The Great Secret | Page 2

stealthy footsteps of a man running at full
speed along the corridor. I leaned forward to listen. Then, without a
moment's warning, they paused outside my door. It was hastily pushed
open and as hastily closed. A man, half clothed and panting, was
standing facing me--a strange, pitiable object. The boots slipped from

my fingers. I stared at him in blank bewilderment.
"What the devil--" I began.
He made an anguished appeal to me for silence. Then I heard other
footsteps in the corridor pausing outside my closed door. There was a
moment's silence, then a soft muffled knocking. I moved towards it,
only to be met by the intruder's frenzied whisper--
"For God's sake keep quiet!"
The man's hot breath scorched my cheek, his hands gripped my arm
with nervous force, his hysterical whisper was barely audible, although
his lips were within a few inches of my ear.
"Keep quiet," he muttered, "and don't open the door!"
"Why not?" I asked.
"They will kill me," he answered simply.
I resumed my seat on the side of the bed. My sensations were a little
confused. Under ordinary circumstances, I should probably have been
angry. It was impossible, however, to persevere in such a sentiment
towards the abject creature who cowered by my side.
Yet, after all, was he abject? I looked away from the door, and, for the
second time, studied carefully the features of the man who had sought
my protection in so extraordinary a manner. He was clean shaven, his
features were good; his face, under ordinary circumstances, might have
been described as almost prepossessing. Just now it was whitened and
distorted by fear to such an extent that it gave to his expression a
perfectly repulsive cast. It was as though he looked beyond death and
saw things, however dimly, more terrible than human understanding
can fitly grapple with. There were subtleties of horror in his glassy eyes,
in his drawn and haggard features.
Nothing, perhaps, could more completely illustrate the effect his words

and appearance had upon me than the fact that I accepted his
extraordinary statement without any instinct of disbelief! Here was I, an
Englishman of sound nerves, of average courage, and certainly
untroubled with any superabundance of imagination, domiciled in a
perfectly well-known, if somewhat cosmopolitan, London hotel, and
yet willing to believe, on the statement of a person whom I had never
seen before in my life, that, within a few yards of me, were unseen men
bent upon murder.
From outside I heard a warning chink of metal, and, acting upon
impulse, I stepped forward and slipped the bolt of my door.
Immediately afterwards a key was softly inserted in the lock and turned.
The door strained against the bolt from some invisible pressure. Then
there came the sound of retreating footsteps. We heard the door of the
next room opened and closed. A moment later the handle of the
communicating door was tried. I had, however, bolted it before I
commenced to undress.
"What the mischief are you about?" I cried angrily. "Can't you leave
my room alone?"
No answer; but the panels of the communicating door were bent
inwards until it seemed as though they must burst. I crossed the room to
where my portmanteau stood upon a luggage-rack, and took from it a
small revolver. When I stood up with it in my hand, the effect upon my
visitor was almost magical. He caught at my wrist and wrested it from
my fingers. He grasped it almost lovingly.
"I can at least die now like a man," he muttered. "Thank Heaven for
this!"
I sat down again upon the bed. I looked at the pillow and the unturned
coverlet doubtfully. They had obviously not been disturbed. I glanced
at my watch! it was barely two o'clock. I had not even been to bed. I
could not possibly be dreaming! The door was straining now almost to
bursting. I began to be annoyed.
"What the devil are you doing there?" I called out.

Again there was no answer, but a long crack had appeared on the panel.
My companion was standing up watching it. He grasped the revolver as
one accustomed to the use of such things. Once more I took note of
him.
I saw now that he was younger than I had imagined, and a trifle taller.
The ghastly pallor, which extended even to his lips, was unabated, but
his first paroxysm of fear seemed, at any rate, to have become lessened.
He looked now like a man at bay indeed, but prepared to fight for his
life. He had evidently been dressed for the evening, for his white tie
was still hanging about his neck. Coat and waistcoat he had left behind
in his flight, but his black trousers