Chapter Chapter 21 · GREEN LIGHT

s which were seen in the room, and especially in the well-hole. Any

unprejudiced person would accept the green lights to be the eyes of a

great snake, such as tradition pointed to living in the well-hole. In

fine, therefore, Lady Arabella wanted the general belief to be that there

was no snake of the kind in Diana's Grove. For my own part, I don't

believe in a partial liar--this art does not deal in veneer; a liar is a

liar right through. Self-interest may prompt falsity of the tongue; but

if one prove to be a liar, nothing that he says can ever be believed.

This leads us to the conclusion that because she said or inferred that

there was no snake, we should look for one--and expect to find it, too.

"Now let me digress. I live, and have for many years lived, in

Derbyshire, a county more celebrated for its caves than any other county

in England. I have been through them all, and am familiar with every

turn of them; as also with other great caves in Kentucky, in France, in

Germany, and a host of other places--in many of these are tremendously

deep caves of narrow aperture, which are valued by intrepid explorers,

who descend narrow gullets of abysmal depth--and sometimes never return.

In many of the caverns in the Peak I am convinced that some of the

smaller passages were used in primeval times as the lairs of some of the

great serpents of legend and tradition. It may have been that such

caverns were formed in the usual geologic way--bubbles or flaws in the

earth's crust--which were later used by the monsters of the period of the

young world. It may have been, of course, that some of them were worn

originally by water; but in time they all found a use when suitable for

living monsters.

"This brings us to another point, more difficult to accept and understand

than any other requiring belief in a base not usually accepted, or indeed

entered on--whether such abnormal growths could have ever changed in

their nature. Some day the study of metabolism may progress so far as to

enable us to accept structural changes proceeding from an intellectual or

moral base. We may lean towards a belief that great animal strength may

be a sound base for changes of all sorts. If this be so, what could be a

more fitting subject than primeval monsters whose strength was such as to

allow a survival of thousands of years? We do not know yet if brain can

increase and develop independently of other parts of the living

structure.

"After all, the mediaeval belief in the Philosopher's Stone which could

transmute metals, has its counterpart in the accepted theory of

metabolism which changes living tissue. In an age of investigation like

our own, when we are returning to science as the base of wonders--almost

of miracles--we should be slow to refuse to accept facts, however

impossible they may seem to be.

"Let us suppose a monster of the early days of the world--a dragon of the

prime--of vast age running into thousands of years, to whom had been

conveyed in some way--it matters not--a brain just sufficient for the

beginning of growth. Suppose the monster to be of incalculable size and

of a strength quite abnormal--a veritable incarnation of animal strength.

Suppose this animal is allowed to remain in one place, thus being removed

from accidents of interrupted development; might not, would not this

creature, in process of time--ages, if necessary--have that rudimentary

intelligence developed? There is no impossibility in this; it is only

the natural process of evolution. In the beginning, the instincts of

animals are confined to alimentation, self-protection, and the

multiplication of their species. As time goes on and the needs of life

become more complex, power follows need. We have been long accustomed to

consider growth as applied almost exclusively to size in its various

aspects. But Nature, who has no doctrinaire ideas, may equally apply it

to concentration. A developing thing may expand in any given way or

form. Now, it is a scientific law that increase implies gain and loss of

various kinds; what a thing gains in one direction it may lose in

another. May it not be that Mother Nature may deliberately encourage

decrease as well as increase--that it may be an axiom that what is gained

in concentration is lost in size? Take, for instance, monsters that

tradition has accepted and localised, such as the Worm of Lambton or that

of Spindleston Heugh. If such a creature were, by its own process of

metabolism, to change much of its bulk for intellectual growth, we should

at once arrive at a new class of creature--more dangerous, perhaps, than

the world has ever had any experience of--a force which can think, which

has no soul and no morals, and therefore no acceptance of responsibility.

A snake would be a good illustration of this, for it is cold-blooded, and

therefore removed from the temptations which often weaken or restrict

warm-blooded creatures. If, for instance, the Worm of Lambton--if such

ever existed--were guided to its own ends by an organised intelligence

capable of expansion, what form of creature could we imagine which would

equal it in potentialities of evil? Why, such a being would devastate a

whole country. Now, all these things require much thought, and we want

to apply the knowledge usefully, and we should therefore be exact. Would

it not be well to resume the subject later in the day?"

"I quite agree, sir. I am in a whirl already; and want to attend

carefully to what you say; so that I may try to digest it."

Both men seemed fresher and better for the "easy," and when they met in

the afternoon each of them had something to contribute to the general

stock of information. Adam, who was by nature of a more militant

disposition than his elderly friend, was glad to see that the conference

at once assumed a practical trend. Sir Nathaniel recognised this, and,

like an old diplomatist, turned it to present use.

"Tell me now, Adam, what is the outcome, in your own mind, of our

conversation?"

"That the whole difficulty already assumes practical shape; but with

added dangers, that at first I did not imagine."

"What is the practical shape, and what are the added dangers? I am not

disputing, but only trying to clear my own ideas by the consideration of

yours--"

So Adam went on:

"In the past, in the early days of the world, there were monsters who

were so vast that they could exist for thousands of years. Some of them

must have overlapped the Christian era. They may have progressed

intellectually in process of time. If they had in any way so progressed,

or even got the most rudimentary form of brain, they would be the most

dangerous things that ever were in the world. Tradition says that one of

these monsters lived in the Marsh of the East, and came up to a cave in

Diana's Grove, which was also called the Lair of the White Worm. Such

creatures may have grown down as well as up. They _may_ have grown into,

or something like, human beings. Lady Arabella March is of snake nature.

She has committed crimes to our knowledge. She retains something of the

vast strength of her primal being--can see in the dark--has the eyes of a

snake. She used the nigger, and then dragged him through the snake's

hole down to the swamp; she is intent on evil, and hates some one we

love. Result . . . "

"Yes, the result?"

"First, that Mimi Watford should be taken away at once--then--"

"Yes?"

"The monster must be destroyed."

"Bravo! That is a true and fearless conclusion. At whatever cost, it

must be carried out."

"At once?"

"Soon, at all events. That creature's very existence is a danger. Her

presence in this neighbourhood makes the danger immediate."

As he spoke, Sir Nathaniel's mouth hardened and his eyebrows came down

till they met. There was no doubting his concurrence in the resolution,

or his readiness to help in carrying it out. But he was an elderly man

with much experience and knowledge of law and diplomacy. It seemed to

him to be a stern duty to prevent anything irrevocable taking place till

it had been thought out and all was ready. There were all sorts of legal

cruxes to be thought out, not only regarding the taking of life, even of

a monstrosity in human form, but also of property. Lady Arabella, be she

woman or snake or devil, owned the ground she moved in, according to

British law, and the law is jealous and swift to avenge wrongs done

within its ken. All such difficulties should be--must be--avoided for

Mr. Salton's sake, for Adam's own sake, and, most of all, for Mimi

Watford's sake.

Before he spoke again, Sir Nathaniel had made up his mind that he must

try to postpone decisive action until the circumstances on which they

depended--which, after all, were only problematical--should have been

tested satisfactorily, one way or another. When he did speak, Adam at

first thought that his friend was wavering in his intention, or "funking"

the responsibility. However, his respect for Sir Nathaniel was so great

that he would not act, or even come to a conclusion on a vital point,

without his sanction.

He came close and whispered in his ear:

"We will prepare our plans to combat and destroy this horrible menace,

after we have cleared up some of the more baffling points. Meanwhile, we

must wait for the night--I hear my uncle's footsteps echoing down the

hall."

Sir Nathaniel nodded his approval.

CHAPTER 21. GREEN LIGHT

When old Mr. Salton had retired for the night, Adam and Sir Nathaniel

returned to the study. Things went with great regularity at Lesser Hill,

so they knew that there would be no interruption to their talk.

When their cigars were lighted, Sir Nathaniel began.

"I hope, Adam, that you do not think me either slack or changeable of

purpose. I mean to go through this business to the bitter end--whatever

it may be. Be satisfied that my first care is, and shall be, the

protection of Mimi Watford. To that I am pledged; my dear boy, we who

are interested are all in the same danger. That semi-human monster out

of the pit hates and means to destroy us all--you and me certainly, and

probably your uncle. I wanted especially to talk with you to-night, for

I cannot help thinking that the time is fast coming--if it has not come

already--when we must take your uncle into our confidence. It was one

thing when fancied evils threatened, but now he is probably marked for

death, and it is only right that he should know all."

"I am with you, sir. Things have changed since we agreed to keep him out

of the trouble. Now we dare not; consideration for his feelings might

cost his life. It is a duty--and no light or pleasant one, either. I

have not a shadow of doubt that he will want to be one with us in this.

But remember, we are his guests; his name, his honour, have to be thought

of as well as his safety."

"All shall be as you wish, Adam. And now as to what we are to do? We

cannot murder Lady Arabella off-hand. Therefore we shall have to put

things in order for the killing, and in such a way that we cannot be

taxed with a crime."

"It seems to me, sir, that we are in an exceedingly tight place. Our

first difficulty is to know where to begin. I never thought this

fighting an antediluvian monster would be such a complicated job. This

one is a woman, with all a woman's wit, combined with the heartlessness

of a _cocotte_. She has the strength and impregnability of a diplodocus.

We may be sure that in the fight that is before us there will be no

semblance of fair-play. Also that our unscrupulous opponent will not

betray herself!"

"That is so--but being feminine, she will probably over-reach herself.

Now, Adam, it strikes me that, as we have to protect ourselves and others

against feminine nature, our strong game will be to play our masculine

against her feminine. Perhaps we had better sleep on it. She is a thing

of the night; and the night may give us some ideas."

So they both turned in.

Adam knocked at Sir Nathaniel's door in the grey of the morning, and, on

being bidden, came into the room. He had several letters in his hand.

Sir Nathaniel sat up in bed.

"Well!"

"I should like to read you a few letters, but, of course, I shall not

send them unless you approve. In fact"--with a smile and a blush--"there

are several things which I want to do; but I hold my hand and my tongue

till I have your approval."

"Go on!" said the other kindly. "Tell me all, and count at any rate on

my sympathy, and on my approval and help if I can see my way."

Accordingly Adam proceeded:

"When I told you the conclusions at which I had arrived, I put in the

foreground that Mimi Watford should, for the sake of her own safety, be

removed--and that the monster which had wrought all the harm should be

destroyed."

"Yes, that is so."

"To carry this into practice, sir, one preliminary is required--unless

harm of another kind is to be faced. Mimi should have some protector

whom all the world would recognise. The only form recognised by

convention is marriage!"

Sir Nathaniel smiled in a fatherly way.

"To marry, a husband is required. And that husband should be you."

"Yes, yes."

"And the marriage should be immediate and secret--or, at least, not

spoken of outside ourselves. Would the young lady be agreeable to that

proceeding?"

"I do not know, sir!"

"Then how are we to proceed?"

"I suppose that we--or one of us--must ask her."

"Is this a sudden idea, Adam, a sudden resolution?"

"A sudden resolution, sir, but not a sudden idea. If she agrees, all is

well and good. The sequence is obvious."

"And it is to be kept a secret amongst ourselves?"

"I want no secret, sir, except for Mimi's good. For myself, I should

like to shout it from the house-tops! But we must be discreet; untimely

knowledge to our enemy might work incalculable harm."

"And how would you suggest, Adam, that we could combine the momentous

question with secrecy?"

Adam grew red and moved uneasily.

"Someone must ask her--as soon as possible!"

"And that someone?"

"I thought that you, sir, would be so good!"

"God bless my soul! This is a new kind of duty to take on--at my time of

life. Adam, I hope you know that you can count on me to help in any way

I can!"

"I have already counted on you, sir, when I ventured to make such a

suggestion. I can only ask," he added, "that you will be more than ever

kind to me--to us--and look on the painful duty as a voluntary act of

grace, prompted by kindness and affection."

"Painful duty!"

"Yes," said Adam boldly. "Painful to you, though to me it would be all

joyful."

"It is a strange job for an early morning! Well, we all live and learn.

I suppose the sooner I go the better. You had better write a line for me

to take with me. For, you see, this is to be a somewhat unusual

transaction, and it may be embarrassing to the lady, even to myself. So

we ought to have some sort of warrant, something to show that we have

been mindful of her feelings. It will not do to take acquiescence for

granted--although we act for her good."

"Sir Nathaniel, you are a true friend; I am sure that both Mimi and I

shall be grateful to you for all our lives--however long they may be!"

So the two talked it over and agreed as to points to be borne in mind by

the ambassador. It was striking ten when Sir Nathaniel left the house,

Adam seeing him quietly off.

As the young man followed him with wistful eyes--almost jealous of the

privilege which his kind deed was about to bring him--he felt that his

own heart was in his friend's breast.

The memory of that morning was like a dream to all those concerned in it.

Sir Nathaniel had a confused recollection of detail and sequence, though

the main facts stood out in his memory boldly and clearly. Adam Salton's

recollection was of an illimitable wait, filled with anxiety, hope, and

chagrin, all dominated by a sense of the slow passage of time and

accompanied by vague fears. Mimi could not for a long time think at all,

or recollect anything, except that Adam loved her and was saving her from

a terrible danger. When she had time to think, later on, she wondered

when she had any ignorance of the fact that Adam loved her, and that she

loved him with all her heart. Everything, every recollection however

small, every feeling, seemed to fit into those elemental facts as though

they had all been moulded together. The main and crowning recollection

was her saying goodbye to Sir Nathaniel, and entrusting to him loving

messages, straight from her heart, to Adam Salton, and of his bearing

when--with an impulse which she could not check--she put her lips to his

and kissed him. Later, when she was alone and had time to think, it was

a passing grief to her that she would have to be silent, for a time, to

Lilla on the happy events of that strange mission.

She had, of course, agreed to keep all secret until Adam should give her

leave to speak.

The advice and assistance of Sir Nathaniel was a great help to Adam in

carrying out his idea of marrying Mimi Watford without publicity. He

went with him to London, and, with his influence, the young man obtained

the license of the Archbishop of Canterbury for a private marriage. Sir

Nathaniel then persuaded old Mr. Salton to allow his nephew to spend a

few weeks with him at Doom Tower, and it was here that Mimi became Adam's

wife. But that was only the first step in their plans; before going

further, however, Adam took his bride off to the Isle of Man. He wished

to place a stretch of sea between Mimi and the White Worm, while things

matured. On their return, Sir Nathaniel met them and drove them at once

to Doom, taking care to avoid any one that he knew on the journey.

Sir Nathaniel had taken care to have the doors and windows shut and

locked--all but the door used for their entry. The shutters were up and

the blinds down. Moreover, heavy curtains were drawn across the windows.

When Adam commented on this, Sir Nathaniel said in a whisper:

"Wait till we are alone, and I'll tell you why this is done; in the

meantime not a word or a sign. You will approve when we have had a talk

together."

They said no more on the subject till after dinner, when they were

ensconced in Sir Nathaniel's study, which was on the top storey. Doom

Tower was a lofty structure, situated on an eminence high up in the Peak.

The top commanded a wide prospect, ranging from the hills above the

Ribble to the near side of the Brow, which marked the northern bound of

ancient Mercia. It was of the early Norman period, less than a century

younger than Castra Regis. The windows of the study were barred and

locked, and heavy dark curtains closed them in. When this was done not a

gleam of light from the tower could be seen from outside.

When they were alone, Sir Nathaniel explained that he had taken his old

friend, Mr. Salton, into full confidence, and that in future all would

work together.

"It is important for you to be extremely careful. In spite of the fact

that our marriage was kept secret, as also your temporary absence, both

are known."

"How? To whom?"

"How, I know not; but I am beginning to have an idea."

"To her?" asked Adam, in momentary consternation.

Sir Nathaniel shivered perceptibly.

"The White Worm--yes!"

Adam noticed that from now on, his friend never spoke of Lady Arabella

otherwise, except when he wished to divert the suspicion of others.

Sir Nathaniel switched off the electric light, and when the room was

pitch dark, he came to Adam, took him by the hand, and led him to a seat

set in the southern window. Then he softly drew back a piece of the

curtain and motioned his companion to look out.

Adam did so, and immediately shrank back as though his eyes had opened on

pressing danger. His companion set his mind at rest by saying in a low

voice:

"It is all right; you may speak, but speak low. There is no danger

here--at present!"

Adam leaned forward, taking care, however, not to press his face against

the glass. What he saw would not under ordinary circumstances have

caused concern to anybody. With his special knowledge, it was

appalling--though the night was now so dark that in reality there was

little to be seen.

On the western side of the tower stood a grove of old trees, of forest

dimensions. They were not grouped closely, but stood a little apart from

each other, producing the effect of a row widely planted. Over the tops

of them was seen a green light, something like the danger signal at a

railway-crossing. It seemed at first quite still; but presently, when

Adam's eye became accustomed to it, he could see that it moved as if

trembling. This at once recalled to Adam's mind the light quivering

above the well-hole in the darkness of that inner room at Diana's Grove,

Oolanga's awful shriek, and the hideous black face, now grown grey with

terror, disappearing into the impenetrable gloom of the mysterious

orifice. Instinctively he laid his hand on his revolver, and stood up

ready to protect his wife. Then, seeing that nothing happened, and that

the light and all outside the tower remained the same, he softly pulled

the curtain over the window.

Sir Nathaniel switched on the light again, and in its comforting glow

they began to talk freely.