Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (401 page)

The back drawing-room, to which Somerset proceeded, had likewise undergone a change.  It was transformed to the exact appearance of a common lodging-house bedroom; a bed with green curtains occupied one corner; and the window was blocked by the regulation table and mirror.  The door of a small closet here attracted the young man’s attention; and striking a vesta, he opened it and entered.  On a table several wigs and beards were lying spread; about the walls hung an incongruous display of suits and overcoats; and conspicuous among the last the young man observed a large overall of the most costly sealskin.  In a flash his mind reverted to the advertisement in the
Standard
newspaper.  The great height of his lodger, the disproportionate breadth of his shoulders, and the strange particulars of his instalment, all pointed to the same conclusion.

The vesta had now burned to his fingers; and taking the coat upon his arm, Somerset hastily returned to the lighted drawing-room.  There, with a mixture of fear and admiration, he pored upon its goodly proportions and the regularity and softness of the pile.  The sight of a large pier-glass put another fancy in his head.  He donned the fur-coat; and standing before the mirror in an attitude suggestive of a Russian prince, he thrust his hands into the ample pockets.  There his fingers encountered a folded journal.  He drew it out, and recognised the type and paper of the
Standard
; and at the same instant, his eyes alighted on the offer of two hundred pounds.  Plainly then, his lodger, now no longer mysterious, had laid aside his coat on the very day of the appearance of the advertisement.

He was thus standing, the tell-tale coat upon his back, the incriminating paper in his hand, when the door opened and the tall lodger, with a firm but somewhat pallid face, stepped into the room and closed the door again behind him.  For some time, the two looked upon each other in perfect silence; then Mr. Jones moved forward to the table, took a seat, and still without once changing the direction of his eyes, addressed the young man.

‘You are right,’ he said.  ‘It is for me the blood money is offered.  And now what will you do?’

It was a question to which Somerset was far from being able to reply.  Taken as he was at unawares, masquerading in the man’s own coat, and surrounded by a whole arsenal of diabolical explosives, the keeper of the lodging-house was silenced.

‘Yes,’ resumed the other, ‘I am he.  I am that man, whom with impotent hate and fear, they still hunt from den to den, from disguise to disguise.  Yes, my landlord, you have it in your power, if you be poor, to lay the basis of your fortune; if you be unknown, to capture honour at one snatch.  You have hocussed an innocent widow; and I find you here in my apartment, for whose use I pay you in stamped money, searching my wardrobe, and your hand — shame, sir! — your hand in my very pocket.  You can now complete the cycle of your ignominious acts, by what will be at once the simplest, the safest, and the most remunerative.’  The speaker paused as if to emphasise his words; and then, with a great change of tone and manner, thus resumed: ‘And yet, sir, when I look upon your face, I feel certain that I cannot be deceived: certain that in spite of all, I have the honour and pleasure of speaking to a gentleman.  Take off my coat, sir — which but cumbers you.  Divest yourself of this confusion: that which is but thought upon, thank God, need be no burthen to the conscience; we have all harboured guilty thoughts: and if it flashed into your mind to sell my flesh and blood, my anguish in the dock, and the sweat of my death agony — it was a thought, dear sir, you were as incapable of acting on, as I of any further question of your honour.’  At these words, the speaker, with a very open, smiling countenance, like a forgiving father, offered Somerset his hand.

It was not in the young man’s nature to refuse forgiveness or dissect generosity.  He instantly, and almost without thought, accepted the proffered grasp.

‘And now,’ resumed the lodger, ‘now that I hold in mine your loyal hand, I lay by my apprehensions, I dismiss suspicion, I go further — by an effort of will, I banish the memory of what is past.  How you came here, I care not: enough that you are here — as my guest.  Sit ye down; and let us, with your good permission, improve acquaintance over a glass of excellent whisky.’

So speaking, he produced glasses and a bottle: and the pair pledged each other in silence.

‘Confess,’ observed the smiling host, ‘you were surprised at the appearance of the room.’

‘I was indeed,’ said Somerset; ‘nor can I imagine the purpose of these changes.’

‘These,’ replied the conspirator, ‘are the devices by which I continue to exist.  Conceive me now, accused before one of your unjust tribunals; conceive the various witnesses appearing, and the singular variety of their reports!  One will have visited me in this drawing-room as it originally stood; a second finds it as it is to-night; and to-morrow or next day, all may have been changed.  If you love romance (as artists do), few lives are more romantic than that of the obscure individual now addressing you.  Obscure yet famous.  Mine is an anonymous, infernal glory.  By infamous means, I work towards my bright purpose.  I found the liberty and peace of a poor country, desperately abused; the future smiles upon that land; yet, in the meantime, I lead the existence of a hunted brute, work towards appalling ends, and practice hell’s dexterities.’

Somerset, glass in hand, contemplated the strange fanatic before him, and listened to his heated rhapsody, with indescribable bewilderment.  He looked him in the face with curious particularity; saw there the marks of education; and wondered the more profoundly.

‘Sir,’ he said — ’for I know not whether I should still address you as Mr. Jones — ’

‘Jones, Breitman, Higginbotham, Pumpernickel, Daviot, Henderland, by all or any of these you may address me,’ said the plotter; ‘for all I have at some time borne.  Yet that which I most prize, that which is most feared, hated, and obeyed, is not a name to be found in your directories; it is not a name current in post-offices or banks; and, indeed, like the celebrated clan M’Gregor, I may justly describe myself as being nameless by day.  But,’ he continued, rising to his feet, ‘by night, and among my desperate followers, I am the redoubted Zero.’

Somerset was unacquainted with the name, but he politely expressed surprise and gratification.  ‘I am to understand,’ he continued, ‘that, under this alias, you follow the profession of a dynamiter?’

The plotter had resumed his seat and now replenished the glasses.

‘I do,’ he said.  ‘In this dark period of time, a star — the star of dynamite — has risen for the oppressed; and among those who practise its use, so thick beset with dangers and attended by such incredible difficulties and disappointments, few have been more assiduous, and not many — ’  He paused, and a shade of embarrassment appeared upon his face — ’not many have been more successful than myself.’

‘I can imagine,’ observed Somerset, ‘that, from the sweeping consequences looked for, the career is not devoid of interest.  You have, besides, some of the entertainment of the game of hide and seek.  But it would still seem to me — I speak as a layman — that nothing could be simpler or safer than to deposit an infernal machine and retire to an adjacent county to await the painful consequences.’

‘You speak, indeed,’ returned the plotter, with some evidence of warmth, ‘you speak, indeed, most ignorantly.  Do you make nothing, then, of such a peril as we share this moment?  Do you think it nothing to occupy a house like this one, mined, menaced, and, in a word, literally tottering to its fall?’

‘Good God!’ ejaculated Somerset.

‘And when you speak of ease,’ pursued Zero, ‘in this age of scientific studies, you fill me with surprise.  Are you not aware that chemicals are proverbially fickle as woman, and clockwork as capricious as the very devil?  Do you see upon my brow these furrows of anxiety?  Do you observe the silver threads that mingle with my hair?  Clockwork, clockwork has stamped them on my brow — chemicals have sprinkled them upon my locks!  No, Mr. Somerset,’ he resumed, after a moment’s pause, his voice still quivering with sensibility, ‘you must not suppose the dynamiter’s life to be all gold.  On the contrary, you cannot picture to yourself the bloodshot vigils and the staggering disappointments of a life like mine.  I have toiled (let us say) for months, up early and down late; my bag is ready, my clock set; a daring agent has hurried with white face to deposit the instrument of ruin; we await the fall of England, the massacre of thousands, the yell of fear and execration; and lo! a snap like that of a child’s pistol, an offensive smell, and the entire loss of so much time and plant!  If,’ he concluded, musingly, ‘we had been merely able to recover the lost bags, I believe with but a touch or two, I could have remedied the peccant engine.  But what with the loss of plant and the almost insuperable scientific difficulties of the task, our friends in France are almost ready to desert the chosen medium.  They propose, instead, to break up the drainage system of cities and sweep off whole populations with the devastating typhoid pestilence: a tempting and a scientific project: a process, indiscriminate indeed, but of idyllical simplicity.  I recognise its elegance; but, sir, I have something of the poet in my nature; something, possibly, of the tribune.  And, for my small part, I shall remain devoted to that more emphatic, more striking, and (if you please) more popular method, of the explosive bomb.  Yes,’ he cried, with unshaken hope, ‘I will still continue, and, I feel it in my bosom, I shall yet succeed.’

‘Two things I remark,’ said Somerset.  ‘The first somewhat staggers me.  Have you, then — in all this course of life, which you have sketched so vividly — have you not once succeeded?’

‘Pardon me,’ said Zero.  ‘I have had one success.  You behold in me the author of the outrage of Red Lion Court.’

‘But if I remember right,’ objected Somerset, ‘the thing was a
fiasco
.  A scavenger’s barrow and some copies of the
Weekly Budget
— these were the only victims.’

‘You will pardon me again,’ returned Zero with positive asperity: ‘a child was injured.’

‘And that fitly brings me to my second point,’ said Somerset.  ‘For I observed you to employ the word “indiscriminate.”  Now, surely, a scavenger’s barrow and a child (if child there were) represent the very acme and top pin-point of indiscriminate, and, pardon me, of ineffectual reprisal.’

‘Did I employ the word?’ asked Zero.  ‘Well, I will not defend it.  But for efficiency, you touch on graver matters; and before entering upon so vast a subject, permit me once more to fill our glasses.  Disputation is dry work,’ he added, with a charming gaiety of manner.

Once more accordingly the pair pledged each other in a stalwart grog; and Zero, leaning back with an air of some complacency, proceeded more largely to develop his opinions.

‘The indiscriminate?’ he began.  ‘War, my dear sir, is indiscriminate.  War spares not the child; it spares not the barrow of the harmless scavenger.  No more,’ he concluded, beaming, ‘no more do I.  Whatever may strike fear, whatever may confound or paralyse the activities of the guilty nation, barrow or child, imperial Parliament or excursion steamer, is welcome to my simple plans.  You are not,’ he inquired, with a shade of sympathetic interest, ‘you are not, I trust, a believer?’

‘Sir, I believe in nothing,’ said the young man.

‘You are then,’ replied Zero, ‘in a position to grasp my argument.  We agree that humanity is the object, the glorious triumph of humanity; and being pledged to labour for that end, and face to face with the banded opposition of kings, parliaments, churches, and the members of the force, who am I — who are we, dear sir — to affect a nicety about the tools employed?  You might, perhaps, expect us to attack the Queen, the sinister Gladstone, the rigid Derby, or the dexterous Granville; but there you would be in error.  Our appeal is to the body of the people; it is these that we would touch and interest.  Now, sir, have you observed the English housemaid?’

‘I should think I had,’ cried Somerset.

‘From a man of taste and a votary of art, I had expected it,’ returned the conspirator politely.  ‘A type apart; a very charming figure; and thoroughly adapted to our ends.  The neat cap, the clean print, the comely person, the engaging manner; her position between classes, parents in one, employers in another; the probability that she will have at least one sweet-heart, whose feelings we shall address: — yes, I have a leaning — call it, if you will, a weakness — for the housemaid.  Not that I would be understood to despise the nurse.  For the child is a very interesting feature: I have long since marked out the child as the sensitive point in society.’  He wagged his head, with a wise, pensive smile.  ‘And talking, sir, of children and of the perils of our trade, let me now narrate to you a little incident of an explosive bomb, that fell out some weeks ago under my own observation.  It fell out thus.’

And Zero, leaning back in his chair, narrated the following simple tale.

ZERO’S TALE OF THE EXPLOSIVE BOMB

I dined by appointment with one of our most trusted agents, in a private chamber at St. James’s Hall.  You have seen the man: it was M’Guire, the most chivalrous of creatures, but not himself expert in our contrivances.  Hence the necessity of our meeting; for I need not remind you what enormous issues depend upon the nice adjustment of the engine.  I set our little petard for half an hour, the scene of action being hard by; and the better to avert miscarriage, employed a device, a recent invention of my own, by which the opening of the Gladstone bag in which the bomb was carried, should instantly determine the explosion.  M’Guire was somewhat dashed by this arrangement, which was new to him: and pointed out, with excellent, clear good sense, that should he be arrested, it would probably involve him in the fall of our opponents.  But I was not to be moved, made a strong appeal to his patriotism, gave him a good glass of whisky, and despatched him on his glorious errand.

Our objective was the effigy of Shakespeare in Leicester Square: a spot, I think, admirably chosen; not only for the sake of the dramatist, still very foolishly claimed as a glory by the English race, in spite of his disgusting political opinions; but from the fact that the seats in the immediate neighbourhood are often thronged by children, errand-boys, unfortunate young ladies of the poorer class and infirm old men — all classes making a direct appeal to public pity, and therefore suitable with our designs.  As M’Guire drew near his heart was inflamed by the most noble sentiment of triumph.  Never had he seen the garden so crowded; children, still stumbling in the impotence of youth, ran to and fro, shouting and playing, round the pedestal; an old, sick pensioner sat upon the nearest bench, a medal on his breast, a stick with which he walked (for he was disabled by wounds) reclining on his knee.  Guilty England would thus be stabbed in the most delicate quarters; the moment had, indeed, been well selected; and M’Guire, with a radiant provision of the event, drew merrily nearer.  Suddenly his eye alighted on the burly form of a policeman, standing hard by the effigy in an attitude of watch.  My bold companion paused; he looked about him closely; here and there, at different points of the enclosure, other men stood or loitered, affecting an abstraction, feigning to gaze upon the shrubs, feigning to talk, feigning to be weary and to rest upon the benches.  M’Guire was no child in these affairs; he instantly divined one of the plots of the Machiavellian Gladstone.