The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare

  CHAPTER XIII. THE PURSUIT OF THE PRESIDENT

  NEXT morning five bewildered but hilarious people took the boat forDover. The poor old Colonel might have had some cause to complain,having been first forced to fight for two factions that didn't exist,and then knocked down with an iron lantern. But he was a magnanimous oldgentleman, and being much relieved that neither party had anything to dowith dynamite, he saw them off on the pier with great geniality.

  The five reconciled detectives had a hundred details to explain to eachother. The Secretary had to tell Syme how they had come to wearmasks originally in order to approach the supposed enemy asfellow-conspirators.

  Syme had to explain how they had fled with such swiftness through acivilised country. But above all these matters of detail which could beexplained, rose the central mountain of the matter that they could notexplain. What did it all mean? If they were all harmless officers, whatwas Sunday? If he had not seized the world, what on earth had he been upto? Inspector Ratcliffe was still gloomy about this.

  "I can't make head or tail of old Sunday's little game any more thanyou can," he said. "But whatever else Sunday is, he isn't a blamelesscitizen. Damn it! do you remember his face?"

  "I grant you," answered Syme, "that I have never been able to forgetit."

  "Well," said the Secretary, "I suppose we can find out soon, fortomorrow we have our next general meeting. You will excuse me," hesaid, with a rather ghastly smile, "for being well acquainted with mysecretarial duties."

  "I suppose you are right," said the Professor reflectively. "I supposewe might find it out from him; but I confess that I should feel a bitafraid of asking Sunday who he really is."

  "Why," asked the Secretary, "for fear of bombs?"

  "No," said the Professor, "for fear he might tell me."

  "Let us have some drinks," said Dr. Bull, after a silence.

  Throughout their whole journey by boat and train they were highlyconvivial, but they instinctively kept together. Dr. Bull, who hadalways been the optimist of the party, endeavoured to persuade theother four that the whole company could take the same hansom cab fromVictoria; but this was over-ruled, and they went in a four-wheeler, withDr. Bull on the box, singing. They finished their journey at an hotel inPiccadilly Circus, so as to be close to the early breakfast next morningin Leicester Square. Yet even then the adventures of the day were notentirely over. Dr. Bull, discontented with the general proposal to go tobed, had strolled out of the hotel at about eleven to see and taste someof the beauties of London. Twenty minutes afterwards, however, he cameback and made quite a clamour in the hall. Syme, who tried at first tosoothe him, was forced at last to listen to his communication with quitenew attention.

  "I tell you I've seen him!" said Dr. Bull, with thick emphasis.

  "Whom?" asked Syme quickly. "Not the President?"

  "Not so bad as that," said Dr. Bull, with unnecessary laughter, "not sobad as that. I've got him here."

  "Got whom here?" asked Syme impatiently.

  "Hairy man," said the other lucidly, "man that used to be hairyman--Gogol. Here he is," and he pulled forward by a reluctant elbow theidentical young man who five days before had marched out of the Councilwith thin red hair and a pale face, the first of all the sham anarchistswho had been exposed.

  "Why do you worry with me?" he cried. "You have expelled me as a spy."

  "We are all spies!" whispered Syme.

  "We're all spies!" shouted Dr. Bull. "Come and have a drink."

  Next morning the battalion of the reunited six marched stolidly towardsthe hotel in Leicester Square.

  "This is more cheerful," said Dr. Bull; "we are six men going to ask oneman what he means."

  "I think it is a bit queerer than that," said Syme. "I think it is sixmen going to ask one man what they mean."

  They turned in silence into the Square, and though the hotel was in theopposite corner, they saw at once the little balcony and a figure thatlooked too big for it. He was sitting alone with bent head, poring overa newspaper. But all his councillors, who had come to vote him down,crossed that Square as if they were watched out of heaven by a hundredeyes.

  They had disputed much upon their policy, about whether they shouldleave the unmasked Gogol without and begin diplomatically, or whetherthey should bring him in and blow up the gunpowder at once. Theinfluence of Syme and Bull prevailed for the latter course, though theSecretary to the last asked them why they attacked Sunday so rashly.

  "My reason is quite simple," said Syme. "I attack him rashly because Iam afraid of him."

  They followed Syme up the dark stair in silence, and they all came outsimultaneously into the broad sunlight of the morning and the broadsunlight of Sunday's smile.

  "Delightful!" he said. "So pleased to see you all. What an exquisite dayit is. Is the Czar dead?"

  The Secretary, who happened to be foremost, drew himself together for adignified outburst.

  "No, sir," he said sternly "there has been no massacre. I bring you newsof no such disgusting spectacles."

  "Disgusting spectacles?" repeated the President, with a bright,inquiring smile. "You mean Dr. Bull's spectacles?"

  The Secretary choked for a moment, and the President went on with a sortof smooth appeal--

  "Of course, we all have our opinions and even our eyes, but really tocall them disgusting before the man himself--"

  Dr. Bull tore off his spectacles and broke them on the table.

  "My spectacles are blackguardly," he said, "but I'm not. Look at myface."

  "I dare say it's the sort of face that grows on one," said thePresident, "in fact, it grows on you; and who am I to quarrel with thewild fruits upon the Tree of Life? I dare say it will grow on me someday."

  "We have no time for tomfoolery," said the Secretary, breaking insavagely. "We have come to know what all this means. Who are you? Whatare you? Why did you get us all here? Do you know who and what we are?Are you a half-witted man playing the conspirator, or are you a cleverman playing the fool? Answer me, I tell you."

  "Candidates," murmured Sunday, "are only required to answer eight out ofthe seventeen questions on the paper. As far as I can make out, you wantme to tell you what I am, and what you are, and what this table is, andwhat this Council is, and what this world is for all I know. Well, Iwill go so far as to rend the veil of one mystery. If you want to knowwhat you are, you are a set of highly well-intentioned young jackasses."

  "And you," said Syme, leaning forward, "what are you?"

  "I? What am I?" roared the President, and he rose slowly to anincredible height, like some enormous wave about to arch above themand break. "You want to know what I am, do you? Bull, you are a man ofscience. Grub in the roots of those trees and find out the truth aboutthem. Syme, you are a poet. Stare at those morning clouds. But I tellyou this, that you will have found out the truth of the last tree andthe top-most cloud before the truth about me. You will understand thesea, and I shall be still a riddle; you shall know what the stars are,and not know what I am. Since the beginning of the world all men havehunted me like a wolf--kings and sages, and poets and lawgivers, all thechurches, and all the philosophies. But I have never been caught yet,and the skies will fall in the time I turn to bay. I have given them agood run for their money, and I will now."

  Before one of them could move, the monstrous man had swung himself likesome huge ourang-outang over the balustrade of the balcony. Yet beforehe dropped he pulled himself up again as on a horizontal bar, andthrusting his great chin over the edge of the balcony, said solemnly--

  "There's one thing I'll tell you though about who I am. I am the man inthe dark room, who made you all policemen."

  With that he fell from the balcony, bouncing on the stones below like agreat ball of india-rubber, and went bounding off towards the corner ofthe Alhambra, where he hailed a hansom-cab and sprang inside it. The sixdetectives had been standing thunderstruck and livid in the light of hislast assertion; but when he disappeared into the cab, Syme's practicalsenses re
turned to him, and leaping over the balcony so recklessly asalmost to break his legs, he called another cab.

  He and Bull sprang into the cab together, the Professor and theInspector into another, while the Secretary and the late Gogol scrambledinto a third just in time to pursue the flying Syme, who was pursuingthe flying President. Sunday led them a wild chase towards thenorth-west, his cabman, evidently under the influence of more thancommon inducements, urging the horse at breakneck speed. But Syme was inno mood for delicacies, and he stood up in his own cab shouting, "Stopthief!" until crowds ran along beside his cab, and policemen began tostop and ask questions. All this had its influence upon the President'scabman, who began to look dubious, and to slow down to a trot. He openedthe trap to talk reasonably to his fare, and in so doing let the longwhip droop over the front of the cab. Sunday leant forward, seized it,and jerked it violently out of the man's hand. Then standing up in frontof the cab himself, he lashed the horse and roared aloud, so that theywent down the streets like a flying storm. Through street after streetand square after square went whirling this preposterous vehicle, inwhich the fare was urging the horse and the driver trying desperatelyto stop it. The other three cabs came after it (if the phrase bepermissible of a cab) like panting hounds. Shops and streets shot bylike rattling arrows.

  At the highest ecstacy of speed, Sunday turned round on the splashboardwhere he stood, and sticking his great grinning head out of the cab,with white hair whistling in the wind, he made a horrible face athis pursuers, like some colossal urchin. Then raising his right handswiftly, he flung a ball of paper in Syme's face and vanished. Symecaught the thing while instinctively warding it off, and discovered thatit consisted of two crumpled papers. One was addressed to himself, andthe other to Dr. Bull, with a very long, and it is to be feared partlyironical, string of letters after his name. Dr. Bull's address was,at any rate, considerably longer than his communication, for thecommunication consisted entirely of the words:--

  "What about Martin Tupper now?"

  "What does the old maniac mean?" asked Bull, staring at the words. "Whatdoes yours say, Syme?"

  Syme's message was, at any rate, longer, and ran as follows:--

  "No one would regret anything in the nature of an interference by theArchdeacon more than I. I trust it will not come to that. But, for thelast time, where are your goloshes? The thing is too bad, especiallyafter what uncle said."

  The President's cabman seemed to be regaining some control over hishorse, and the pursuers gained a little as they swept round into theEdgware Road. And here there occurred what seemed to the allies aprovidential stoppage. Traffic of every kind was swerving to right orleft or stopping, for down the long road was coming the unmistakableroar announcing the fire-engine, which in a few seconds went by like abrazen thunderbolt. But quick as it went by, Sunday had bounded out ofhis cab, sprung at the fire-engine, caught it, slung himself on to it,and was seen as he disappeared in the noisy distance talking to theastonished fireman with explanatory gestures.

  "After him!" howled Syme. "He can't go astray now. There's no mistakinga fire-engine."

  The three cabmen, who had been stunned for a moment, whipped up theirhorses and slightly decreased the distance between themselves and theirdisappearing prey. The President acknowledged this proximity by comingto the back of the car, bowing repeatedly, kissing his hand, and finallyflinging a neatly-folded note into the bosom of Inspector Ratcliffe.When that gentleman opened it, not without impatience, he found itcontained the words:--

  "Fly at once. The truth about your trouser-stretchers is known. --A FRIEND."

  The fire-engine had struck still farther to the north, into a regionthat they did not recognise; and as it ran by a line of high railingsshadowed with trees, the six friends were startled, but somewhatrelieved, to see the President leap from the fire-engine, though whetherthrough another whim or the increasing protest of his entertainers theycould not see. Before the three cabs, however, could reach up to thespot, he had gone up the high railings like a huge grey cat, tossedhimself over, and vanished in a darkness of leaves.

  Syme with a furious gesture stopped his cab, jumped out, and sprang alsoto the escalade. When he had one leg over the fence and his friendswere following, he turned a face on them which shone quite pale in theshadow.

  "What place can this be?" he asked. "Can it be the old devil's house?I've heard he has a house in North London."

  "All the better," said the Secretary grimly, planting a foot in afoothold, "we shall find him at home."

  "No, but it isn't that," said Syme, knitting his brows. "I hear the mosthorrible noises, like devils laughing and sneezing and blowing theirdevilish noses!"

  "His dogs barking, of course," said the Secretary.

  "Why not say his black-beetles barking!" said Syme furiously, "snailsbarking! geraniums barking! Did you ever hear a dog bark like that?"

  He held up his hand, and there came out of the thicket a long growlingroar that seemed to get under the skin and freeze the flesh--a lowthrilling roar that made a throbbing in the air all about them.

  "The dogs of Sunday would be no ordinary dogs," said Gogol, andshuddered.

  Syme had jumped down on the other side, but he still stood listeningimpatiently.

  "Well, listen to that," he said, "is that a dog--anybody's dog?"

  There broke upon their ear a hoarse screaming as of things protestingand clamouring in sudden pain; and then, far off like an echo, whatsounded like a long nasal trumpet.

  "Well, his house ought to be hell!" said the Secretary; "and if it ishell, I'm going in!" and he sprang over the tall railings almost withone swing.

  The others followed. They broke through a tangle of plants and shrubs,and came out on an open path. Nothing was in sight, but Dr. Bullsuddenly struck his hands together.

  "Why, you asses," he cried, "it's the Zoo!"

  As they were looking round wildly for any trace of their wild quarry,a keeper in uniform came running along the path with a man in plainclothes.

  "Has it come this way?" gasped the keeper.

  "Has what?" asked Syme.

  "The elephant!" cried the keeper. "An elephant has gone mad and runaway!"

  "He has run away with an old gentleman," said the other strangerbreathlessly, "a poor old gentleman with white hair!"

  "What sort of old gentleman?" asked Syme, with great curiosity.

  "A very large and fat old gentleman in light grey clothes," said thekeeper eagerly.

  "Well," said Syme, "if he's that particular kind of old gentleman,if you're quite sure that he's a large and fat old gentleman in greyclothes, you may take my word for it that the elephant has not run awaywith him. He has run away with the elephant. The elephant is not made byGod that could run away with him if he did not consent to the elopement.And, by thunder, there he is!"

  There was no doubt about it this time. Clean across the space of grass,about two hundred yards away, with a crowd screaming and scamperingvainly at his heels, went a huge grey elephant at an awful stride, withhis trunk thrown out as rigid as a ship's bowsprit, and trumpeting likethe trumpet of doom. On the back of the bellowing and plunging animalsat President Sunday with all the placidity of a sultan, but goading theanimal to a furious speed with some sharp object in his hand.

  "Stop him!" screamed the populace. "He'll be out of the gate!"

  "Stop a landslide!" said the keeper. "He is out of the gate!"

  And even as he spoke, a final crash and roar of terror announced thatthe great grey elephant had broken out of the gates of the ZoologicalGardens, and was careening down Albany Street like a new and swift sortof omnibus.

  "Great Lord!" cried Bull, "I never knew an elephant could go so fast.Well, it must be hansom-cabs again if we are to keep him in sight."

  As they raced along to the gate out of which the elephant had vanished,Syme felt a glaring panorama of the strange animals in the cages whichthey passed. Afterwards he thought it queer that he should have seenthem so clearly. He remembered
especially seeing pelicans, with theirpreposterous, pendant throats. He wondered why the pelican was thesymbol of charity, except it was that it wanted a good deal of charityto admire a pelican. He remembered a hornbill, which was simply a hugeyellow beak with a small bird tied on behind it. The whole gave him asensation, the vividness of which he could not explain, that Nature wasalways making quite mysterious jokes. Sunday had told them that theywould understand him when they had understood the stars. He wonderedwhether even the archangels understood the hornbill.

  The six unhappy detectives flung themselves into cabs and followed theelephant sharing the terror which he spread through the long stretch ofthe streets. This time Sunday did not turn round, but offered them thesolid stretch of his unconscious back, which maddened them, if possible,more than his previous mockeries. Just before they came to Baker Street,however, he was seen to throw something far up into the air, as a boydoes a ball meaning to catch it again. But at their rate of racing itfell far behind, just by the cab containing Gogol; and in faint hope ofa clue or for some impulse unexplainable, he stopped his cab so as topick it up. It was addressed to himself, and was quite a bulky parcel.On examination, however, its bulk was found to consist of thirty-threepieces of paper of no value wrapped one round the other. When the lastcovering was torn away it reduced itself to a small slip of paper, onwhich was written:--

  "The word, I fancy, should be 'pink'."

  The man once known as Gogol said nothing, but the movements of his handsand feet were like those of a man urging a horse to renewed efforts.

  Through street after street, through district after district, went theprodigy of the flying elephant, calling crowds to every window, anddriving the traffic left and right. And still through all this insanepublicity the three cabs toiled after it, until they came to be regardedas part of a procession, and perhaps the advertisement of a circus. Theywent at such a rate that distances were shortened beyond belief, andSyme saw the Albert Hall in Kensington when he thought that he was stillin Paddington. The animal's pace was even more fast and free through theempty, aristocratic streets of South Kensington, and he finally headedtowards that part of the sky-line where the enormous Wheel of Earl'sCourt stood up in the sky. The wheel grew larger and larger, till itfilled heaven like the wheel of stars.

  The beast outstripped the cabs. They lost him round several corners, andwhen they came to one of the gates of the Earl's Court Exhibition theyfound themselves finally blocked. In front of them was an enormouscrowd; in the midst of it was an enormous elephant, heaving andshuddering as such shapeless creatures do. But the President haddisappeared.

  "Where has he gone to?" asked Syme, slipping to the ground.

  "Gentleman rushed into the Exhibition, sir!" said an official in a dazedmanner. Then he added in an injured voice: "Funny gentleman, sir. Askedme to hold his horse, and gave me this."

  He held out with distaste a piece of folded paper, addressed: "To theSecretary of the Central Anarchist Council."

  The Secretary, raging, rent it open, and found written inside it:--

  "When the herring runs a mile, Let the Secretary smile; When the herring tries to fly, Let the Secretary die. Rustic Proverb."

  "Why the eternal crikey," began the Secretary, "did you let the man in?Do people commonly come to your Exhibition riding on mad elephants? Do--"

  "Look!" shouted Syme suddenly. "Look over there!"

  "Look at what?" asked the Secretary savagely.

  "Look at the captive balloon!" said Syme, and pointed in a frenzy.

  "Why the blazes should I look at a captive balloon?" demanded theSecretary. "What is there queer about a captive balloon?"

  "Nothing," said Syme, "except that it isn't captive!"

  They all turned their eyes to where the balloon swung and swelled abovethe Exhibition on a string, like a child's balloon. A second afterwardsthe string came in two just under the car, and the balloon, brokenloose, floated away with the freedom of a soap bubble.

  "Ten thousand devils!" shrieked the Secretary. "He's got into it!" andhe shook his fists at the sky.

  The balloon, borne by some chance wind, came right above them, and theycould see the great white head of the President peering over the sideand looking benevolently down on them.

  "God bless my soul!" said the Professor with the elderly manner that hecould never disconnect from his bleached beard and parchment face. "Godbless my soul! I seemed to fancy that something fell on the top of myhat!"

  He put up a trembling hand and took from that shelf a piece of twistedpaper, which he opened absently only to find it inscribed with a truelover's knot and, the words:--

  "Your beauty has not left me indifferent.--From LITTLE SNOWDROP."

  There was a short silence, and then Syme said, biting his beard--

  "I'm not beaten yet. The blasted thing must come down somewhere. Let'sfollow it!"