the box in
a particular position, and tapped at a certain spot, there came the
answering taps from within. "I tell you what it is, Pugh, what I hear is
the reverberation of some machinery."

"Do you think so?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Give the box to me." Pugh put the box to his ear. He tapped. "It sounds
to me like the echoing tick, tick of some great beetle; like the sort of
noise which a deathwatch makes, you know."

Trust Pugh to find a remarkable explanation for a simple fact; if the
explanation leans toward the supernatural, so much the more satisfactory
to Pugh. I knew better.

"The sound which you hear is merely the throbbing or the trembling of the
mechanism with which it is intended that the box should be opened. The
mechanism is placed just where you are tapping it with the hammer. Every
tap causes it to jar."

"It sounds to me like the ticking of a deathwatch. However, on such
subjects, Tress, I know what you are."

"My dear Pugh, give it an extra hard tap, and you will see."

He gave it an extra hard tap. The moment he had done so, he started.

"I've done it now."

"What have you done?"

"Broken something, I fancy." He listened intently, with his ear to the
box. "No--it seems all right. And yet I could have sworn I had damaged
something; I heard it smash."