A Bottomless Grave Read online

  ‘“Dropped!” I exclaimed; “where—where from?”

  ‘I saw the gentleman look up at the ceiling; my eyes followed his, and then I felt as if I should go through the floor. On the ceiling above was a dark moist patch, and slowly dripping from it were drops of blood.

  ‘ “I can’t stop here,” wailed the poor young bride. “Take me away, take me away!”

  ‘“My dear young lady,” I said, trying to soothe her, “don’t be frightened; nothing can hurt you here.”

  ‘I don’t know why I said it, but I felt I must say something.

  ‘The gentleman’s face was very pale, and I could see he was trembling. He was terribly upset, and who could wonder at it?

  ‘I think he guessed that something awful had happened up above. I did, and it had come upon me all at once who was in that room. It was the young gentleman who had looked so ill and miserable, and who had wanted a fire in 63.

  ‘“Take her in the next room, sir,” I whispered. “She won’t see it there, and I’ll go and find out what it means.”

  ‘“No, no,” she cried. “I can’t—I won’t stay here! Oh, it is too horrible, and on my wedding-day—on my wedding-day!”

  ‘She wrung her hands, and then put them over her face.

  ‘And there on her hand—the hand with the wedding-ring-was still that terrible blood-stain.

  ‘I could not stand it any longer. I felt as if I should go off myself, so I made a desperate effort and got out of the room, and ran downstairs to the manager.

  ‘“Something dreadful’s happened, sir, and it’s in No. 217. Please go at once. There’s blood dripping through the ceiling of No. 13.”

  ‘“Good heavens!” exclaimed the manager. “What do you mean?”

  ‘He was at supper when I told him, and he started up quite horrified.

  ‘“Please come at once, sir. The poor young lady’s seen it, and she’s in a terrible way.”

  ‘The manager went up the stairs at once, and I followed him as fast as I could. On the first floor he met one of the porters, and he told him to come with us, and we all three went up on to the fourth floor, and the manager went straight to No. 217 and knocked at the door.

  ‘There was no answer.

  ‘The chamber-maid on the floor had come up, seeing something was the matter, and she gave the manager her master-key.

  ‘He put it in the door and turned it, but the door did not open.

  ‘It was bolted on the inside.

  ‘“Go and get something at once,” the manager said to the porter; we must break the door open.”

  ‘It seemed an hour while we waited outside that door for the man to fetch his tools.

  ‘“You’re sure it’s blood?” the manager said to me.

  ‘“Oh yes, sir; I could see it by the stain on the ceiling, and some of it had dropped on to the young lady’s hand.”

  ‘“What an awful thing!” he exclaimed. “Who’s in here—do you know?”

  ‘“Yes, sir. It’s a young gentleman who came this afternoon, and we put him into 63 first, and moved him up here because of the smoke. He would have a fire!”

  ‘“I’m afraid it’s a case of suicide.”

  ‘“It’s something dreadful, sir, I’m sure, or the blood couldn’t have soaked through like that.”

  ‘Presently the porter came back, but it was a long job and a hard job to get that door open, the bolt held so firmly; but at last it went with a terrific crash, and then we all stood outside and peered into the room.

  ‘There was no light, but the fire was still burning brightly, and by the glow it cast over the room we saw something was lying on the floor.

  ‘The chamber-maid brought a light, and the manager went in first and knelt down by the “something”.

  ‘He had sent for the doctor directly I’d told him about the blood, and at that moment the doctor came up with the sub-manager.

  ‘The doctor went in and looked at the body while the light was held up for him.

  ‘“He’s dead,” he said, and the words almost made my heart stand still, though I had expected them.

  ‘The poor young fellow had gashed his throat in a frightful way, and was lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

  ‘I was in the room while they examined the body, but I couldn’t look at it. I turned my back and looked at the fireplace. There was a lot of burnt paper on the hearth, and some bits of torn-up letters and envelopes that hadn’t fallen into the fire.

  ‘The young fellow had been burning his letters and papers.

  ‘I knew then why he was so particular about having a fire in his room.

  ‘The doctor finished his examination, and then he got up and turned to the manager.

  ‘“It’s a case of suicide,” he said. “Do you know anything about him?”

  ‘“No; we’ve never seen him before; he only came this afternoon.”

  ‘“Well, you’d better not let anything be touched to-night. Nothing can be done for him. You’ll send for the police at once?”

  ‘“Of course.”

  ‘“Then, until they come you’d better lock up the room, and leave everything as it is. I’ll come down and sit in your room and wait for the police if you like.”

  ‘“Yes,” said the manager, “that will be best. I’ve been here ten years, and this is the first case of suicide we’ve had in the hotel.”

  ‘As soon as we were all outside, the manager pulled the door to, but it wouldn’t lock. He had forgotten that it had been burst open.

  ‘“I see,” said the doctor, “you can’t lock it up. You’d better put a man outside, then, to see that nobody goes in. He must remain there till the police come.”

  ‘So the porter was put on guard outside, and we all went along the corridor, looking very scared and frightened, as you can imagine, except the doctor, and of course doctors never look scared at anything —they take it all as a matter of business.

  ‘I had been so horrified at seeing the young fellow lying there dead that everything else had gone out of my head; but when we got to the top of the stairs I remembered the young lady, and all at once I thought perhaps it would be only right if the doctor were to see her.

  ‘I spoke to the manager, and he turned to the doctor at once.

  ‘“Doctor,” he said, “there are very painful circumstances connected with this unhappy business. It seems, at least so the chamber-maid tells me, that blood must have dropped through into the room below.”

  ‘“I don’t wonder at that,” said the doctor; “there’s quite a pool on the floor.”

  ‘“Unfortunately, the room below is occupied by a newly-married couple, and the blood has fallen on the young lady. The chamber-maid tells me she is terribly upset. I think, perhaps, you had better see her.”

  ‘“Certainly I will, but I don’t think, under the circumstances, it will be advisable to tell her the truth.”

  ‘“No, not if you can help it.”

  ‘“I’ll see how she is, and try to reassure her, somehow. Where is she?”

  ‘“I’ll take you to her,” I said. “The poor young lady fainted, and I left her almost beside herself; and no wonder, for the blood was on her hands.”

  ‘“Dear me!” said the doctor, his face looking quite grave; “and on her wedding-night, too. Poor thing! why, it’s enough to turn her brain.”

  ‘I led the way to No. 13 and knocked at the door, and without waiting for an answer, opened it and said: “If you please, sir, here’s our doctor, in case the young lady would like to see him.”

  ‘Then I pulled the door to again, for I had had enough of horrors, and went to sit in the service-room with two of the waiters.

  ‘I wanted to be with somebody, for I felt too upset and nervous to be alone.

  ‘The waiters were full of it, as anything of that sort soon goes all over a hotel, and they wanted to know all about it, but I said I couldn’t talk of it, it had upset me too much; but I told them there was no doubt that the young fellow in No. 217 had
killed himself, and that he was quite dead.

  ‘The doctor was with the young lady quite half an hour. He passed me on his way downstairs, and I asked him how she was, and if there was anything I could do.

  ‘“She’s a little better now,” he said, “but, of course, very much upset. I’ve persuaded her that it is only someone who has met with an accident and lost a quantity of blood, and although it was a very unpleasant experience, there is nothing for her to take to heart, or to be alarmed at; but I called the husband on one side and told him the truth, and he thinks it better they should go to another hotel.”

  ‘“Well, sir,” I said, “under the circumstances it will be, perhaps. It would be a dreadful thing for her to know that at the very beginning of her married life there was a suicide’s body lying above her.”

  ‘“Yes, that’s a woman’s way of looking at it, no doubt. You can go if you like and see if you can help them to pack and put their things together. I’m going to ask the manager to send out and get them rooms in another hotel, so that they have no bother.”

  ‘I could see that the doctor was really sorry for the poor bride and bridegroom, and who could help being, under the circumstances?

  ‘I went in and helped to pack the things they had unpacked, and they were very grateful. I could see they were both awfully shocked and worried, and hardly knew what they were doing.

  ‘Presently the manager came up and said he had got rooms for them at another hotel near, and we got all the luggage down and put it on a cab, and then they came down and drove away.

  ‘It was past midnight when they went, and as I watched them going down the great staircase, the poor girl trembling and holding on to her husband’s arm for support, and he as white as a ghost, I couldn’t help thinking myself that it was about as unhappy a beginning to a honeymoon as their worst enemy, if they had one, could have wished for them.

  ‘Of course the police were very soon in the hotel, and had taken possession of the room where the suicide lay. I didn’t hear anything more that night, for I was tired out and upset, and glad to go to bed when it came to my turn to go off duty; and the next morning when I got up I heard the body had been taken away in the night to the mortuary, and that an inquest was to be held on it.

  ‘Of course I was called at the inquest to give my evidence, and it was then I heard all about the poor young gentleman.

  ‘His friends had been found and communicated with, and it seems that the young gentleman had been disappointed in love, and had been very strange in his manner, and very desponding for some time, but nobody thought he meant to kill himself.

  ‘His brother, who was one of the witnesses, stated that he had been in love with a young lady who had not returned his affection, and this young lady had recently married, and that seemed to have preyed upon his mind very much. “In fact,” said the brother, “he killed himself on the very day that the marriage took place.”

  ‘A good deal of evidence was given by the doctor and others, and the jury brought in a verdict of temporary insanity.

  ‘After the case was over I saw our manager go away with the brother, and they were talking together. Of course I went back to the hotel, but all day I couldn’t help thinking things over, and I thought to myself how strange it was that he should have killed himself right over the room in which there was a young lady who had only been married that day.

  ‘That evening when I went downstairs, the manager called me into his office and said he wanted to ask me a question or two.

  ‘“When that poor fellow came to the hotel, did he ask any questions of you?” he said. “Did he mention any names, and ask if they were in the hotel or coming to the hotel?”

  ‘“No, sir,” I said; “he only asked for a fire.”

  ‘“It was your idea to put him in the room above—217?”

  ‘“Yes, sir. I did it because 63 smoked so badly.”

  ‘“Well, it’s rather an odd coincidence, then. Do you know that he came to this hotel because the young lady he was in love with was coming to stay here with her husband. He had found out somehow they were coming here after the marriage.”

  ‘“Good gracious, sir!” I exclaimed, beginning to see what the manager meant, “you don’t mean to say that the young lady in 13 was the one he wanted to marry?”

  ‘“Yes, there is no doubt, from what the brother has told me, that it is so.”

  ‘And I had put him, quite by accident, in the room above the bride and bridegroom. Only one thin floor separated him from the girl he had broken his heart over, and on her bridal night, while he lay a corpse above her, his blood had dripped through and had fallen on her hands and stained her wedding-ring.

  ‘He had doubtless timed his suicide. He had intended to take his life upon her wedding-day, and in the building in which she was to pass the first hours of her married life with the husband of her choice.

  ‘But I am sure he did not know when he planned that terrible tragedy that she would be the first to see his life-blood flow-that her cry of horror would be the first thing to lead to the discovery of his terrible fate.

  ‘It was chance that had brought that about—coincidence, as the manager called it—and I had been the innocent means of bringing it to pass.

  ‘I don’t know whether the poor bride ever learned the truth. I hope she didn’t, for it isn’t the sort of thing a woman would ever be able to forget. If she had known the truth that night when she felt a cold, wet splash, and looked at her wedding-ring—but there, it isn’t a thing to think about, is it, sir?’

  I said that I didn’t think it was; but after Agnes had finished her story and left me to myself I thought a good deal about it, and it has remained upon the tablets of my memory until now.

  In one thing I cordially agree with Agnes, that it was a strange experience for a chamber-maid. I doubt if many chamber-maids have had one stranger.

  The Battle of the Monsters

  by MORGAN ROBERTSON

  An enormous liner, considered unsinkable and the most powerful passengership in the world, carries insufficient lifeboats. On a voyage across the Atlantic one cold April night, it strikes an iceberg and sinks with appalling loss of life. This was the incredible plot of Futility, or The Wreck of the Titan, a short novel by Morgan Robertson (1861-1915). Incredible, for he published his work in 1898, fourteen years before the famous sinking of the ‘Titanic’. The amazing similarities between Robertson’s fiction and the real tragedy go beyond the likeness of names, ‘Titan’ and ‘Titanic’. Both ships relied on watertight compartments to give them their unsinkable reputation; both ships carried the cream of society from both sides of the Atlantic; both ships had almost the same dimensions; both ships so ignored the possibility of disaster that they carried only the legal minimum of lifeboats. Robertson varied his plot somewhat from the later real-life events, in that the ‘Titan’ was not ripped open by the iceberg like the ‘Titanic’, but was literally turned over to immediately founder, leaving only a few survivors. The novel is concerned with one survivor’s attempts to obtain justice from the ship’s owners for the running down of another vessel by the ‘Titan’ before the disaster. This incredible literary coincidence stands almost alone in the history of fiction.

  Morgan Robertson was the son of a Great Lakes captain, whose foot-steps he followed in becoming a seaman, first on the Lakes then at sea on ocean liners. He spent ten years at sea, rising to become first mate. On leaving the sea, he studied to become a jeweller, but bad eyesight made him turn to writing as a full-time career. He had in fact sketched out the plot of Futility while still a seaman.

  Not unnaturally, Robertson wrote many sea stories, which appeared in journals on both sides of the Atlantic. A firm believer in reincarnation, he was fond of the occasional creepy story. Not many of his works appeared in book form in Britain, though Futility is still in print in America, thanks to the Titanic Historical Society. Robertson published two books of short stories here, Spun Yarn (1900) and Where Angels Fear To Tread (1899
), from which comes ‘The Battle of the Monsters’. It is a most unusual tale indeed, fully bearing out the promise of the imagination which conceived of that enormous liner, the ‘Titan’, striking an iceberg in the Atlantic on a cold April night . . .

  Extract from hospital record of the case of John Anderson, patient of Dr Brown, Ward 3, Room 6:

  August 3. Arrived at hospital in extreme mental distress, having been bitten on wrist three hours previously by dog known to have been rabid. Large, strong man, full-blooded and well nourished. Sanguine temperament. Pulse and temperature higher than normal, due to excitement. Cauterized wound at once (2 p.m.) and inoculated with antitoxin.

  As patient admits having recently escaped, by swimming ashore, from lately arrived cholera ship, now at quarantine, he has been isolated and clothing disinfected. Watch for symptoms of cholera.

  August 3, 6 p.m. Microscopic examination of blood corroborative of Metchnikoff’s theory of fighting leucocytes. White corpuscles gorged with bacteria.

  He was an amphibian, and, as such, undeniably beautiful; for the sunlight, refracted and diffused in the water, gave his translucent, pearl-blue body all the shifting colours of the spectrum. Vigorous and graceful of movement, in shape he resembled a comma of three dimensions, twisted, when at rest, to a slight spiral curve; but in travelling he straightened out with quick successive jerks, each one sending him ahead a couple of lengths. Supplemented by the undulatory movement of a long continuation of his tail, it was his way of swimming, good enough to enable him to escape his enemies; this, and riding at anchor in a current by his cable-like appendage, constituting his main occupation in life. The pleasure of eating was denied him; nature had given him a mouth, but he used it only for purposes of offence and defence, absorbing his food in a most unheard-of manner—through the soft walls of his body.

  Yet he enjoyed a few social pleasures. Though the organs of the five senses were missing in his economy, he possessed an inner sixth sense which answered for all and also gave him power of speech. He would converse, swap news and views, with creatures of his own and other species, provided that they were of equal size and prowess; but he wasted no time on any but his social peers. Smaller creatures he pursued when they annoyed him; larger ones pursued him.