"Vance, this is Mr. Castaigne," said Mr. Wilde. Before he had finished speaking, the man threw himself on the ground before the table, crying and gasping, "Oh, God! Oh, my God! Help me! Forgive me -- Oh, Mr. Castaigne, keep that man away! You cannot, you cannot mean it! You are different -- save me! I am broken down -- I was in a madhouse, and now -- when all was coming right -- when I had forgotten the King -- the King in Yellow, and -- but I shall go mad again -- I shall go mad -- "
His voice died into a choking rattle, for Mr. Wilde had leaped on him,
and his right hand encircled the man's throat. When Vance fell in a heap
on the floor, Mr. Wilde clambered nimbly into his chair again, and, rubbing
his mangled ears with the stump of his hand, turned to me and asked me
for the ledger. I reached it down from the shelf and he opened it. After
a moment's searching among the beautifully written pages, he coughed complacently
and pointed to the name Vance. "Vance," he read aloud -- "Osgood Oswald Vance."
At the sound of his name the man on the floor raised his head and turned
a convulsed face to Mr. Wilde. His eyes were injected with blood, his lips
tumified. "Called April 28th," continued Mr. Wilde. "Occupation,
cashier in the Seaforth National Bank; has served a term for forgery at "Note. -- Has embezzled sums amounting to $30,000 since March 20,
1919. Excellent family, and secured present position through uncle's influence.
Father, President of Seaforth Bank." I looked at the man on the floor. "Get up, Vance," said Mr. Wilde, in a gentle voice. Vance
rose as if hypnotized. "He will do as we suggest now," observed
Mr. Wilde, and, opening the manuscript, he read the entire history of the
Imperial Dynasty of America. Then, in a kind and soothing murmur, he ran
over the important points with Vance, who stood like one stunned. His eyes
were so blank and vacant that I imagined he had become half-witted, and
remarked it to Mr. Wilde, who replied that it was of no consequence anyway.
Very patiently we pointed out to Vance what his share in the affair would
be, and he seemed to understand after a while. Mr. Wilde explained the
manuscript, using several volumes on Heraldry to substantiate the result
of his researches. He mentioned the establishment of the Dynasty in Carcosa,
the lakes which connected Hastur, Aldebaran, and the mystery of the Hyades.
He spoke of Cassilda and Camilla, and sounded the cloudy depths of Demhe Controlling myself with a superhuman effort, I explained to Vance why
I alone was worthy of the crown, and why my cousin must be exiled or die.
I made him understand that my cousin must never marry, even after renouncing
all his claims, and how that, least of all, he should marry the daughter
of the Marquis of Avonshire and bring England into the question. I showed
him a list of thousands of names which Mr. Wilde had drawn up; every man
whose name was there had received the Yellow Sign, which no living human
being dared disregard. The city, the State, the whole land, were ready
to rise and tremble before the Pallid Mask. The time had come, the people should know the son of Hastur, and the Vance leaned on the table, his head buried in his hands. Mr. Wilde drew
a rough sketch on the margin of yesterday's Herald with a bit of
lead-pencil. It was a plan of Hawberk's rooms. Then he wrote out the order
and affixed the seal, and, shaking like a palsied man, I signed my first
writ of execution with my name Hildred-Rex. Mr. Wilde clambered to the floor and, unlocking the cabinet, took a
long, square box from the first shelf. This he brought to the table and
opened. A new knife lay in the tissue-paper inside, and I picked it up
and handed it to Vance, along with the order and the plan of Hawberk's
apartment. Then Mr. Wilde told Vance he could go; and he went, shambling
like an outcast of the slums. I sat for a while watching the daylight fade behind the square tower
of the Judson Memorial Church, and finally, gathering up the manuscript
and notes, took my hat and started for the door. Mr. Wilde watched me in
silence. When I had stepped into the hall I looked back; Mr. Wilde's small
eyes were still fixed on me. Behind him the shadows gathered in the fading
light. Then I closed the door behind me and went out into the darkening
streets. I had eaten nothing since breakfast, but I was not hungry. A wretched,
half-starved creature, who stood looking across the street at the Lethal
Chamber, noticed me and came up to tell me a tale of misery. I gave him
money -- I don't know why -- and he went away without thanking me. An hour
later another outcast approached and whined his story. I had a blank bit
of paper in my pocket, on which was traced the Yellow Sign, and I handed
it to him. He looked at it stupidly for a moment, and then, with an uncertain
glance at me, folded it with what seemed to me exaggerated care and placed
it in his bosom. The electric lights were sparkling among the trees, and the new moon
shone in the sky above the Lethal Chamber. It was tiresome waiting in the
square; I wandered from the marble arch to the artillery stables, and back
again to the lotos fountain. The flowers and grass exhaled a fragrance
which troubled me. The jet of the fountain drops reminded me of the tinkle
of chain mail in Hawberk's shop. But it was not so fascinating, and the
dull sparkle of the moonlight on the water brought no such sensations of The artillery stables were dark, but in the cavalry barracks the officers'
windows were brilliantly lighted, and the sally-port was constantly filled
with troopers in fatigues, carrying straw and harness and baskets filled
with tin dishes. Twice the mounted sentry at the gates was changed while I wandered up
and down the asphalt walk. I looked at my watch. It was nearly time. The
lights in the barracks went out one by one, the barred gate was closed,
and every minute or two an officer passed in through the side wicket, leaving
a rattle of accoutrements and a jingle of spurs on the night air. The square
had become very silent. The last homeless loiterer had been driven away
by the gray-coated park policeman, the car tracks along Wooster Street "Louis," I called. The man pivoted on his spurred heels and came straight towards me. "Is that you, Hildred?" "Yes, you are on time."
I took his offered hand and we strolled towards the Lethal Chamber.
He rattled on about his wedding and the graces of Constance and their
future prospects, calling my attention to his captain's shoulder-straps
and the triple gold arabesque on his sleeve and fatigue cap. I believe
I listened as much to the music of his spurs and sabre as I did to his
boyish babble, and at last we stood under the elms on the Fourth Street "Well, old chap," he inquired, "what can I do for you?"
I drew from my pocket the manuscript and notes of the Imperial Dynasty
of America, and, looking him in the eye, said: "I will tell you. On your word as a soldier, promise me to read
this manuscript from beginning to end, without asking me a question. Promise
me to read these notes in the same way, and promise to me to listen to
what I have to tell later." "I promise, if you wish it," he said, pleasantly. "Give
me the paper, Hildred." He began to read, raising his eyebrows with a puzzled, whimsical air,
which made me tremble with suppressed anger. As he advanced, his eyebrows
contracted, and his lips seemed to form the word "rubbish." Then he looked slightly bored, but apparently for my sake read, with
an attempt at interest, which presently ceased to be an effort. He started
when, in the closely written pages he came to his own name, and when he
came to mine he lowered the paper and looked sharply at me for a moment.
But he kept his word, and resumed his reading, and I let the half-formed
question die on his lips unanswered. When he came to the end and read the
signature of Mr. Wilde, he folded the paper carefully and returned it to
me. I handed him the notes, and he settled back, pushing his fatigue cap "Well," he said, "I see it. What is it?" "It is the Yellow Sign," I said, angrily. "Oh, that's it, is it?" said Louis, in that flattering voice
which Dr. Archer used to employ with me, and would probably have employed
again, had I not settled his affair for him. I kept my rage down and answered as steadily as possible, "Listen,
you have engaged your word?" "I am listening, old chap," he replied, soothingly. I began to speak very calmly: "Dr. Archer, having by some means
become possessed of the secret of the Imperial Succession, attempted to
deprive me of my right, alleging that, because of a fall from my horse
four years ago, I had become mentally deficient. He presumed to place me
under restraint in his own house in hopes of either driving me insane or
poisoning me. I have not forgotten it. I visited him last night and the
interview was final."
Sing Sing, whence he was transferred to the Asylum for the Criminal Insane.
Pardoned by the Governor of New York, and discharged from the Asylum January
19, 1918. Reputation damaged at Sheepshead Bay. Rumors that he lives beyond
his income. Reputation to be repaired at once. Retainer, $1500.
and the Lake of Hali. "The scalloped tatters of the King in Yellow
must hide Yhill forever," he muttered, but I do not believe Vance
heard him. Then by degrees he led Vance along the ramifications of the
imperial family to Uoht and Thale, from Naotalba and Phantom of Truth to
Aldones, and then, tossing aside his manuscript and notes he began the
wonderful story of the Last King. Fascinated and thrilled, I watched him.
He threw up his head, his long arms were stretched out in a magnificent
gesture of pride and power, and his eyes blazed deep in their sockets like
two emeralds. Vance listened, stupefied. As for me, when at last Mr. Wilde
had finished, and, pointing to me, cried, "The cousin of the King,"
my head swam with excitement.
whole world bow to the black stars which hang in the sky over Carcosa.
exquisite pleasure as when the sunshine played over the polished steel
of a corselet on Hawberk's knee. I watched the bats darting and turning
above the water plants in the fountain basin, but their rapid, jerky flight
set my nerves on edge, and I went away again to walk aimlessly to and fro
among the trees.
were deserted, and the only sound which broke the stillness was the stamping
of the sentry's horse and the ring of his sabre against the saddle pommel.
In the barracks the officers' quarters were still lighted, and military
servants passed and repassed before the bay-windows. Twelve o'clock sounded
from the new spire of St. Francis Xavier, and at the last stroke of the
sad-toned bell a figure passed through the portcullis, returned the salute
of the sentry, and, crossing the street, entered the square and advanced
towards the Benedick apartment house.
corner of the square opposite the Lethal Chamber. Then he laughed and asked
me what I wanted with him. I motioned him to a seat on a bench under the
electric light, and sat down beside him. He looked at me curiously, with
that same searching glance which I hate and fear so in doctors. I felt
the insult of his look, but he did not know it, and I carefully concealed
my feelings.
up to his forehead with a boyish gesture which I remembered so well in
school. I watched his face as he read, and when he finished I took the
notes, with the manuscript, and placed them in my pocket. Then I unfolded
a scroll marked with the Yellow Sign. He saw the sign, but he did not seem
to recognize it, and I called his attention to it somewhat sharply.
ARTWORK � Larry Loc 1997