 THE CASE OF LADY SANIX The relations between Douglas Stone and the notorious Lady Sanix were very well known both among the fashionable circles of which she was a brilliant member and the scientific bodies which numbered him among their most illustrious conferers. There was naturally, therefore, a very widespread interest when it was announced one morning that the lady had absolutely and for ever taken the veil and that the world would see her no more. Then at the very tail of this rumour there came the assurance that the celebrated operating surgeon, the man of steel nerves, had been found in the morning by his valet, seated on one side of his bed, smiling pleasantly upon the universe, with both legs jammed into one side of his breeches and his great brain about as valuable as a cap full of porridge. The matter was strong enough to give quite a little thrill of interest to folk who had never hoped that their jaded nerves were capable of such a sensation. Douglas Stone in his prime was one of the most remarkable men in England. Indeed he could hardly be said to have ever reached his prime, for he was but nine and thirty at the time of this little incident. Those who knew him best were aware that famous as he was as a surgeon he might have succeeded with even greater rapidity in any of a dozen lines of life. He could have cut his way to fame as a soldier, struggled to it as an explorer, bullied for it in the courts, or built it out of stone and iron as an engineer. He was born to be great, for he could plan what another man dare not do, and he could do what another man dare not plan. In surgery none could follow him. His nerve, his judgment, his intuition were things apart. Again and again his knife cut away death, but grazed the very springs of life in doing it, until his assistants were as white as the patient. His energy, his audacity, his full-blooded self-confidence, does not the memory of them still linger in the south of Marlbone Road and the north of Oxford Street? His vices were as magnificent as his virtues, and infinitely more picturesque. Marges was his income, and it was the third largest of all professional men in London. It was far beneath the luxury of his living. Deep in his complex nature lay a rich vein of sensualism at the sport of which he placed all the prizes of his life. The eye, the ear, the touch, the palate, all were his masters. The bouquet of old vintages, the scent of rare exotics, the curves and tints of the daintiest potteries of Europe. It was to these that the quick running stream of gold was transformed. And then came his sudden mad passion for Lady Sanex, when a single interview with two challenging glances and a whispered word set him ablaze. She was the loveliest woman in London, and the only one to him. He was one of the handsomest men in London, but not the only one to her. She had a liking for new experiences, and was gracious to most men who wooed her. It may have been cause or it may have been effect that Lord Sanex looked fifty, though he was but six and thirty. He was a quiet, silent, neutral-tinted man, this Lord, with thin lips and heavy eyelids, much given to gardening and full of home-like habits. He had at one time been fond of acting, had even rented a theatre in London, and on its boards had first seen Miss Marion Dawson, to whom he had offered his hand, his title and the third of a county. Since his marriage, his early hobby, had become distasteful to him. Even in private theatricles it was no longer possible to persuade him to exercise the talent which he had often showed that he possessed. He was happier with a spud and a watering can among his orchids and chrysanthemums. It was quite an interesting problem whether he was absolutely devoid of sense or miserably wanting in spirit. Did he know his lady's ways and condone them or was he a mere blind, doting fool? It was a point to be discussed over the tea-cups in snug little drawing-rooms or with the aid of a cigar in the bow-windows of clubs. Bitter and plain were the comments among men upon his conduct. There was but one who had a good word to say for him, and he was the most silent member in the smoking-room. He had seen him break in a horse at the university, and it seemed to have left an impression upon his mind. But when Douglas Stone became the favorite all doubts as to Lord Sanex's knowledge or ignorance were set for ever at rest. There was no sub-diffuse about Stone. In his high-handed, impetuous fashion he set all caution and discretion at defiance. The scandal became notorious. A learned body intimated that his name had been struck from the list of its vice-presidents. Two friends implored him to consider his professional credit. He cursed them all three and spent forty guineas on a bangle to take with him to the lady. He was at her house every evening, and she drove in his carriage in the afternoons. There was not an attempt on either side to conceal their relations, but there came at last a little incident to interrupt them. It was a dismal winter's night, very cold and gusty, with the wind whooping in the chimneys and blustering against the window-panes, a thin spatter of rain tinkled on the glass with each fresh sow of the gale, drowning for the instant the dull gurgle and drip from the eaves. Douglas Stone had finished his dinner and sat by his fire in the study. A glass of rich port upon the malachite table at his elbow. As he raised it to his lips he held it up against the lamp-shade, and watched with the eye of a connoisseur the tiny scales of bee's wing which floated in its rich ruby depths. The fire, as it spurred it up, threw fitful lights upon his bald clear-cut face, with its widely-opened gray eyes, its thick and yet firm lips, and the deep square jaw which had something Roman in its strength and its animalism. He smiled from time to time as he nestled back in his luxurious chair. Indeed, he had a right to feel well-pleased, for, against the advice of six colleagues, he had performed an operation that day of which only two cases were on record, and the result had been brilliant beyond all expectation. No other man in London would have had the daring to plan or the skill to execute such a heroic measure. But he had promised Lady Sannick's to see her that evening, and it was already half-past eight. His hand was outstretched to the bell to order the carriage when he heard the dull thud of the knocker. An instant later there was the shuffling of feet in the hall and the sharp closing of a door. A patient to see you, sir, in the consulting room, said the butler. About himself? No, sir, I think he wants you to go out. It is too late, cried Douglas Stone, peevishly. I won't go. This is his card, sir. The butler presented it upon the gold salver which had been given to his master by the wife of a prime minister. Hamil Ali Smirna. Hmm. The fellow is a Turk, I suppose. Yes, sir. He seems as if he came from abroad, sir, and he's in a terrible way. Tut, tut, I have an engagement. I must go somewhere else, but I'll see him, show him, and hear him. A few moments later the butler swung open the door and ushered in a small and decrepit man, who walked with a bent back and with a forward push of the face and blink of the eyes which goes with extreme short sight. His face was swarthy and his hair and beard of the deepest black. In one hand he held a turban of white muslin striped with red, in the other a small chamois leather bag. Good evening, said Douglas Stone, when the butler had closed the door. You speak English, I presume? Yes, sir. I am from Asia Minor, but I speak English when I speak slow. You wanted me to go out, I understand? Yes, sir. I wanted very much that you should see my wife. I could come in the morning, but I have an engagement which prevents me from seeing your wife tonight. The Turk's answer was a singular one. He pulled the string which closed the mouth of the chamois leather bag and poured a flood of gold onto the table. There are three hundred pounds there, said he, and I suppose that it will not take you an hour. I have a cab ready at the door. Douglas Stone glanced at his watch. An hour would not make it too late to visit Lady Sanex. He had been there later, and the fee was an extraordinarily high one. He had been pressed by his creditors lately, and he could not afford to let such a chance pass. He would go. What is the case, he asked? Oh, it is so sad a one, so sad a one. You have not, perhaps, heard of the daggers of the Almohades? Never. Ah, they are eastern daggers of a great age and of a singular shape, with the hilt, like what you call a stirrup. I am a curiosity dealer, you understand, and that is why I have come to England from Smyrna. But next week I go back once more. Many things I brought with me, and I have a few things left, but among them, to my sorrow, is one of these daggers. You will remember that I have an appointment, sir, said the surgeon with some irritation. Pray confine yourself to the necessary details. You will see that it is necessary. Today my wife fell down in a faint in the room in which I keep my wares, and she cut her lower lip upon the cursed dagger of Almohades. I see, said Douglas Stone, rising, and you wish me to dress the wound? No, no, it is worse than that. What, then? These daggers are poisoned. Poisoned? Yes, and there is no man, east or west, who can tell now what is the poison or what the cure, but all that is known I know, for my father was in this trade before me, and we have had much to do with these poisoned weapons. What are the symptoms? Deep sleep, and death in thirty hours. And you say there is no cure? Why then should you pay me this considerable fee? No drug can cure, but the knife may. And how? The poison is slow of absorption. It remains for hours in the wound. Washing, then, might cleanse it? No more than in a snake-bite. It is too subtle and too deadly. Excision of the wound, then. That is it. If it be on the finger, take the finger off. So said my father always, and think of where this wound is, and that it is my wife. It is dreadful. But familiarity with such grim matters may take the finer edge from a man's sympathy. To Douglas Stone this was already an interesting case, and he brushed aside as irrelevant the feeble objections of the husband. It appears to be that or nothing, said he brusquely. It is better to lose a lip than a life. Ah, yes, I know that you are right. Well, it is kismet, and it must be faced. I have the cab, and you will come with me and do this thing. Douglas Stone took his case of bistorees from a drawer and placed it with a roll of bandage and a compress of lint in his pocket. He must waste no more time if he were to see Lady Sanex. I am ready, said he, pulling on his overcoat. Will you take a glass of wine before you go out into this cold air? His visitor shrank away with a protesting hand upraised. You forget that I am a Muslim and a true follower of the prophet, said he, but tell me what is the bottle of green glass which you have placed in your pocket? It is chloroform. Ah, that also is forbidden to us. It is a spirit, and we make no use of such things. What? You would allow your wife to go through an operation without an anesthetic? Ah, she will feel nothing, poor soul. The deep sleep has already come on, which is the first working of the poison, and then I have given her of our smirna opium. Come, sir, for already an hour has passed. As they stepped out into the darkness, a sheet of rain was driven in upon their faces, and the whole lamp, which dangled from the arm of a marble carotid, went out with a fluff. Pim, the butler, pushed the heavy door to, straining hard with his shoulder against the wind, while the two men groped their way towards the yellow glare which showed where the cab was waiting. An instant later they were rattling upon their journey. Is it far? asked Douglas Stone. Oh, no, we have a very little quiet place off the Euston Road. The surgeon pressed the spring of his repeater and listened to the little tings which told him the hour. It was a quarter past nine. He calculated the distances and the short time which it would take him to perform so trivial an operation. He ought to reach Lady Senex by ten o'clock. Through the fogged windows he saw the blurred gas-lamps dancing past, with occasionally the broader glare of a shop front. The rain was pelting and rattling upon the leathern top of the carriage and the wheels swashed as they rolled through puddle and mud. Opposite to him the white-head gear of his companion gleamed faintly through the obscurity. The surgeon felt in his pockets and arranged his needles, his ligatures, and his safety-pins, that no time might be wasted when they arrived. He chafed with impatience and drummed his foot upon the floor. But the cab slowed down at last and pulled up. In an instant Douglas Stone was out, and the smirna merchant's toe was at his very heel. You can wait, said he to the driver. It was a mean-looking house in a narrow and sorted street. The surgeon, who knew his London well, cast a swift glance into the shadows, but there was nothing distinctive, no shop, no movement, nothing but a double line of dull, flat-faced houses, a double stretch of wet-flag-stone, which gleamed in the lamp-light, and a double rush of water in the gutters which swirled and gurgled towards the sewer-gradings. The door which faced them was blotched and discoloured, and a faint light in the fan-pane above it served to show the dust and the grime which covered it. Above, in one of the bedroom windows, there was a dull yellow glimmer. The merchant knocked loudly, and as he turned his dark face towards the light, Douglas Stone could see that it was contracted with anxiety. A bolt was drawn, and an elderly woman with a taper stood in the doorway, shielding the thin flame with her gnarled hand. "'Is all well?' gasped the merchant. "'She is as you left her, sir.' "'She has not spoken.' "'No. She is in a deep sleep.' The merchant closed the door, and Douglas Stone walked down the narrow passage, glancing about him in some surprise as he did so. There was no oil-cloth, no mat, no hat-rack. Deep grey dust and heavy festoons of cobwebs met his eyes everywhere. Following the old woman up the winding stair, his firm footfall echoed harshly through the silent house. There was no carpet. The bedroom was on the second landing. Douglas Stone followed the old nurse into it, with the merchant at his heels. Here, at least, there was furniture and spare. The floor was littered and the corners piled with Turkish cabinets, inlaid tables, coats of chain mail, strange pipes, and grotesque weapons. A single small lamp stood upon a bracket on the wall. Douglas Stone took it down, and picking his way among the lumber, walked over to a couch in the corner, on which lay a woman dressed in the Turkish fashion, with yajmek and veil. The lower part of the face was exposed, and the surgeon saw a jagged cut which zigzagged along the border of the upper lip. You will forgive the yajmek, said the Turk. You know our views about women in the East. But the surgeon was not thinking about the yajmek. This was no longer a woman to him. It was a case. He stooped and examined the wound carefully. There are no signs of irritation, said he. We might delay the operation until local symptoms develop. The husband wrung his hands in uncontrollable agitation. Oh, sir, sir, he cried. Do not trifle. You do not know. It is deadly. I know. And I give you my assurance that an operation is absolutely necessary. Only the knife can save her. And yet I am inclined to wait, said Douglas Stone. That is enough, the Turk cried angrily. Every minute is of importance, and I cannot stand here and see my wife allowed to sink. It only remains for me to give you my thanks for having come and to call in some other surgeon before it is too late. Douglas Stone hesitated. To refund that hundred pounds was no pleasant matter. But of course, if he left the case, he must return the money. And if the Turk were right and the woman died, his position before a coroner might be an embarrassing one. You have had personal experience of this poison, he asked. I have. And you assure me that an operation is needful. I swear it by all that I hold sacred. The disfigurement will be frightful. I can understand that the mouth will not be a pretty one to kiss. Douglas Stone turned fiercely upon the man. The speech was a brutal one. But the Turk has his own fashion of talk and of thought, and there was no time for wrangling. Douglas Stone drew a bistery from his case, opened it, and felt the keen straight edge with his forefinger. Then he held the lamp closer to the bed. Two dark eyes were gazing up at him through the slit in the Yashmech. They were all iris, and the pupil was hardly to be seen. You have given her a very heavy dose of opium. Yes, she has had a good dose. He glanced again at the dark eyes which looked straight at his own. They were dull and lusterless. But even as he gazed, a little shifting sparkle came into them, and the lips quivered. She is not absolutely unconscious, said he. Would it not be well to use the knife while it will be painless? The same thought had crossed the surgeon's mind. He grasped the wounded lip with his forceps, and with two swift cuts he took out a broad V-shaped piece. The woman sprang up on the couch with a dreadful gurgling scream. Her covering was torn from her face. It was a face that he knew. In spite of that protruding upper lip and that slobber of blood, it was a face that he knew. She kept on putting her hand up to the gap and screaming. Douglas Stone sat down at the foot of the couch with his knife and his forceps. The room was whirling round, and he felt something go like a ripping seam behind his ear. A bystander would have said that his face was the more ghastly of the two. As in a dream, or as if he had been looking at something at the play, he was conscious that the turks' hair and beard lay upon the table, and that Lord Sanex was leaning against the wall with his hand to his side, laughing silently. The screams had died away now, and the dreadful head had dropped back again upon the pillow. But Douglas Stone still sat motionless, and Lord Sanex still chuckled quietly to himself. It was really very necessary for Marion this operation, said he, not physically, but morally, you know, morally. Douglas Stone stooped for yards and began to play with the fringe of the coverlet. His knife tinkled down upon the ground, but he still held the forceps in something more. I had long intended to make a little example, said Lord Sanex, suavely. Your note of Wednesday miscarried, and I have it here in my pocket-book. I took some pains in carrying out my idea. The wound, by the way, was from nothing more dangerous than my signet-ring. He glanced keenly at his silent companion and cocked the small revolver which he held in his coat-pocket. But Douglas Stone was still picking at the coverlet. You see, you have kept your appointment after all, said Lord Sanex. And at that Douglas Stone began to laugh. He laughed long and loudly. But Lord Sanex did not laugh now. Something like fear sharpened and hardened his features. He walked from the room, and he walked on tiptoe. The old woman was waiting outside. Attend to your mistress when she awakes, said Lord Sanex. Then he went down to the street. The cab was at the door, and the driver raised his hand to his hat. John, said Lord Sanex, he will take the doctor home first. He will want leading downstairs, I think. Tell his butler that he has been taken ill at a case. Very good, sir. Then you can take Lady Sanex home. And how about yourself, sir? Oh, my address for the next few months will be Hotel di Roma Venice. Just see that the letters are sent on. And tell Stevens to exhibit all the purple chrysanthemums next Monday, and to wire me the result. End of The Case of Lady Sanex by Arthur Conan Doyle. Tales of Terror and Mystery by Arthur Conan Doyle. The Terror of Blue John Gap. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Igor T. Foray. Tales of Terror and Mystery by Arthur Conan Doyle. The Terror of Blue John Gap. The following narrative was found among the papers of Dr. James Hardcastle, who died of dices on February 4, 1908 at 36, Upper Coventry Flats, South Kensington. Those who knew him best while refusing to express an opinion upon this particular statement are unanimous in asserting that he was a man of a sober unscientific turn of mind, absolutely devoid of imagination and most unlikely to invent any abnormal series of events. The paper was contained in an envelope, which was docketed, a short account of the circumstances which occurred near Miss Allerton's farm in Northwest Derbyshire in the spring of last year. The envelope was sealed and on the other side was written in pencil. Dear Seaton, it may interest and perhaps pain you to know that the incredulity with which you met my story has prevented me from ever opening my mouth upon the subject again. I leave this record after my death and perhaps strangers may be found to have more confidence in me than my friend. Inquiry has failed to elicit who this Seaton may have been. I may add that the visit of the deceased to Allerton's farm and the general nature of the alarm there, apart from his particular explanation, have been absolutely established. With this hoard, I append his account exactly as he left it. It is in the form of a diary, some entries in which have been expanded, while a few have been erased. April 17th, already I feel the benefit of this wonderful upland air, the farm of the Allerton size 1420 feet above sea level, so it may well be a bracing climate. Beyond the usual morning cough, I have very little discomfort and what with the fresh milk and the homegrown mutton, I have every chance of putting on weight. I think Saunderson will be pleased. The two Miss Allerton's are charmingly quaint and kind, two dear, little, hard-working old mates who are ready to lavish all the heart which might have gone out to husband and to children upon an invalid stranger. Truly, the old maid is a most useful person, one of the reserve forces of the community. They talk of the superfluous woman, but what would the poor superfluous men do without her kindly presence? By the way, in their simplicity, they very quickly let out the reason why Saunderson recommended their farm. The professor rose from the ranks himself and I believe that in his youth he was not above scaring crows in these very fields. It is a most lonely spot and the walks are picturesque in the extreme. The farm consists of grazing land lying at the bottom of an irregular valley. On each side are fantastic limestone hills formed of rock so soft that you can break it away with your hands. All this country is hollow. Could you strike it with some gigantic hammer it would boom like a drum or possibly cave in altogether and expose some huge subterranean sea. A great sea there surely must be for on all sides the stream run into the mountain itself, never to reappear. There are gaps everywhere amid the rocks and when you pass through them you find yourself in great caverns which wind down into the bowels of the earth. I have a small bicycle lamp and it is a perpetual joy to me to carry it into these weird solitudes and to see the wonderful silver and black effect when I throw its light upon the stalactites which drape the lofty roofs. Shut off the lamp and you are in the blackest darkness. Turn it on and it is a scene from the arabian nights but there is one of these strange openings in the earth which has a special interest for it is the handiwork not of nature but of man. I had never heard of Blue John when I came to these parts. It is the name given to a peculiar mineral of a beautiful purple shade which is only found at one or two places in the world. It is so rare that an ordinary vase of Blue John would be valued at a great price. The Romans with that extraordinary instinct of theirs discovered that it was to be found in this valley and sank a horizontal shaft deep into the mountain side. The opening of their mine has been called Blue John Gap a clean cut arch in the rock the mouth all overgrown with bushes. It is a goodly passage which the Roman miners have cut and it intersects some of the great water-worn caves so that if you enter Blue John Gap you would do well to mark your steps and to have a good store of candles or you may never make your way back to the daylight again. I have not yet gone deeply into it but this very day I stood at the mouth of the arch tunnel and peering down into the black recesses beyond I vowed that when my health returned I would devote some holiday to exploring those mysterious steps and finding out for myself how far the Roman had penetrated into the Derbyshire hills. Strange how superstitious these countrymen are I should have thought better of young Armitage for he's a man of some education and character and a fine fellow for his station in life. I was standing at the Blue John Gap when he came across the field to me. Well doctor, he said, you're not afraid anyhow? Afraid, I answered. Afraid of what? Of it, said he with a jerk of his thumb towards the black vault of the terror that lives in the Blue John Cave. How absurdly easy it is for a legend to arise in a lonely countryside I examined him as to the reasons for his weird belief. It seems that from time to time sheep have been missing from the fields carried bodily away according to Armitage. That they could have wandered away of their own accord and disappeared among the mountains was an explanation to which he would not listen. On one occasion a pool of blood had been found and some tufts of wool that also I pointed out could be explained in a perfectly natural way. Further the nights upon which sheep disappeared were invariably very dark cloudy nights with no moon. This I met with the obvious retort that those were the very nights which a commonplace sheepstealer would naturally choose for his work. On one occasion a gap had been made on a wall and some of the stones scattered for considerable distance. Human agency again, in my opinion. Finally Armitage clinched all his arguments by telling me that he had actually heard the creature. Indeed that anyone could hear it who remained long enough at the gap. It was a distant roaring of an immense volume. I could not but smile at this knowing as I do the strange reverberations which come out of an underground water system running amid the chasms of the limestone formation. My incredulity annoyed Armitage so that he turned and left me with some abruptness. And now comes the queer point about the whole business. I was still standing near the mouth of the cave turning over in my mind the various statements of Armitage and reflecting how readily they could be explained away when suddenly from the depth of the tunnel beside me there issued a most extraordinary sound. How shall I describe it? First of all it seemed to be a great distance away far down in the bowels of the earth. Secondly in spite of this suggestion of distance it was very loud. Lastly it was not a boom nor a crash such as one would associate with falling water or tumbling rock but it was a high wine, tremulous and vibrating almost like the whinnying of a horse. It was certainly a most remarkable experience and one which for a moment I must admit gave a new significance to Armitage's words. I waited by the Blue John gap for half an hour or more but there was no return of the sound so at last I wandered back to the farmhouse rather mystified by what had occurred. Decidedly I shall explore that cavern when my strength is restored. Of course Armitage's explanation is too absurd for discussion and yet that sound was certainly very strange. It still rings in my ears as I write. April 20th. In the last three days I have made several expeditions to the Blue John gap and have even penetrated some short distance but my bicycle lantern is so small and weak that I dare not trust myself very far. I shall do the thing more systematically. I have heard no sound at all and could almost believe that I had been the victim of some hallucination suggested perhaps by Armitage's conversation. Of course the whole idea is absurd and yet I must confess that those bushes at the entrance of the cave do present an appearance as if some heavy creature had forced its way through them. I begin to be keenly interested. I have said nothing to the Miss Allerton's for they are quite superstitious enough already but I have bought some candles and mean to investigate for myself. I observed this morning that among the numerous tufts of sheep's wool which lay among the bushes near the cavern there was one which was smeared with blood. Of course my reason tells me that if sheep wander into such rocky places they are likely to injure themselves and yet somehow that splash of crimson gave me a sudden shock and for a moment I found myself shrinking back in horror from the old Roman arch. A fatid breath seemed to ooze from the black depth into which I peered. Could it indeed be possible that some nameless thing some dreadful presence was lurking down yonder? I should have been incapable of such feelings in the days of my strength but one grows more nervous and fanciful when one's health is shaken. For the moment I weakened in my resolution and was ready to leave the secret of the old mine if one exists forever unsolved. But tonight my interest has returned and my nerves grown more steady. Tomorrow I trust that I shall have gone more deeply into this matter. April 22nd. Let me try and set down as accurately as I can my extraordinary experience of yesterday. I started in the afternoon and made my way to the Blue John Gap. I confess that my best givings return as I gaze into its depth and I wished that I had brought a companion to share my exploration. Finally with the return of resolution I lit my candle, pushed my way through the briars and descended into the rocky shaft. It went down at an acute angle for some fifty feet the floor being covered with broken stone then there extended a long straight passage cut in the solid rock. I'm no geologist but the lining of this corridor was certainly of some harder material than limestone for there were points where I could actually see the tool marks which the old miners had left in their excavation as fresh as if they had been done yesterday. Down the strange old world corridor I stumbled my feeble flame throwing a dim circle of light around me which made the shadows beyond the more threatening and obscure. Finally I came to a spot where the Roman tunnel opened into a water-worn cavern a huge hall hung with long white icicles of lime deposit. From this central chamber I could dimly perceive that a number of passages worn by the subterranean streams wound away into the depth of the earth. I was standing there wondering whether I had better return or whether I dare venture farther into this dangerous labyrinth when my eyes fell upon something at my feet which strongly arrested my attention. The greater part of the floor of the cavern was covered with boulders of rock or with hard incrustations of lime but at this particular point there had been a drip from the distant roof which had left a patch of soft mud. In the very center of this there was a huge mark an ill-defined blotch deep, broad and irregular as if a great boulder had fallen upon it no loose stone lay near, however nor was there anything to account for the impression. It was far too large to be caused by any possible animal and besides there was only the one and the patch of mud was of such a size that no reasonable stride could have covered it. As I rose from the examination of that singular mark and then looked round into the black shadows which hemmed me in I must confess that I felt for a moment a most unpleasant sinking of my heart and that, do what I could the candle trembled in my outstretched hand. I soon recovered my nerve, however when I reflected how absurd it was to associate so huge and shapeless a mark with the track of any known animal. Even an elephant could not have produced it I determined therefore that I would not be scared by vague and senseless fears from carrying out my exploration. Before proceeding I took good note of a curious rock formation in a wall by which I could recognize the entrance of the Roman tunnel. The precaution was very necessary for the great cave so far as I could see was intersected by passages having made sure of my position and reassured myself by examining my spare candles and my matches I advanced slowly over the rocky and uneven surface of the cavern. And now I come to the point where I met with such sudden and desperate disaster a stream, some twenty feet broad run across my path and I walked for some little distance along the bank to find a spot where I could cross dry shot. Finally I came to a place where a single flat boulder lay near the center which I could reach in a stride. As it chanced however the rock had been cut away and made top heavy by the rush of the stream so that it tilted over as I landed on it and shot me into the ice cold water. My candle went out and I found myself floundering about in utter and absolute darkness. I staggered to my feet again more amused and alarmed by my adventure. The candle had fallen from my hand and was lost in the stream but I had two others in my pocket so that it was of no importance. I got one of them ready and drew out my box of matches to light it. Only then did I realize my position. The box had been soaked in my fall into the river. It was impossible to strike the matches. A cold hand seemed to close round my heart as I realized my position. The darkness was opaque and horrible. It was so utter one put one's hand into its face as if to press off something solid. I stood still and by an effort I steadied myself. I tried to reconstruct in my mind a map of the floor of the cavern as I had last seen it. Alas the bearings which had impressed themselves upon my mind were high on the wall and not to be found by touch. Still I remembered in a general way how the sides were situated and I hoped that by groping my way along them I should at last come to the opening of the Roman tunnel. Moving very slowly and continually striking against the rocks I set out on this desperate quest. But I very soon realized how impossible it was. In that black, velvety darkness one lost all one's bearings in an instant. Before I had made a dozen paces I was utterly bewildered the rippling of the stream which was the one sound audible showed me where it lay but the moment that I left its bank I was utterly lost. The idea of finding my way back in absolute darkness through that limestone labyrinth was clearly an impossible one. I sat down upon a boulder and reflected upon my unfortunate plight. I had not told anyone that I proposed to come to the Blue John Mine and it was unlikely that a search party would come after me. Therefore I must trust to my own resources to get clear of the danger. There was only one hope and that was that the matches might dry. When I fell into the river only half of me had got thoroughly wet my left shoulder had remained above the water I took the box of matches therefore and put it into my left armpit. The moist air of the cavern might possibly be counteracted by the heat of my body but even so I knew that I could not hope to get a light for many hours. Meanwhile there was nothing for it but to wait. By good luck I had slipped several biscuits into my pocket before I left the farmhouse. These I now devoured and washed them down with a draught from the wretched stream which had been the cause of all my misfortunes. Then I felt about for a comfortable seat among the rocks and having discovered a place where I could get a support for my back I stretched out my legs and settled myself down to wait. I was wretchedly damp and cold but I tried to cheer myself with a reflection that modern science prescribed open windows and walks in all weather for my disease. Gradually lulled by the monotonous gurgle of the stream and by the absolute darkness I sank into an uneasy slumber. How long this lasted I cannot say it may have been for an hour it may have been for several. Suddenly I set up on my rock couch with every nerve thrilling and every sense acutely on the alert. Beyond all doubt I had heard a sound some sound very distinct from the gurgling of the waters. It had passed but the reverberation of it still lingered in my ear. Was it a search party? They would most certainly have shouted and vague as this sound was which had awakened me it was very distinct from the human voice. I said palpitating and hardly daring to breathe there it was again and again now it had become continuous it was a tread yes surely it was the tread of some living creature but what tread it was it gave one the impression of enormous weight carried upon sponge-like feet which gave forth a muffled but ear-filling sound the darkness was as complete as ever but the tread was regular and decisive and it was coming beyond all question in my direction my skin grew cold and my hair stood an end as I listened to that steady and ponderous footfall there was some creature there and surely by the speed of its advance it was one which could see in the dark I crouched low on my rock and tried to blend myself into it the steps grew nearer still then stopped and presently I was aware of a loud blapping and gurgling the creature was drinking at the stream then again there was silence broken by a succession of long sniffs and snorts of tremendous volume and energy had it caught the scent of me? my own nostrils were filled by a low fatigued odor mephetic and abominable then I heard the steps again they were on my side of the stream now the stones rattled within a few yards of where I lay hardly daring to breathe I crouched upon my rock then the steps drew away I heard the splash as it returned across the river and the sound died away into the distance in the direction from which it had come for a long time I lay upon the rock too much horrified to move I thought of the sound which I had heard coming from the depth of the cave of armature's fears of the strange impression in the mud and now came this final and absolute proof that there was indeed some inconceivable monster something utterly unearthly and dreadful which lurked in the hollow of the mountain with its nature or form I could frame no conception safe that it was both light-footed and gigantic the combat between my reason which told me that such things could not be and my senses which told me that they were raged within me as LA finally I was almost ready to pursue it myself that this experience had been part of some evil dream and that my abnormal condition might have conjured up an hallucination but there remained one final experience which removed the last possibility of doubt from my mind I had taken my matches from my armpit and felt them they seemed perfectly hard and dry stooping down into a crevice of the rocks I tried one of them to my delight it took fire at once I lit the candle and with a terrified backward glance into the obscure depth of the cavern I hurried in the direction of the Roman passage as I did so I passed the patch of mud on which I had seen the huge imprint now I stood astonished before it for there were three similar imprints upon its surface enormous in size irregular in outline of a depth which indicated the ponderous weight which had left them then a great terror surged over me stooping and shading my candle with my hand I ran in a frenzy of fear to the rocky archway hastened up it and never stopped until with the wary feet and panting lungs I rushed up the final slope of stones broke through the tangle of briars and flung myself exhausted upon the soft grass under the peaceful light of the stars it was three in the morning when I reached the farmhouse and today I am all unstrung and quivering after my terrific adventure as yet I have told no one I must move warily in the matter what would the poor lonely women or the uneducated yokels here think of it if I were to tell them my experience let me go to someone who can understand an advice April 25th I was laid up in bed for two days after my incredible adventure in the cavern I used the adjective with a very definite meaning for I have had an experience since which has shocked me almost as much as the other I have said that I was looking round for someone who could advise me there's a doctor Mark Johnson who practices a few miles away to whom I had a note of recommendation from Professor Saunderson to him I drove when I was strong enough to get about and I recounted to him my whole strange experience he listened intently and then carefully examined me paying special attention to my reflexes and to the pupils of my eyes when he had finished he refused to discuss my adventure saying that it was entirely beyond him but he gave me the card of a Mr. Picton at Castleton with the advice that I should instantly go to him and tell him the story exactly as I had done to himself he was according to my advisor the very man who was preeminently suited to help me I went on to the station therefore and made my way to the little town which is some ten miles away Mr. Picton appeared to be a man of importance as his breastplate was displayed upon the door of a considerable building on the outskirts of the town I was about to ring his bell when some misgiving came into my mind and crossing to a neighbouring shop I asked the man behind the counter if he could tell me anything of Mr. Picton why? said he he's the best met doctor in Darbyshire and yonder is his asylum you can imagine that it was not long before I had shaken the dust of Castleton from my feet and returned to the farm cursing all unimaginative pedants who cannot conceive that there may be things in creation which have never yet chance to come across their moles vision after all now that I'm cooler I can afford to admit that I have been no more sympathetic to Armitage than Dr. Johnson has been to me April 27th when I was a student I had the reputation of being a man of courage and enterprise I remember that when there was a ghost hunt at Coldbridge it was I who set up in the haunted house is it advancing years after all I'm only 35 or is it this physical melody which has caused the generation certainly my heart quails when I think of that horrible cavern in the hill and the certainty that it has some monstrous occupant what shall I do there's not an hour in the day that I do not debate the question if I say nothing then the mystery remains unsolved if I do say anything then I have the alternative of mad alarm over the whole countryside or of absolute incredulity which may end in consigning me to an asylum on the whole I think that my best course is to wait and to prepare for some expedition which shall be more deliberate and better thought out than last as a first step I have been to Castleton and obtained a few essentials a large acetilin lantern for one thing and a good double-barreled sporting rifle for another the latter I have hired but I have bought a dozen heavy game cartridges which would bring down a rhinoceros now I am ready for my troglodyte friend give me better health and a little spate of energy and I shall try conclusions with him yet but who or what is he ah there's the question which stands between me and my sleep how many theories do I form only to discard each in turn it is also utterly unthinkable and yet the cry the footmark the tread and the cavern no reasoning can get past these I think of the old world legends of dragons and of other monsters were they perhaps not such fairy tales as we have thought can it be that there's some fact which unrealized them and am I of all mortals the one who's chosen to expose it May 3 for several days I've been laid up by the vagaries of an English spring and during those days there have been developments the true and sinister meaning of which no one can appreciate save myself I may say that we have had cloudy and moonless nights of late which according to my information were the seasons upon which sheep disappeared well sheep have disappeared two of Miss Allardens one of old piercings of the catwalk and one of Mrs. Smoltons four in all during three nights no traces left of them at all and the countryside is buzzing with rumors of gypsies and of sheep stealers but there's something more serious than that young Armitage has disappeared also he left his Moreland cottage early on Wednesday night and has never been heard of since he was an unattached man so there's less sensation than would otherwise be the case the popular explanation is that he owes money and has found a situation in some other part of the country whence he will presently write for his belongings but I have grave misgivings is it not much more likely that the reason tragedy of the sheep has cost him to take some steps which may have ended in his own destruction he may for example have lain and wait for the creature and had been carried off by it into the recesses of the mountains what an inconceivable fate for a civilized Englishman of the 20th century and yet I feel that it is possible and even probable but in that case how far am I answerable both for his death and for any other mishap which may occur surely with the knowledge I already possess it must be my duty to see that something is done or if necessary to do it myself it must be the latter for this morning I went down to the local police station and told my story the inspector entered at all in a large book and bowed me out with commendable gravity but I heard a burst of laughter before I had got down the garden path no doubt he was recounting my adventure to his family June 10th I am writing this propped up in bed six weeks after my last entry in this journal I have gone through a terrible shock both to mind and body arising from such an experience as I seldom befallen a human being before but I have attained my end the danger from the terror which dwells in the Blue John gap has passed never to return thus much at least I, a broken invalid have done for the common good let me now recount what occurred as clearly as I may the night of Friday, May 3rd was dark and cloudy the very night for the monster to walk about eleven o'clock I went from the farmhouse with my lantern in my rifle having first left a note upon the table of my bedroom in which I said that if I were missing search should be made for me in the direction of the gap I made my way to the mouth of the Roman shaft and having perched myself among the rocks close to the opening I shut off my lantern and waited patiently with my loaded rifle ready to my hand it was a melancholy vigil all down the winding valley I could see the scattered lights of the farmhouses and the church clock of Chapelle Ladaille tolling the hours came faintly to my ears these tokens of my fellow men served only to make my position seem the more lonely and to call for a greater effort to overcome the terror which tempted me continually to get back to the farm and abandon forever this dangerous quest and yet there lies deep in every man a rooted self-respect which makes it hard for him to turn back from that which he had once undertaken this feeling of personal pride was my salvation now and it was that alone which helped me fast every instinct of my nature was dragging me away I'm glad now that I had the strength in spite of all that it has cost me my manhood is at least above reproach twelve o'clock struck in a distant church then one then two it was the darkest hour of the night the clouds were drifting low and there was not a star in the sky an owl was hooting somewhere among the rocks but no other sound saved the gentle south the wind came to my ears and then suddenly I heard it from far away down the tunnel came those muffled steps so soft and yet so ponderous I heard also the rattle of stones as they gave way under that giant tread they drew nearer they were close upon me I heard the crashing of the bushes and then dimly through the darkness I was conscious of the loom of some enormous shape some monstrous and coid creature passing swiftly and very silently out from the tunnel I was paralyzed with fear and amazement long as I had waited now that it had actually come I was unprepared for the shock I lay motionless and breathless whilst the great dark mass whisked by me followed up in the night but now I nerf myself for its return no sound came from the sleeping countryside to tell of the horror which was loose in no way could I judge how far off it was what it was doing or when it might be back but not a second time should my nerve fail me not a second time should it pass unchallenged I swore it between my clenched teeth with my cocked rifle across the rock and yet it nearly happened there was no warning of approach now as the creature passed over the grass suddenly like a dark drifting shadow the huge bulk looped up once more before me making for the entrance of the cave again came that paralyzes a volition which held my crooked forefinger impotent upon the trigger but with a desperate effort to look it off even as the brushwood rustled and the monstrous beast blended with the shadow of the gap I fired at the retreating form in the blaze of the gun I caught a glimpse of a great shaggy mass something with rough and bristling hair of a withered great color fading away to white in its lower parts the huge body supported upon short thick curving legs I had just that glance and then I heard the rattle of the stones as the creature tore down its to its borrow in an instant with a triumphant revulsion of feeling I had cast my fears to the wind and uncovering my powerful lantern with my rifle in my hand I sprang down from my rock and rushed after the monster down the old roman shaft my splendid lamp cast a brilliant flood of vivid light in front of me I ran from the yellow glimmer which had aided me down the same passage only 12 days before as I ran I saw the great beast lurching along before me its huge bulk filling up the whole space from wall to wall its hair looked like coarse faded oakum and hung down in long dense masses which swayed as it moved it was like an enormous unclipped sheep in its fleece but in size it was far larger than the largest elephant and its breadth seemed to be nearly as great as its height it fills me with amazement now to think that I should have dared to follow such a horror into the bowels of the earth but when one's blood is up and when one's quarry seems to be flying the old primeval hunting spirit awakes and prunes is cast to the wind rifle in hand I ran at the top of my speed upon the trail of the monster I had seen that the creature was swift now I was to find out to my cost that it was also very cunning I had imagined that it was in panic flight and that I had only to pursue it the idea that it might turn upon me never entered my excited brain I have already explained that the passage down which I was raising opened into a great central cave into this I rushed fearful lest I should lose all trace of the beast but he had turned upon his own traces and in a moment we were face to face that picture seeing in the brilliant white light of the lantern is etched forever upon my brain he had reared up on his hind legs as a bear would do and stood above me with enormous menacing such a creature as no nightmare had ever brought to my imagination I have said that he reared like a bear and there was something bear like if one could conceive a bear which was tenfold the bulk of any bear seen upon earth in his whole pose and attitude in his great crooked forelegs with their ivory white claws in his rugged skin and in his red gaping mouth once just fangs only in one point did he differ from the bear or from any other creature which walks the earth and even at that supreme moment a shudder of horror passed over me as I observed that the eyes which glistened in the glow of my lantern were huge projecting bulbs white and sightless for a moment his great paw swung over my head next he fell forward upon me I and my broken lantern crashed to the earth and I remember no more when I came to myself I was back in the farmhouse of the Allardens two days had passed since my terrible adventure in the Blue John gap it seems that I had laying all night in the cave insensible from concussion of the brain with my left arm and two ribs badly fractured in the morning my note had been found a search party of a dozen farmers assembled and I had been tracked down and carried back to my bedroom where I had laying in high delirium ever since there was it seems no sign of the creature and no blood stain which would show that my bullet had found him as he passed safe for my own plight and the marks upon the mud there was nothing to prove it was true six weeks have now elapsed and I'm able to sit out once more in the sunshine just opposite me is the steep hillside gray with shaley rock and yonder on its flank is the dark cleft which marks the opening of the Blue John gap but it is no longer a source of terror never again through that ill omen tunnel shall any strange shape in the world of men the educated and the scientific the doctor johnson's and the like may smile at my narrative but the poor folk of the countryside had never doubt as to its truth on the day after my recovering consciousness they assembled in their hundreds round the Blue John gap as the castle and courier said it was useless for our correspondent or for any adventurous gentleman who had come from madlock buxton and other parts to offer to descend to explore the cave to the end and to finally test the extraordinary narrative of doctor james hardcastle the country people had taken the matter into their own hands and from an early hour of the morning they had worked hard in stopping up the entrance of the tunnel there's a sharp slope where the shaft begins and great boulders rolled along by many willing hands were thrust down it until the gap was absolutely sealed so ends the episode which had caused such excitement throughout the country local opinion is fiercely divided upon the subject on the one hand are those who point to doctor hardcastle's impaired health and to the possibility of celebrity lesions of tubercular origin giving rise to strange hallucinations some idee fix according to these gentlemen caused the doctor to wander down the tunnel and a fall among drugs was sufficient to account for his injuries on the other hand a legend of a strange creature in the gap has existed for some months back and the farmers look upon doctor hardcastle's narrative and his personal injuries as a final corroboration so the matter stands so the matter will continue to stand for no definite solution seems to us to be now possible it transcends human wit to give any scientific explanation which could cover the alleged facts perhaps before the courier published these words they should have been wise to send their representative to me I have thought the matter out as no one else has occasion to do and it is possible that I might have removed some of the more obvious difficulties of the narrative and brought it one degree near to scientific acceptance let me then write down the only explanation which seems to me to elucidate what I know to my cause to have been a series of facts my theory may seem to be wildly improbable but at least no one can venture to say it is impossible my view is and it was formed as is shown by my diary before my personal adventure that in this part of England there is a vast subterranean lake or sea which is fed by a great number of streams which pass down through the limestone where there is a large collection of water there must also be some evaporation mists or rain and a possibility of agitation this in turn suggests that there may be animal life arising as the vegetable life would also do from those seeds and types which had been introduced at an early period of the world's history when communication with the outer air was more easy the place had then developed a fauna and flora of its own including such monsters as the one which I had seen which may well have been the old cave bear enormously enlarged and modified by its new environment for countless eons the internal and the external creation had kept apart growing steadily away from each other then there had come some rift in the depth of the mountain which had enabled one creature to wander up and by means of the roman tunnel to reach the open air like all subterranean life it had lost the power of sight but this had no doubt been compensated for by nature and other directions certainly it had some means of finding its way about and of hunting down the sheep upon the hillside as to its choice of dark nights it is part of my theory that light was painful to those great white eyeballs and that it was only a pitch black world which it could tolerate perhaps indeed it was the glare of my lantern which saved my life at that awful moment when we were face to face so I read the riddle I leave these facts behind me and if you can explain them do so or if you choose to doubt them do so neither your belief or your fidelity can alter them no effect one whose task is nearly over so ended the strange narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle end of The Terror of Blue John Gabb by author Conan Doyle recording by Igor T. Foray in Magdeburg, Germany 18th of June 2007