Fear Read online

  ‘I never forgot the impression made on me by the old man, and often questioned the sisters about the poor caretaker, but they had nothing of any interest to tell me. They merely described him as an “old dear” who had been in their father’s service for years and years. No further light was thrown on his sale of the frog. Naturally, they did not like to question his widow.

  ‘One evening while I was having tea in the inner room with the elder sister, I picked up a photograph album. Turning its pages, I came on a remarkably fine likeness of the old man. There, before my eyes was that strange, striking countenance; but evidently this photograph had been taken many years before I saw him. The face was fuller and had not yet acquired the frail, infinitely wearied look I remembered. But what magnificent eyes! There certainly was something extraordinarily impressive about the man.

  ‘ “What a splendid photograph of poor old Holmes!” I said.

  ‘ “Photograph of Holmes? I’d no idea there was one. Let’s see.”

  ‘As I handed her the open book, her young sister, Bessie, looked in through the open door.

  ‘ “I’m off to the movies now,” she called out. “Father’s just rung up to say he’ll be round in a few minutes to have a look at that Sheraton sideboard.’

  ‘ “All right, Bessie, I’ll be here, and very glad to have father’s opinion,” said Miss Wilson, taking the album from my hand.

  ‘ “I can’t see any photograph of old Holmes,” she said.

  ‘I pointed to the top of the page.

  ‘ “That?” she exclaimed. “Why, that’s my dear father!”

  ‘ “Your father!” I gasped.

  ‘ “Yes, I can’t imagine any two people more unlike. It must have been very dark when you saw Holmes!”

  ‘ “Yes, yes; it was very dark,” I said quickly – just to gain time to think, for I felt bewildered. No degree of darkness could possibly explain any such mistake. I had no moment’s doubt as to the identity of the man I had taken for the caretaker with the one whose photograph I held in my hand. But what an amazing, inexplicable thing!

  ‘Her father? Why on earth should he have been in the shop unknown to his daughters? For what possible motive had he concealed his sale of the frog? And when he heard of its value, why had he left the girls under the impression that it was Holmes, the dead caretaker, who had sold it?

  ‘Had he been ashamed to confess his own inadvertence? Or was it possible that the girls had never told him the astonishing sequel to the sale? Did they perhaps not want him to know of their sudden acquisition? Into what strange family intrigue had I stumbled? But, whoever it was who had been so secretive, it was none of my business. I didn’t want to give anyone away. No, I must hold my tongue.

  ‘The younger sister had said the father was just coming. Would he recognize me as his customer? If so, it might be rather embarrassing.

  ‘ “It’s a splendid face,” I said shyly.

  ‘ “Isn’t it?” she said with pleased eagerness. “So clever and strong, don’t you think? I remember when that photograph was taken. It was just before he got religion.” The girl spoke as if she referred to some distressing illness.

  ‘ “Did he suddenly become very religious?”

  ‘ “Yes,” she said reluctantly. “Poor father! He made friends with a priest, and became so changed. He was never the same again.”

  ‘From the break in the girl’s voice, I guessed she thought her father’s reason had been affected. Perhaps this explained the whole affair? On the two occasions when I had seen him, was he wandering in mind as well as body?

  ‘ “Did his religion make him unhappy?” I ventured to ask, for I was most anxious for more light on the strange being before I met him again.

  ‘ “Yes, dreadfully.” The girl’s eyes were full of tears. “You see … it was …” She hesitated, but after a glance at me went on, “There’s really no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. I’ve come to look on you as a real friend. My poor father began to think he had done something very wrong. He couldn’t quiet his conscience. You remember me telling you of his extraordinary flair? Well, his fortune had really been founded on three marvellous strokes of business. You see, he had exactly the same sort of luck you had here the other day – that’s why I decided to tell you. It seems such an odd coincidence.”

  ‘She paused.

  ‘ “Please go on,” I urged.

  ‘ “Well, on three separate occasions he bought for a few shillings objects that were of immense value. Only unlike you – he did know what he was about. The profit made on their sale was no surprise to him. Unlike you, he did not then see any obligation to make it up to the ignorant people who had thrown away fortunes. After all, most dealers wouldn’t, would they?” she asked defensively. “Well, father grew richer and richer … Years later, he met this priest, and then he seemed to go sort of – er – morbid. He began to think that our wealth had been founded on what was really no better than theft. He reproached himself bitterly for having taken advantage of those three men’s ignorance. Unhappily in each case he succeeded in discovering what had ultimately happened to those he called his ‘victims’. Most unfortunately, all three customers had died destitute. This discovery made him incurably miserable. Two of these men had died without leaving any children, so, as no relations could be found, my father was unable to make amends.

  ‘ “The son of the third he traced to America: but there he, too, had died leaving no family. So poor father could find no means of making reparation. That was what he longed for – to make reparation. His failure preyed and preyed on him, until his poor dear mind became quite unhinged. As religion gained stronger and stronger hold on him, he took a queer sort of notion into his head – a regular obsession. ‘The next best thing to doing a good deed yourself,’ he would say, ‘is to provide someone else with the opportunity – to give him his cue. In our sins Christ is crucified afresh. Because I sinned against Him thrice, I must somehow be the cause of three correspondingly good actions that will counter-balance my own sins. In no other way can I atone for my crimes against Christ, for crimes they were.’

  ‘ “In vain we argued with him, assuring him he had done only as nearly all other men would have done. It was no use. ‘Other men must judge for themselves. I have done what I know to be wrong,’ he would moan. He grew more and more fixed in his idea of – er – expiation. It became positive religious mania!

  ‘ “Determined to find three human beings who, by their good actions, would, as it were, cancel out the pain caused to Divinity by what he called his ‘three crimes’, he busied himself in finding insignificant-looking works of art which he would offer for a few shillings.

  ‘ “Poor old father! Never shall I forget his joy when one day a man brought back a vase he had bought for five shillings and then discovered to be worth six hundred pounds: ‘I think you must have made a mistake,’ the man said. Just as you did, bless you!

  ‘ “Five years later a similar thing occurred, and he was, oh, so radiant. Two of humanity’s crimes cancelled out – two-thirds of his expiation achieved!

  ‘ “Then followed years and years of weary disappointment. ‘I shall never rest. I can’t. No, never, never, until I find the third,’ he used to say.”

  ‘Here the girl began to weep. Hiding her face behind her hands, she murmured, “Oh, if only you had come sooner!”

  ‘I heard the jingle-jangle of the bell.

  ‘ “How he must have suffered!” I said. “I’m so glad I had the luck to be the third. Is he satisfied now?”

  ‘Her hands dropped from her face; she stared at me.

  ‘I heard footsteps approach.

  ‘ “I’m so glad I’m going to meet him again,” I said.

  ‘ “Meet him?” she echoed in amazement as the footsteps neared.

  ‘ “Yes, I may stay and see your father, mayn’t I? I heard your sister say he would soon be here.”

  ‘ “Oh, now I understand!” she exclaimed. “You mean Bessie’s father! But Bessie and