The Lust of Hate - Guy Newell Boothby (english love story books txt) 📗
- Author: Guy Newell Boothby
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“And why? Considering that I know China better than you know that
part of London situated, shall we say, between Blackfriars Bridge and
Charing Cross, and have spent many years of my life here, the first
should not astonish you. And as I am warmly attached to my cat, who
has accompanied me in all my wanderings about the globe, I cannot see
that you should be surprised at the other. Perhaps you would like to
see both?”
As may be supposed, I jumped eagerly at the opportunity; and upon
my saying so, Nikola pressed a knob in the wall at his side. He had
hardly taken his finger away before my ear detected the shuffling of
feet in the passage outside. Next moment the door opened, and in
walked the most hideous man I have ever yet beheld in my life. In
Australia I had met many queer specimens of the Chinese race, but
never one whose countenance approached in repulsiveness that of the
man Nikola employed as his servant. In stature he was taller than his
master, possibly a couple or three inches above six feet, and broad
in proportion. His eyes squinted inwardly, his face was wrinkled and
seamed in every direction, his nose had plainly been slit at some
time or another, and I noticed that his left ear was missing from his
head. He was dressed in his native costume, but when he turned round
I noticed that his pigtail had been shorn off at the roots.
“You are evidently puzzled about something,” said Nikola, who had
been watching my face.
“I must confess I am,” I answered. “It is this. If he is deaf and
dumb, as you say, how did he hear the bell you rang, and also how do
you communicate your orders to him?”
“This knob,” replied Nikola, placing his finger on the bell-push,
“releases a smaller shutter and reveals a disc that signifies that I
desire his services. When I wish to give him instructions I speak to
him in his own language, and he answers it. It is very simple.”
“But you said just now that he is deaf and dumb,” I cried,
thinking I had caught him in an equivocation. “If so, how can he hear
or speak?”
“So he is,” replied my host, looking at me as he spoke, with an
amused smile upon his face. “Quite deaf and dumb.”
“Then how can you make him hear. And how does he reply?”
“As I say, by word of mouth. Allow me to explain. You argue that
because the poor fellow has no tongue wherewith to speak, and his
ears are incapable of hearing what you say to him, that it is
impossible for him to carry on a conversation. So far as your meaning
goes, you are right. But you must remember that, while no sound can
come from his lips, it is still possible for the words to be framed.
In that case our eyes take the place of our ears, and thus the
difficulty is solved. The principle is a simple one, and a visit to
any modern deaf and dumb school in London will show you its efficacy.
Surely you are not going to ask me to believe you have not heard of
the system before?”
“Of course I have heard of it,” I answered, “but in this case the
circumstances are so different.”
“Simply because the man is a Chinaman—that is all. If his skin
were white instead of yellow, and he wore English dress and parted
his hair in the middle, you would find nothing extraordinary in it.
At any rate, perpetual silence on the part of a servant and physical
inability to tittle-tattle of the affairs one would wish kept a
secret, is a luxury few men can boast.”
“I agree with you; but how did the poor fellow come to lose his
faculties?”
“To let you into that secret would necessitate the narration of a
long and, I fear to you, uninteresting story. Suffice that he was the
confidential servant of the Viceroy of Kweichow until he was detected
in an amiable plot to assassinate his master with poisoned rice. He
was at once condemned to die by ling-chi or the death of a
thousand cuts, but by the exercise of a little influence which,
fortunately for him, I was able to bring to bear, I managed to get
him off.”
“I wonder you care to have a man capable of concocting such a plot
about you,” I said.
“And why? Because the poor devil desired to kill the man he hated,
is it certain that he should wish to terminate the existence of his
benefactor, for whom he has a great affection? Moreover, he is a
really good cook, understands my likes and dislikes, never grumbles,
and is quite conscious that if he left me he would never get another
situation in the world. In the nineteenth century, when good servants
are so difficult to procure, the man is worth a gold mine—a Wheel
of Fortune, if you like.”
“You would argue, then,” I said, disregarding the latter part of
his speech, “that if a man hates another he is justified in
endeavouring to rid the world of him?”
“Necessarily it must depend entirely on the circumstances of the
case,” replied Nikola, leaning back in his chair and stedfastly
regarding me. “When a man attempts to do, or succeeds in doing, me an
injury, I invariably repay him in his own coin. Presume, for
instance, that a man were to rob you of what you loved best, and
considered most worth having, in the world—the affection of your
wife, shall we say?—in that case, if you were a man of spirit you
would feel justified in meting out to him the punishment he deserved,
either in the shape of a duel, or severe personal chastisement. If he
shot at you in any country but England, you would shoot at him. Eye
for eye, and tooth for tooth, was the old Hebrew law, and whatever
may be said against it, fundamentally it was a just one.”
I thought of Bartrand, and wished I could apply the principle to
him.
“I fear, however,” continued Nikola, after a moment’s pause, “that
in personal matters the men of the present day are not so brave as
they once were. They shelter themselves too much behind the law of
the land. A man slanders you; instead of thrashing him you bring an
action against him for libel, and claim damages in money. A man runs
away with your wife; you proclaim your shame in open court, and take
gold from your enemy for the affront he has put upon your honour. If
a man thrashes you in a public place, you don’t strike him back; on
the contrary, you consult your solicitor, and take your case before a
magistrate, who binds him over to keep the peace. If, after all is
said and done, you look closely into the matter, what is crime? A
very pliable term, I fancy. For instance, a duke may commit an
offence, and escape scot free, when, for the same thing, only under a
different name, a costermonger would be sent to gaol for five years.
And vice versa. A subaltern in a crack regiment may run up
tailors’ bills—or any others, for that matter—for several thousands
of pounds and decamp without paying a halfpenny of the money, never
having intended to do so from the very beginning, while if a chimney
sweep were to purloin a bunch of radishes from a tray outside a
greengrocer’s window, he would probably be sent to gaol for three
months. And yet both are stealing, though I must confess society
regards them with very different eyes. Let clergymen and other
righteous men say what they will, the world in its heart rather
admires the man who has the pluck to swindle, but he must do so on a
big scale, and he must do so successfully, or he must pay the penalty
of failure. Your own case, with which, as I said earlier, I am quite
familiar, is one in point. Everyone who has heard of it, and who
knows anything of the man, feels certain that Bartrand stole from you
the information which has made him the millionaire he is. But does it
make any difference in the world’s treatment of him? None whatever.
And why? Because he swindled successfully. In the same way they
regard you as a very poor sort of fellow for submitting to his
injustice.”
“Curse him!”
“Exactly. But, you see, the fact remains. Bartrand has a house in
Park Lane and a castle in Shropshire. The Duke of Glendower dined
with him the night before last, and one of the members of the Cabinet
will do so on Saturday next. Yesterday he purchased a racing stable
and a stud, for which he paid twenty thousand pounds cash; while I am
told that next year he intends building a yacht that shall be the
finest craft of her class in British waters. It is settled that he is
to be presented at the next levee, and already he is in the first
swim of the fashionable world. If he can only win the Derby this
year, there is nothing he might not aspire to. In ten years, if his
money lasts and he is still alive, he will be a peer of the realm and
founding a new family.”
“He must not live as long. Oh, if I could only meet him
face to face and repay him for his treachery!”
“And why not? What is there to prevent you? You can walk to his
house any morning and ask to see him. If you give the butler a
fictitious name and a tip he will admit you. Then, when you get into
the library, you can state your grievance and, having done so, shoot
him dead.”
I uttered a little involuntary cry of anger. Deeply as I hated the
man, it was not possible for me seriously to contemplate murdering
him in cold blood. Besides—no, no; such a scheme could not be
thought of for a moment.
“You don’t like the idea?” said Nikola, with that easy
nonchalance which characterised him. “Well, I don’t wonder at
it; it’s bizarre, to say the least of it. You would probably
be caught and hanged, and hanging is an inartistic termination to the
career of even an unsuccessful man. Besides, in that case, you
would have lost your money and your life; he only his life, so that
the balance would still be in his favour. No; what you want is
something a little more subtle, a little more artistic. You want a
scheme that will enable you to put him out of the way, and, at the
same time, one that will place you in possession of the money that is
really yours. Therefore it must be done without any esclandre.
Now I don’t doubt you would be surprised if I were to tell you that
in the event of his death you would find yourself his sole heir.”
“His sole heir?” I cried. “You must be mad to say such a
thing.”
“With due respect, no more mad than you are,” said this
extraordinary man. I have seen the will for myself—never mind how I
managed it—and I know that what I say is correct. After all, it is
very feasible. The man, for the reason that he has wronged you, hates
you like poison, and while he lives you may be sure you will never
see a penny of his fortune. But he is also superstitious, and
believing, as he does, that he stands a chance
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