have made the other arrangements. I have seen my advocate and prepared my will. You will be left everything when I die; my entire estate goes to you to continue in this work."
Jerome rose. "It's no use," he said. "I won't go into that laboratory with you."
"Very well. I understand. But this I ask of you — please stay here with me during the next two days. I shall proceed at once with the operations I have in mind. I hope to be able to give you complete proof of success — living animals that will not only bear a physical resemblance to me, but inherit my mental processes as well."
Doctor Jerome shuddered slightly.
"Please," said Barsac. "Do not leave me during these next two days. I shall stay in the laboratory and work if you will prepare the meals. You understand, I cannot keep servants here. They are ignorant, superstitious fools — easily frightened. And I must have someone here to rely on. You will stay?"
Jerome was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yes," he whispered. "I will stay."
Barsac clasped his hand. Doctor Jerome felt the cold, flabby fingers and drew back involuntarily. To him, the light of gratitude in Barsac's bulging eyes was too reminiscent of the look he had glimpsed there in his dreams.
"I shall not wait," Barsac promised. "I go now to prepare. I will be in the laboratory — you need only to bring meals to the outer door. Within forty-eight hours I hope to announce success. Meanwhile, you are at liberty to amuse yourself as you will."
He turned. "I will leave you now. My gratitude, Jerome."
Barsac left the room.
Doctor Jerome smiled grimly as he gazed up at the forbidding stone ceiling.
"Amuse myself as I will," he muttered.
He finished his cigar, then rose and walked aimlessly down the hall. His footsteps rang eerily through the empty corridors. At a turn in the hall Jerome saw the figure standing against the wall in the shadows and started back.
Then he recognized the outlines of a suit of armor. Of course — Castle Barsac would have suits of armor. And all the trimmings, too. Perhaps he could amuse himself for a few hours, exploring the castle.
Doctor Jerome set about his explorations with scientific precision. He covered the ground floor thoroughly, entering a score of dusty chambers and apartments — being careful in each instance to turn on the lights before venturing into a strange room.
He found much to interest and delight him. Massive Regency furniture, elaborate tapestries, a full gallery of oils. The family portraits of the Barsac line gazed down austerely from a long chamber at the rear of the castle, and Jerome speculated as to the identity of that great-great-grandfather with the sorcerous proclivities.
Everything hinted of great age and great wealth. If the castle were haunted, it was haunted by the past alone. Again Jerome was reminded of the storybook atmosphere. All that was needed was a family vault in the cellar.
A vault? Why not?
Jerome explored. He discovered the stairs that descended to the lower levels and here he found the catacombs.
Catacombs they were in truth. On marble slabs lay the stone sarcophagi of the Barsacs. Row on row they rested in eternal slumber here below. Now only Sebastian Barsac remained, the last of his line, and soon he too would join these ranks of the dead.
The last of the Barsacs, and he was mad. Mad and soon to die.
How soon ?
There in the dank and silent catacombs, the thought came to Jerome.
He could die quite soon.
Why not? Let him die soon, and quietly.
Then there would no longer be a Castle Barsac. Jerome would have the castle, have the laboratory, have the money. And why not? Barsac was mad. And he was all alone. The doctors had said he would die, and it need hardly be called murder. Perhaps a strong shock would do it.
Yes, a shock. Barsac would weaken himself in these crazy experiments. And then it would be so easy to precipitate a stroke, a seizure. He could be frightened.
The will was made, and all that
Jerome rose. "It's no use," he said. "I won't go into that laboratory with you."
"Very well. I understand. But this I ask of you — please stay here with me during the next two days. I shall proceed at once with the operations I have in mind. I hope to be able to give you complete proof of success — living animals that will not only bear a physical resemblance to me, but inherit my mental processes as well."
Doctor Jerome shuddered slightly.
"Please," said Barsac. "Do not leave me during these next two days. I shall stay in the laboratory and work if you will prepare the meals. You understand, I cannot keep servants here. They are ignorant, superstitious fools — easily frightened. And I must have someone here to rely on. You will stay?"
Jerome was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yes," he whispered. "I will stay."
Barsac clasped his hand. Doctor Jerome felt the cold, flabby fingers and drew back involuntarily. To him, the light of gratitude in Barsac's bulging eyes was too reminiscent of the look he had glimpsed there in his dreams.
"I shall not wait," Barsac promised. "I go now to prepare. I will be in the laboratory — you need only to bring meals to the outer door. Within forty-eight hours I hope to announce success. Meanwhile, you are at liberty to amuse yourself as you will."
He turned. "I will leave you now. My gratitude, Jerome."
Barsac left the room.
Doctor Jerome smiled grimly as he gazed up at the forbidding stone ceiling.
"Amuse myself as I will," he muttered.
He finished his cigar, then rose and walked aimlessly down the hall. His footsteps rang eerily through the empty corridors. At a turn in the hall Jerome saw the figure standing against the wall in the shadows and started back.
Then he recognized the outlines of a suit of armor. Of course — Castle Barsac would have suits of armor. And all the trimmings, too. Perhaps he could amuse himself for a few hours, exploring the castle.
Doctor Jerome set about his explorations with scientific precision. He covered the ground floor thoroughly, entering a score of dusty chambers and apartments — being careful in each instance to turn on the lights before venturing into a strange room.
He found much to interest and delight him. Massive Regency furniture, elaborate tapestries, a full gallery of oils. The family portraits of the Barsac line gazed down austerely from a long chamber at the rear of the castle, and Jerome speculated as to the identity of that great-great-grandfather with the sorcerous proclivities.
Everything hinted of great age and great wealth. If the castle were haunted, it was haunted by the past alone. Again Jerome was reminded of the storybook atmosphere. All that was needed was a family vault in the cellar.
A vault? Why not?
Jerome explored. He discovered the stairs that descended to the lower levels and here he found the catacombs.
Catacombs they were in truth. On marble slabs lay the stone sarcophagi of the Barsacs. Row on row they rested in eternal slumber here below. Now only Sebastian Barsac remained, the last of his line, and soon he too would join these ranks of the dead.
The last of the Barsacs, and he was mad. Mad and soon to die.
How soon ?
There in the dank and silent catacombs, the thought came to Jerome.
He could die quite soon.
Why not? Let him die soon, and quietly.
Then there would no longer be a Castle Barsac. Jerome would have the castle, have the laboratory, have the money. And why not? Barsac was mad. And he was all alone. The doctors had said he would die, and it need hardly be called murder. Perhaps a strong shock would do it.
Yes, a shock. Barsac would weaken himself in these crazy experiments. And then it would be so easy to precipitate a stroke, a seizure. He could be frightened.
The will was made, and all that
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