During his residence in London, the accomplished
Prince Florizel of Bohemia gained the affection of all classes by the seduction
of his manner and by a well-considered generosity. He was a remarkable man even
by what was known of him; and that was but a small part of what he actually
did. Although of a placid temper in ordinary circumstances, and accustomed to
take the world with as much philosophy as any ploughman, the Prince of Bohemia
was not without a taste for ways of life more adventurous and eccentric than
that to which he was destined by his birth. Now and then, when he fell into a
low humour, when there was no laughable play to witness in any of the London
theatres, and when the season of the year was unsuitable to those field sports
in which he excelled all competitors, he would summon his confidant and Master
of the Horse, Colonel Geraldine, and bid him prepare himself against an evening
ramble. The Master of the Horse was a young officer of a brave and even
temerarious disposition. He greeted the news with delight, and hastened to make
ready. Long practice and a varied acquaintance of life had given him a singular
facility in disguise; he could adapt not only his face and bearing, but his
voice and almost his thoughts, to those of any rank, character, or nation; and
in this way he diverted attention from the Prince, and sometimes gained
admission for the pair into strange societies. The civil authorities were never
taken into the secret of these adventures; the imperturbable courage of the one
and the ready invention and chivalrous devotion of the other had brought them
through a score of dangerous passes; and they grew in confidence as time went
on.
One evening in March they were driven by a sharp fall of sleet into an Oyster
Bar in the immediate neighbourhood of Leicester Square. Colonel Geraldine was
dressed and painted to represent a person connected with the Press in reduced
circumstances; while the Prince had, as usual, travestied his appearance by the
addition of false whiskers and a pair of large adhesive eyebrows. These lent
him a shaggy and weather-beaten air, which, for one of his urbanity, formed the
most impenetrable disguise. Thus equipped, the commander and his satellite
sipped their brandy and soda in security.
The bar was full of guests, male and female; but though more than one of these
offered to fall into talk with our adventurers, none of them promised to grow
interesting upon a nearer acquaintance. There was nothing present but the lees
of London and the commonplace of disrespectability; and the Prince had already
fallen to yawning, and was beginning to grow weary of the whole excursion, when
the swing doors were pushed violently open, and a young man, followed by a
couple of commissionaires, entered the bar. Each of the commissionaires carried
a large dish of cream tarts under a cover, which they at once removed; and the
young man made the round of the company, and pressed these confections upon
every one’s acceptance with an exaggerated courtesy. Sometimes his offer
was laughingly accepted; sometimes it was firmly, or even harshly, rejected. In
these latter cases the new-comer always ate the tart himself, with some more or
less humorous commentary.
At last he accosted Prince Florizel.
“Sir,” said he, with a profound obeisance, proffering the tart at
the same time between his thumb and forefinger, “will you so far honour
an entire stranger? I can answer for the quality of the pastry, having eaten
two dozen and three of them myself since five o’clock.”
“I am in the habit,” replied the Prince, “of looking not so
much to the nature of a gift as to the spirit in which it is offered.”
“The spirit, sir,” returned the young man, with another bow,
“is one of mockery.”
“Mockery?” repeated Florizel. “And whom do you propose to
mock?”
“I am not here to expound my philosophy,” replied the other,
“but to distribute these cream tarts. If I mention that I heartily
include myself in the ridicule of the transaction, I hope you will consider
honour satisfied and condescend. If not, you will constrain me to eat my
twenty-eighth, and I own to being weary of the exercise.”
“You touch me,” said the Prince, “and I have all the will in
the world to rescue you from this dilemma, but upon one condition. If my friend
and I eat your cakes—for which we have neither of us any natural
inclination—we shall expect you to join us at supper by way of
recompense.”
The young man seemed to reflect.
“I have still several dozen upon hand,” he said at last; “and
that will make it necessary for me to visit several more bars before my great
affair is concluded. This will take some time; and if you are
hungry—”
The Prince interrupted him with a polite gesture.
“My friend and I will accompany you,” he said; “for we have
already a deep interest in your very agreeable mode of passing an evening. And
now that the preliminaries of peace are settled, allow me to sign the treaty
for both.”
And the Prince swallowed the tart with the best grace imaginable.
“It is delicious,” said he.
“I perceive you are a connoisseur,” replied the young man.
Colonel Geraldine likewise did honour to the pastry; and every one in that bar
having now either accepted or refused his delicacies, the young man with the
cream tarts led the way to another and similar establishment. The two
commissionaires, who seemed to have grown accustomed to their absurd
employment, followed immediately after; and the Prince and the Colonel brought
up the rear, arm in arm, and smiling to each other as they went. In this order
the company visited two other taverns, where scenes were enacted of a like
nature to that already described—some refusing, some accepting, the
favours of this vagabond hospitality, and the young man himself eating each
rejected tart.
On leaving the third saloon the young man counted his store. There were but
nine remaining, three in one tray and six in the other.
“Gentlemen,” said he, addressing himself to his two new followers,
“I am unwilling to delay your supper. I am positively sure you must be
hungry. I feel that I owe you a special consideration. And on this great day
for me, when I am closing a career of folly by my most conspicuously silly
action, I wish to behave handsomely to all who give me countenance. Gentlemen,
you shall wait no longer. Although my constitution is shattered by previous
excesses, at the risk of my life I liquidate the suspensory condition.”
With these words he crushed the nine remaining tarts into his mouth, and
swallowed them at a single movement each. Then, turning to the commissionaires,
he gave them a couple of sovereigns.
“I have to thank you,” said be, “for your extraordinary
patience.”
And he dismissed them with a bow apiece. For some seconds he stood looking at
the purse from which he had just paid his assistants, then, with a laugh, he
tossed it into the middle of the street, and signified his readiness for
supper.
In a small French restaurant in Soho, which had enjoyed an exaggerated
reputation for some little while, but had already begun to be forgotten, and in
a private room up two pair of stairs, the three companions made a very elegant
supper, and drank three or four bottles of champagne, talking the while upon
indifferent subjects. The young man was fluent and gay, but he laughed louder
than was natural in a person of polite breeding; his hands trembled violently,
and his voice took sudden and surprising inflections, which seemed to be
independent of his will. The dessert had been cleared away, and all three had
lighted their cigars, when the Prince addressed him in these words:—
“You will, I am sure, pardon my curiosity. What I have seen of you has
greatly pleased but even more puzzled me. And though I should be loth to seem
indiscreet, I must tell you that my friend and I are persons very well worthy
to be entrusted with a secret. We have many of our own, which we are
continually revealing to improper ears. And if, as I suppose, your story is a
silly one, you need have no delicacy with us, who are two of the silliest men
in England. My name is Godall, Theophilus Godall; my friend is Major Alfred
Hammersmith—or at least, such is the name by which he chooses to be
known. We pass our lives entirely in the search for extravagant adventures; and
there is no extravagance with which we are not capable of sympathy.”
“I like you, Mr. Godall,” returned the young man; “you
inspire me with a natural confidence; and I have not the slightest objection to
your friend the Major, whom I take to be a nobleman in masquerade. At least, I
am sure he is no soldier.”
The Colonel smiled at this compliment to the perfection of his art; and the
young man went on in a more animated manner.
“There is every reason why I should not tell you my story. Perhaps that
is just the reason why I am going to do so. At least, you seem so well prepared
to hear a tale of silliness that I cannot find it in my heart to disappoint
you. My name, in spite of your example, I shall keep to myself. My age is not
essential to the narrative. I am descended from my ancestors by ordinary
generation, and from them I inherited the very eligible human tenement which I
still occupy and a fortune of three hundred pounds a year. I suppose they also
handed on to me a hare-brain humour, which it has been my chief delight to
indulge. I received a good education. I can play the violin nearly well enough
to earn money in the orchestra of a penny gaff, but not quite. The same remark
applies to the flute and the French horn. I learned enough of whist to lose
about a hundred a year at that scientific game. My acquaintance with French was
sufficient to enable me to squander money in Paris with almost the same
facility as in London. In short, I am a person full of manly accomplishments. I
have had every sort of adventure, including a duel about nothing. Only two
months ago I met a young lady exactly suited to my taste in mind and body; I
found my heart melt; I saw that I had come upon my fate at last, and was in the
way to fall in love. But when I came to reckon up what remained to me of my
capital, I found it amounted to something less than four hundred pounds! I ask
you fairly—can a man who respects himself fall in love on four hundred
pounds? I concluded, certainly not; left the presence of my charmer, and
slightly accelerating my usual rate of expenditure, came this morning to my
last eighty pounds. This I divided into two equal parts; forty I reserved for a
particular purpose; the remaining forty I was to dissipate before the night. I
have passed a very entertaining day, and played many farces besides that of the
cream tarts which procured me the advantage of your acquaintance; for I was
determined, as I told you, to bring a foolish career to a still more foolish
conclusion; and when you saw me throw my purse into the street, the forty
pounds were at an end. Now you know me as well as I know myself: a fool, but
consistent in his folly; and, as I will ask you to believe, neither a whimperer
nor a coward.”
From the whole tone of the young man’s statement it was plain that he
harboured very bitter and contemptuous thoughts about himself. His auditors
were led to imagine that his love affair was nearer his heart than he admitted,
and that he had a design on his own life. The farce of the cream tarts began to
have very much the air of a tragedy in disguise.
“Why, is this not odd,” broke out Geraldine, giving a look to
Prince Florizel, “that we three fellows should have met by the merest
accident in so large a wilderness as London, and should be so nearly in the
same condition?”
“How?” cried the young man. “Are you, too, ruined? Is this
supper a folly like my cream tarts? Has the devil brought three of his own
together for a last carouse?”
“The devil, depend upon it, can sometimes do a very gentlemanly
thing,” returned Prince Florizel; “and I am so much touched by this
coincidence, that, although we are not entirely in the same case, I am going to
put an end to the disparity. Let your heroic treatment of the last cream tarts
be my example.”
So saying, the Prince drew out his purse and took from it a small bundle of
bank-notes.
“You see, I was a week or so behind you, but I mean to catch you up and
come neck and neck into the winning-post,” he continued.
“This,” laying one of the notes upon the table, “will suffice
for the bill. As for the rest—”
He tossed them into the fire, and they went up the chimney in a single blaze.
The young man tried to catch his arm, but as the table was between them his
interference came too late.
“Unhappy man,” he cried, “you should not have burned them
all! You should have kept forty pounds.”
“Forty pounds!” repeated the Prince. “Why, in heaven’s
name, forty pounds?”
“Why not eighty?” cried the Colonel; “for to my certain
knowledge there must have been a hundred in the bundle.”
“It was only forty pounds he needed,” said the young man gloomily.
“But without them there is no admission. The rule is strict. Forty pounds
for each. Accursed life, where a man cannot even die without money!”
The Prince and the Colonel exchanged glances. “Explain yourself,”
said the latter. “I have still a pocket-book tolerably well lined, and I
need not say how readily I should share my wealth with Godall. But I must know
to what end: you must certainly tell us what you mean.”
The young man seemed to awaken; he looked uneasily from one to the other, and
his face flushed deeply.
“You are not fooling me?” he asked. “You are indeed ruined
men like me?”
“Indeed, I am for my part,” replied the Colonel.
“And for mine,” said the Prince, “I have given you proof. Who
but a ruined man would throw his notes into the fire? The action speaks for
itself.”
“A ruined man—yes,” returned the other suspiciously,
“or else a millionaire.”
“Enough, sir,” said the Prince; “I have said so, and I am not
accustomed to have my word remain in doubt.”
“Ruined?” said the young man. “Are you ruined, like me? Are
you, after a life of indulgence, come to such a pass that you can only indulge
yourself in one thing more? Are you”—he kept lowering his voice as
he went on—“are you going to give yourselves that last indulgence?
Are you going to avoid the consequences of your folly by the one infallible and
easy path? Are you going to give the slip to the sheriff’s officers of
conscience by the one open door?”
Suddenly he broke off and attempted to laugh.
“Here is your health!” he cried, emptying his glass, “and
good night to you, my merry ruined men.”
Colonel Geraldine caught him by the arm as he was about to rise.
“You lack confidence in us,” he said, “and you are wrong. To
all your questions I make answer in the affirmative. But I am not so timid, and
can speak the Queen’s English plainly. We too, like yourself, have had
enough of life, and are determined to die. Sooner or later, alone or together,
we meant to seek out death and beard him where he lies ready. Since we have met
you, and your case is more pressing, let it be to-night—and at
once—and, if you will, all three together. Such a penniless trio,”
he cried, “should go arm in arm into the halls of Pluto, and give each
other some countenance among the shades!”
Geraldine had hit exactly on the manners and intonations that became the part
he was playing. The Prince himself was disturbed, and looked over at his
confidant with a shade of doubt. As for the young man, the flush came back
darkly into his cheek, and his eyes threw out a spark of light.
“You are the men for me!” he cried, with an almost terrible gaiety.
“Shake hands upon the bargain!” (his hand was cold and wet).
“You little know in what a company you will begin the march! You little
know in what a happy moment for yourselves you partook of my cream tarts! I am
only a unit, but I am a unit in an army. I know Death’s private door. I
am one of his familiars, and can show you into eternity without ceremony and
yet without scandal.”
They called upon him eagerly to explain his meaning.
“Can you muster eighty pounds between you?” he demanded.
Geraldine ostentatiously consulted his pocket-book, and replied in the
affirmative.
“Fortunate beings!” cried the young man. “Forty pounds is the
entry money of the Suicide Club.”
“The Suicide Club,” said the Prince, “why, what the devil is
that?”
“Listen,” said the young man; “this is the age of
conveniences, and I have to tell you of the last perfection of the sort. We
have affairs in different places; and hence railways were invented. Railways
separated us infallibly from our friends; and so telegraphs were made that we
might communicate speedier at great distances. Even in hotels we have lifts to
spare us a climb of some hundred steps. Now, we know that life is only a stage
to play the fool upon as long as the part amuses us. There was one more
convenience lacking to modern comfort; a decent, easy way to quit that stage;
the back stairs to liberty; or, as I said this moment, Death’s private
door. This, my two fellow-rebels, is supplied by the Suicide Club. Do not
suppose that you and I are alone, or even exceptional in the highly reasonable
desire that we profess. A large number of our fellowmen, who have grown
heartily sick of the performance in which they are expected to join daily and
all their lives long, are only kept from flight by one or two considerations.
Some have families who would be shocked, or even blamed, if the matter became
public; others have a weakness at heart and recoil from the circumstances of
death. That is, to some extent, my own experience. I cannot put a pistol to my
head and draw the trigger; for something stronger than myself withholds the
act; and although I loathe life, I have not strength enough in my body to take
hold of death and be done with it. For such as I, and for all who desire to be
out of the coil without posthumous scandal, the Suicide Club has been
inaugurated. How this has been managed, what is its history, or what may be its
ramifications in other lands, I am myself uninformed; and what I know of its
constitution, I am not at liberty to communicate to you. To this extent,
however, I am at your service. If you are truly tired of life, I will introduce
you to-night to a meeting; and if not to-night, at least some time within the
week, you will be easily relieved of your existences. It is now (consulting his
watch) eleven; by half-past, at latest, we must leave this place; so that you
have half-an-hour before you to consider my proposal. It is more serious than a
cream tart,” he added, with a smile; “and I suspect more
palatable.”
“More serious, certainly,” returned Colonel Geraldine; “and
as it is so much more so, will you allow me five minutes’ speech in
private with my friend, Mr. Godall?”
“It is only fair,” answered the young man. “If you will
permit, I will retire.”
“You will be very obliging,” said the Colonel.
As soon as the two were alone—“What,” said Prince Florizel,
“is the use of this confabulation, Geraldine? I see you are flurried,
whereas my mind is very tranquilly made up. I will see the end of this.”
“Your Highness,” said the Colonel, turning pale; “let me ask
you to consider the importance of your life, not only to your friends, but to
the public interest. ‘If not to-night,’ said this madman; but
supposing that to-night some irreparable disaster were to overtake your
Highness’s person, what, let me ask you, what would be my despair, and
what the concern and disaster of a great nation?”
“I will see the end of this,” repeated the Prince in his most
deliberate tones; “and have the kindness, Colonel Geraldine, to remember
and respect your word of honour as a gentleman. Under no circumstances,
recollect, nor without my special authority, are you to betray the incognito
under which I choose to go abroad. These were my commands, which I now
reiterate. And now,” he added, “let me ask you to call for the
bill.”
Colonel Geraldine bowed in submission; but he had a very white face as he
summoned the young man of the cream tarts, and issued his directions to the
waiter. The Prince preserved his undisturbed demeanour, and described a Palais
Royal farce to the young suicide with great humour and gusto. He avoided the
Colonel’s appealing looks without ostentation, and selected another
cheroot with more than usual care. Indeed, he was now the only man of the party
who kept any command over his nerves.
The bill was discharged, the Prince giving the whole change of the note to the
astonished waiter; and the three drove off in a four-wheeler. They were not
long upon the way before the cab stopped at the entrance to a rather dark
court. Here all descended.
After Geraldine had paid the fare, the young man turned, and addressed Prince
Florizel as follows:—
“It is still time, Mr. Godall, to make good your escape into thraldom.
And for you too, Major Hammersmith. Reflect well before you take another step;
and if your hearts say no—here are the cross-roads.”
“Lead on, sir,” said the Prince. “I am not the man to go back
from a thing once said.”
“Your coolness does me good,” replied their guide. “I have
never seen any one so unmoved at this conjuncture; and yet you are not the
first whom I have escorted to this door. More than one of my friends has
preceded me, where I knew I must shortly follow. But this is of no interest to
you. Wait me here for only a few moments; I shall return as soon as I have
arranged the preliminaries of your introduction.”
And with that the young man, waving his hand to his companions, turned into the
court, entered a doorway and disappeared.
“Of all our follies,” said Colonel Geraldine in a low voice,
“this is the wildest and most dangerous.”
“I perfectly believe so,” returned the Prince.
“We have still,” pursued the Colonel, “a moment to ourselves.
Let me beseech your Highness to profit by the opportunity and retire. The
consequences of this step are so dark, and may be so grave, that I feel myself
justified in pushing a little farther than usual the liberty which your
Highness is so condescending as to allow me in private.”
“Am I to understand that Colonel Geraldine is afraid?” asked his
Highness, taking his cheroot from his lips, and looking keenly into the
other’s face.
“My fear is certainly not personal,” replied the other proudly;
“of that your Highness may rest well assured.”
“I had supposed as much,” returned the Prince, with undisturbed
good humour; “but I was unwilling to remind you of the difference in our
stations. No more—no more,” he added, seeing Geraldine about to
apologise, “you stand excused.”
And he smoked placidly, leaning against a railing, until the young man
returned.
“Well,” he asked, “has our reception been arranged?”
“Follow me,” was the reply. “The President will see you in
the cabinet. And let me warn you to be frank in your answers. I have stood your
guarantee; but the club requires a searching inquiry before admission; for the
indiscretion of a single member would lead to the dispersion of the whole
society for ever.”
The Prince and Geraldine put their heads together for a moment. “Bear me
out in this,” said the one; and “bear me out in that,” said
the other; and by boldly taking up the characters of men with whom both were
acquainted, they had come to an agreement in a twinkling, and were ready to
follow their guide into the President’s cabinet.
There were no formidable obstacles to pass. The outer door stood open; the door
of the cabinet was ajar; and there, in a small but very high apartment, the
young man left them once more.
“He will be here immediately,” he said, with a nod, as he
disappeared.
Voices were audible in the cabinet through the folding doors which formed one
end; and now and then the noise of a champagne cork, followed by a burst of
laughter, intervened among the sounds of conversation. A single tall window
looked out upon the river and the embankment; and by the disposition of the
lights they judged themselves not far from Charing Cross station. The furniture
was scanty, and the coverings worn to the thread; and there was nothing movable
except a hand-bell in the centre of a round table, and the hats and coats of a
considerable party hung round the wall on pegs.
“What sort of a den is this?” said Geraldine.
“That is what I have come to see,” replied the Prince. “If
they keep live devils on the premises, the thing may grow amusing.”
Just then the folding door was opened no more than was necessary for the
passage of a human body; and there entered at the same moment a louder buzz of
talk, and the redoubtable President of the Suicide Club. The President was a
man of fifty or upwards; large and rambling in his gait, with shaggy side
whiskers, a bald top to his head, and a veiled grey eye, which now and then
emitted a twinkle. His mouth, which embraced a large cigar, he kept continually
screwing round and round and from side to side, as he looked sagaciously and
coldly at the strangers. He was dressed in light tweeds, with his neck very
open in a striped shirt collar; and carried a minute book under one arm.
“Good evening,” said he, after he had closed the door behind him.
“I am told you wish to speak with me.”
“We have a desire, sir, to join the Suicide Club,” replied the
Colonel.
The President rolled his cigar about in his mouth. “What is that?”
he said abruptly.
“Pardon me,” returned the Colonel, “but I believe you are the
person best qualified to give us information on that point.”
“I?” cried the President. “A Suicide Club? Come, come! this
is a frolic for All Fools’ Day. I can make allowances for gentlemen who
get merry in their liquor; but let there be an end to this.”
“Call your Club what you will,” said the Colonel, “you have
some company behind these doors, and we insist on joining it.”
“Sir,” returned the President curtly, “you have made a
mistake. This is a private house, and you must leave it instantly.”
The Prince had remained quietly in his seat throughout this little colloquy;
but now, when the Colonel looked over to him, as much as to say, “Take
your answer and come away, for God’s sake!” he drew his cheroot
from his mouth, and spoke—
“I have come here,” said he, “upon the invitation of a friend
of yours. He has doubtless informed you of my intention in thus intruding on
your party. Let me remind you that a person in my circumstances has exceedingly
little to bind him, and is not at all likely to tolerate much rudeness. I am a
very quiet man, as a usual thing; but, my dear sir, you are either going to
oblige me in the little matter of which you are aware, or you shall very
bitterly repent that you ever admitted me to your ante-chamber.”
The President laughed aloud.
“That is the way to speak,” said he. “You are a man who is a
man. You know the way to my heart, and can do what you like with me. Will
you,” he continued, addressing Geraldine, “will you step aside for
a few minutes? I shall finish first with your companion, and some of the
club’s formalities require to be fulfilled in private.”
With these words he opened the door of a small closet, into which he shut the
Colonel.
“I believe in you,” he said to Florizel, as soon as they were
alone; “but are you sure of your friend?”
“Not so sure as I am of myself, though he has more cogent reasons,”
answered Florizel, “but sure enough to bring him here without alarm. He
has had enough to cure the most tenacious man of life. He was cashiered the
other day for cheating at cards.”
“A good reason, I daresay,” replied the President; “at least,
we have another in the same case, and I feel sure of him. Have you also been in
the Service, may I ask?”
“I have,” was the reply; “but I was too lazy, I left it
early.”
“What is your reason for being tired of life?” pursued the
President.
“The same, as near as I can make out,” answered the Prince;
“unadulterated laziness.”
The President started. “D—n it,” said he, “you must
have something better than that.”
“I have no more money,” added Florizel. “That is also a
vexation, without doubt. It brings my sense of idleness to an acute
point.”
The President rolled his cigar round in his mouth for some seconds, directing
his gaze straight into the eyes of this unusual neophyte; but the Prince
supported his scrutiny with unabashed good temper.
“If I had not a deal of experience,” said the President at last,
“I should turn you off. But I know the world; and this much any way, that
the most frivolous excuses for a suicide are often the toughest to stand by.
And when I downright like a man, as I do you, sir, I would rather strain the
regulation than deny him.”
The Prince and the Colonel, one after the other, were subjected to a long and
particular interrogatory: the Prince alone; but Geraldine in the presence of
the Prince, so that the President might observe the countenance of the one
while the other was being warmly cross-examined. The result was satisfactory;
and the President, after having booked a few details of each case, produced a
form of oath to be accepted. Nothing could be conceived more passive than the
obedience promised, or more stringent than the terms by which the juror bound
himself. The man who forfeited a pledge so awful could scarcely have a rag of
honour or any of the consolations of religion left to him. Florizel signed the
document, but not without a shudder; the Colonel followed his example with an
air of great depression. Then the President received the entry money; and
without more ado, introduced the two friends into the smoking-room of the
Suicide Club.
The smoking-room of the Suicide Club was the same height as the cabinet into
which it opened, but much larger, and papered from top to bottom with an
imitation of oak wainscot. A large and cheerful fire and a number of gas-jets
illuminated the company. The Prince and his follower made the number up to
eighteen. Most of the party were smoking, and drinking champagne; a feverish
hilarity reigned, with sudden and rather ghastly pauses.
“Is this a full meeting?” asked the Prince.
“Middling,” said the President. “By the way,” he added,
“if you have any money, it is usual to offer some champagne. It keeps up
a good spirit, and is one of my own little perquisites.”
“Hammersmith,” said Florizel, “I may leave the champagne to
you.”
And with that he turned away and began to go round among the guests. Accustomed
to play the host in the highest circles, he charmed and dominated all whom he
approached; there was something at once winning and authoritative in his
address; and his extraordinary coolness gave him yet another distinction in
this half maniacal society. As he went from one to another he kept both his
eyes and ears open, and soon began to gain a general idea of the people among
whom he found himself. As in all other places of resort, one type predominated:
people in the prime of youth, with every show of intelligence and sensibility
in their appearance, but with little promise of strength or the quality that
makes success. Few were much above thirty, and not a few were still in their
teens. They stood, leaning on tables and shifting on their feet; sometimes they
smoked extraordinarily fast, and sometimes they let their cigars go out; some
talked well, but the conversation of others was plainly the result of nervous
tension, and was equally without wit or purport. As each new bottle of
champagne was opened, there was a manifest improvement in gaiety. Only two were
seated—one in a chair in the recess of the window, with his head hanging
and his hands plunged deep into his trouser pockets, pale, visibly moist with
perspiration, saying never a word, a very wreck of soul and body; the other sat
on the divan close by the chimney, and attracted notice by a trenchant
dissimilarity from all the rest. He was probably upwards of forty, but he
looked fully ten years older; and Florizel thought he had never seen a man more
naturally hideous, nor one more ravaged by disease and ruinous excitements. He
was no more than skin and bone, was partly paralysed, and wore spectacles of
such unusual power, that his eyes appeared through the glasses greatly
magnified and distorted in shape. Except the Prince and the President, he was
the only person in the room who preserved the composure of ordinary life.
There was little decency among the members of the club. Some boasted of the
disgraceful actions, the consequences of which had reduced them to seek refuge
in death; and the others listened without disapproval. There was a tacit
understanding against moral judgments; and whoever passed the club doors
enjoyed already some of the immunities of the tomb. They drank to each
other’s memories, and to those of notable suicides in the past. They
compared and developed their different views of death—some declaring that
it was no more than blackness and cessation; others full of a hope that that
very night they should be scaling the stars and commencing with the mighty
dead.
“To the eternal memory of Baron Trenck, the type of suicides!”
cried one. “He went out of a small cell into a smaller, that he might
come forth again to freedom.”
“For my part,” said a second, “I wish no more than a bandage
for my eyes and cotton for my ears. Only they have no cotton thick enough in
this world.”
A third was for reading the mysteries of life in a future state; and a fourth
professed that he would never have joined the club, if he had not been induced
to believe in Mr. Darwin.
“I could not bear,” said this remarkable suicide, “to be
descended from an ape.”
Altogether, the Prince was disappointed by the bearing and conversation of the
members.
“It does not seem to me,” he thought, “a matter for so much
disturbance. If a man has made up his mind to kill himself, let him do it, in
God’s name, like a gentleman. This flutter and big talk is out of
place.”
In the meanwhile Colonel Geraldine was a prey to the blackest apprehensions;
the club and its rules were still a mystery, and he looked round the room for
some one who should be able to set his mind at rest. In this survey his eye
lighted on the paralytic person with the strong spectacles; and seeing him so
exceedingly tranquil, he besought the President, who was going in and out of
the room under a pressure of business, to present him to the gentleman on the
divan.
The functionary explained the needlessness of all such formalities within the
club, but nevertheless presented Mr. Hammersmith to Mr. Malthus.
Mr. Malthus looked at the Colonel curiously, and then requested him to take a
seat upon his right.
“You are a new-comer,” he said, “and wish information? You
have come to the proper source. It is two years since I first visited this
charming club.”
The Colonel breathed again. If Mr. Malthus had frequented the place for two
years there could be little danger for the Prince in a single evening. But
Geraldine was none the less astonished, and began to suspect a mystification.
“What!” cried he, “two years! I thought—but indeed I
see I have been made the subject of a pleasantry.”
“By no means,” replied Mr. Malthus mildly. “My case is
peculiar. I am not, properly speaking, a suicide at all; but, as it were, an
honorary member. I rarely visit the club twice in two months. My infirmity and
the kindness of the President have procured me these little immunities, for
which besides I pay at an advanced rate. Even as it is my luck has been
extraordinary.”
“I am afraid,” said the Colonel, “that I must ask you to be
more explicit. You must remember that I am still most imperfectly acquainted
with the rules of the club.”
“An ordinary member who comes here in search of death like
yourself,” replied the paralytic, “returns every evening until
fortune favours him. He can even, if he is penniless, get board and lodging
from the President: very fair, I believe, and clean, although, of course, not
luxurious; that could hardly be, considering the exiguity (if I may so express
myself) of the subscription. And then the President’s company is a
delicacy in itself.”
“Indeed!” cried Geraldine, “he had not greatly prepossessed
me.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Malthus, “you do not know the man: the
drollest fellow! What stories! What cynicism! He knows life to admiration and,
between ourselves, is probably the most corrupt rogue in Christendom.”
“And he also,” asked the Colonel, “is a permanency—like
yourself, if I may say so without offence?”
“Indeed, he is a permanency in a very different sense from me,”
replied Mr. Malthus. “I have been graciously spared, but I must go at
last. Now he never plays. He shuffles and deals for the club, and makes the
necessary arrangements. That man, my dear Mr. Hammersmith, is the very soul of
ingenuity. For three years he has pursued in London his useful and, I think I
may add, his artistic calling; and not so much as a whisper of suspicion has
been once aroused. I believe him myself to be inspired. You doubtless remember
the celebrated case, six months ago, of the gentleman who was accidentally
poisoned in a chemists shop? That was one of the least rich, one of the least
racy, of his notions; but then, how simple! and how safe!”
“You astound me,” said the Colonel. “Was that unfortunate
gentleman one of the—” He was about to say “victims”;
but bethinking himself in time, he substituted—“members of the
club?”
In the same flash of thought, it occurred to him that Mr. Malthus himself had
not at all spoken in the tone of one who is in love with death; and he added
hurriedly:
“But I perceive I am still in the dark. You speak of shuffling and
dealing; pray for what end? And since you seem rather unwilling to die than
otherwise, I must own that I cannot conceive what brings you here at
all.”
“You say truly that you are in the dark,” replied Mr. Malthus with
more animation. “Why, my dear sir, this club is the temple of
intoxication. If my enfeebled health could support the excitement more often,
you may depend upon it I should be more often here. It requires all the sense
of duty engendered by a long habit of ill-health and careful regimen, to keep
me from excess in this, which is, I may say, my last dissipation. I have tried
them all, sir,” he went on, laying his hand on Geraldine’s arm,
“all without exception, and I declare to you, upon my honour, there is
not one of them that has not been grossly and untruthfully overrated. People
trifle with love. Now, I deny that love is a strong passion. Fear is the strong
passion; it is with fear that you must trifle, if you wish to taste the
intensest joys of living. Envy me—envy me, sir,” he added with a
chuckle, “I am a coward!”
Geraldine could scarcely repress a movement of repulsion for this deplorable
wretch; but he commanded himself with an effort, and continued his inquiries.
“How, sir,” he asked, “is the excitement so artfully
prolonged? and where is there any element of uncertainty?”
“I must tell you how the victim for every evening is selected,”
returned Mr. Malthus; “and not only the victim, but another member, who
is to be the instrument in the club’s hands, and death’s high
priest for that occasion.”
“Good God!” said the Colonel, “do they then kill each
other?”
“The trouble of suicide is removed in that way,” returned Malthus
with a nod.
“Merciful heavens!” ejaculated the Colonel, “and may
you—may I—may the—my friend I mean—may any of us be
pitched upon this evening as the slayer of another man’s body and
immortal spirit? Can such things be possible among men born of women? Oh!
infamy of infamies!”
He was about to rise in his horror, when he caught the Prince’s eye. It
was fixed upon him from across the room with a frowning and angry stare. And in
a moment Geraldine recovered his composure.
“After all,” he added, “why not? And since you say the game
is interesting, vogue la galère—I follow the club!”
Mr. Malthus had keenly enjoyed the Colonel’s amazement and disgust. He
had the vanity of wickedness; and it pleased him to see another man give way to
a generous movement, while he felt himself, in his entire corruption, superior
to such emotions.
“You now, after your first moment of surprise,” said he, “are
in a position to appreciate the delights of our society. You can see how it
combines the excitement of a gaming-table, a duel, and a Roman amphitheatre.
The Pagans did well enough; I cordially admire the refinement of their minds;
but it has been reserved for a Christian country to attain this extreme, this
quintessence, this absolute of poignancy. You will understand how vapid are all
amusements to a man who has acquired a taste for this one. The game we
play,” he continued, “is one of extreme simplicity. A full
pack—but I perceive you are about to see the thing in progress. Will you
lend me the help of your arm? I am unfortunately paralysed.”
Indeed, just as Mr. Malthus was beginning his description, another pair of
folding-doors was thrown open, and the whole club began to pass, not without
some hurry, into the adjoining room. It was similar in every respect to the one
from which it was entered, but somewhat differently furnished. The centre was
occupied by a long green table, at which the President sat shuffling a pack of
cards with great particularity. Even with the stick and the Colonel’s
arm, Mr. Malthus walked with so much difficulty that every one was seated
before this pair and the Prince, who had waited for them, entered the
apartment; and, in consequence, the three took seats close together at the
lower end of the board.
“It is a pack of fifty-two,” whispered Mr. Malthus. “Watch
for the ace of spades, which is the sign of death, and the ace of clubs, which
designates the official of the night. Happy, happy young men!” he added.
“You have good eyes, and can follow the game. Alas! I cannot tell an ace
from a deuce across the table.”
And he proceeded to equip himself with a second pair of spectacles.
“I must at least watch the faces,” he explained.
The Colonel rapidly informed his friend of all that he had learned from the
honorary member, and of the horrible alternative that lay before them. The
Prince was conscious of a deadly chill and a contraction about his heart; he
swallowed with difficulty, and looked from side to side like a man in a maze.
“One bold stroke,” whispered the Colonel, “and we may still
escape.”
But the suggestion recalled the Prince’s spirits.
“Silence!” said be. “Let me see that you can play like a
gentleman for any stake, however serious.”
And he looked about him, once more to all appearance at his ease, although his
heart beat thickly, and he was conscious of an unpleasant heat in his bosom.
The members were all very quiet and intent; every one was pale, but none so
pale as Mr. Malthus. His eyes protruded; his head kept nodding involuntarily
upon his spine; his hands found their way, one after the other, to his mouth,
where they made clutches at his tremulous and ashen lips. It was plain that the
honorary member enjoyed his membership on very startling terms.
“Attention, gentlemen!” said the President.
And he began slowly dealing the cards about the table in the reverse direction,
pausing until each man had shown his card. Nearly every one hesitated; and
sometimes you would see a player’s fingers stumble more than once before
he could turn over the momentous slip of pasteboard. As the Prince’s turn
drew nearer, he was conscious of a growing and almost suffocating excitement;
but he had somewhat of the gambler’s nature, and recognised almost with
astonishment, that there was a degree of pleasure in his sensations. The nine
of clubs fell to his lot; the three of spades was dealt to Geraldine; and the
queen of hearts to Mr. Malthus, who was unable to suppress a sob of relief. The
young man of the cream tarts almost immediately afterwards turned over the ace
of clubs, and remained frozen with horror, the card still resting on his
finger; he had not come there to kill, but to be killed; and the Prince in his
generous sympathy with his position almost forgot the peril that still hung
over himself and his friend.
The deal was coming round again, and still Death’s card had not come out.
The players held their respiration, and only breathed by gasps. The Prince
received another club; Geraldine had a diamond; but when Mr. Malthus turned up
his card a horrible noise, like that of something breaking, issued from his
mouth; and he rose from his seat and sat down again, with no sign of his
paralysis. It was the ace of spades. The honorary member had trifled once too
often with his terrors.
Conversation broke out again almost at once. The players relaxed their rigid
attitudes, and began to rise from the table and stroll back by twos and threes
into the smoking-room. The President stretched his arms and yawned, like a man
who has finished his day’s work. But Mr. Malthus sat in his place, with
his head in his hands, and his hands upon the table, drunk and
motionless—a thing stricken down.
The Prince and Geraldine made their escape at once. In the cold night air their
horror of what they had witnessed was redoubled.
“Alas!” cried the Prince, “to be bound by an oath in such a
matter! to allow this wholesale trade in murder to be continued with profit and
impunity! If I but dared to forfeit my pledge!”
“That is impossible for your Highness,” replied the Colonel,
“whose honour is the honour of Bohemia. But I dare, and may with
propriety, forfeit mine.”
“Geraldine,” said the Prince, “if your honour suffers in any
of the adventures into which you follow me, not only will I never pardon you,
but—what I believe will much more sensibly affect you—I should
never forgive myself.”
“I receive your Highness’s commands,” replied the Colonel.
“Shall we go from this accursed spot?”
“Yes,” said the Prince. “Call a cab in Heaven’s name,
and let me try to forget in slumber the memory of this night’s
disgrace.”
But it was notable that he carefully read the name of the court before he left
it.
The next morning, as soon as the Prince was stirring, Colonel Geraldine brought
him a daily newspaper, with the following paragraph marked:—
“Melancholy Accident.—This morning,
about two o’clock, Mr. Bartholomew Malthus, of 16 Chepstow Place,
Westbourne Grove, on his way home from a party at a friend’s house, fell
over the upper parapet in Trafalgar Square, fracturing his skull and breaking a
leg and an arm. Death was instantaneous. Mr. Malthus, accompanied by a friend,
was engaged in looking for a cab at the time of the unfortunate occurrence. As
Mr. Malthus was paralytic, it is thought that his fall may have been occasioned
by another seizure. The unhappy gentleman was well known in the most
respectable circles, and his loss will be widely and deeply deplored.”
“If ever a soul went straight to Hell,” said Geraldine solemnly,
“it was that paralytic man’s.”
The Prince buried his face in his hands, and remained silent.
“I am almost rejoiced,” continued the Colonel, “to know that
he is dead. But for our young man of the cream tarts I confess my heart
bleeds.”
“Geraldine,” said the Prince, raising his face, “that unhappy
lad was last night as innocent as you and I; and this morning the guilt of
blood is on his soul. When I think of the President, my heart grows sick within
me. I do not know how it shall be done, but I shall have that scoundrel at my
mercy as there is a God in heaven. What an experience, what a lesson, was that
game of cards!”
“One,” said the Colonel, “never to be repeated.”
The Prince remained so long without replying, that Geraldine grew alarmed.
“You cannot mean to return,” he said. “You have suffered too
much and seen too much horror already. The duties of your high position forbid
the repetition of the hazard.”
“There is much in what you say,” replied Prince Florizel,
“and I am not altogether pleased with my own determination. Alas! in the
clothes of the greatest potentate, what is there but a man? I never felt my
weakness more acutely than now, Geraldine, but it is stronger than I. Can I
cease to interest myself in the fortunes of the unhappy young man who supped
with us some hours ago? Can I leave the President to follow his nefarious
career unwatched? Can I begin an adventure so entrancing, and not follow it to
an end? No, Geraldine: you ask of the Prince more than the man is able to
perform. To-night, once more, we take our places at the table of the Suicide
Club.”
Colonel Geraldine fell upon his knees.
“Will your Highness take my life?” he cried. “It is
his—his freely; but do not, O do not! let him ask me to countenance so
terrible a risk.”
“Colonel Geraldine,” replied the Prince, with some haughtiness of
manner, “your life is absolutely your own. I only looked for obedience;
and when that is unwillingly rendered, I shall look for that no longer. I add
one word: your importunity in this affair has been sufficient.”
The Master of the Horse regained his feet at once.
“Your Highness,” he said, “may I be excused in my attendance
this afternoon? I dare not, as an honourable man, venture a second time into
that fatal house until I have perfectly ordered my affairs. Your Highness shall
meet, I promise him, with no more opposition from the most devoted and grateful
of his servants.”
“My dear Geraldine,” returned Prince Florizel, “I always
regret when you oblige me to remember my rank. Dispose of your day as you think
fit, but be here before eleven in the same disguise.”
The club, on this second evening, was not so fully attended; and when Geraldine
and the Prince arrived, there were not above half-a-dozen persons in the
smoking-room. His Highness took the President aside and congratulated him
warmly on the demise of Mr. Malthus.
“I like,” he said, “to meet with capacity, and certainly find
much of it in you. Your profession is of a very delicate nature, but I see you
are well qualified to conduct it with success and secrecy.”
The President was somewhat affected by these compliments from one of his
Highness’s superior bearing. He acknowledged them almost with humility.
“Poor Malthy!” he added, “I shall hardly know the club
without him. The most of my patrons are boys, sir, and poetical boys, who are
not much company for me. Not but what Malthy had some poetry, too; but it was
of a kind that I could understand.”
“I can readily imagine you should find yourself in sympathy with Mr.
Malthus,” returned the Prince. “He struck me as a man of a very
original disposition.”
The young man of the cream tarts was in the room, but painfully depressed and
silent. His late companions sought in vain to lead him into conversation.
“How bitterly I wish,” he cried, “that I had never brought
you to this infamous abode! Begone, while you are clean-handed. If you could
have heard the old man scream as he fell, and the noise of his bones upon the
pavement! Wish me, if you have any kindness to so fallen a being—wish the
ace of spades for me to-night!”
A few more members dropped in as the evening went on, but the club did not
muster more than the devil’s dozen when they took their places at the
table. The Prince was again conscious of a certain joy in his alarms; but he
was astonished to see Geraldine so much more self-possessed than on the night
before.
“It is extraordinary,” thought the Prince, “that a will, made
or unmade, should so greatly influence a young man’s spirit.”
“Attention, gentlemen!” said the President, and he began to deal.
Three times the cards went all round the table, and neither of the marked cards
had yet fallen from his hand. The excitement as he began the fourth
distribution was overwhelming. There were just cards enough to go once more
entirely round. The Prince, who sat second from the dealer’s left, would
receive, in the reverse mode of dealing practised at the club, the second last
card. The third player turned up a black ace—it was the ace of clubs. The
next received a diamond, the next a heart, and so on; but the ace of spades was
still undelivered. At last, Geraldine, who sat upon the Prince’s left,
turned his card; it was an ace, but the ace of hearts.
When Prince Florizel saw his fate upon the table in front of him, his heart
stood still. He was a brave man, but the sweat poured off his face. There were
exactly fifty chances out of a hundred that he was doomed. He reversed the
card; it was the ace of spades. A loud roaring filled his brain, and the table
swam before his eyes. He heard the player on his right break into a fit of
laughter that sounded between mirth and disappointment; he saw the company
rapidly dispersing, but his mind was full of other thoughts. He recognised how
foolish, how criminal, had been his conduct. In perfect health, in the prime of
his years, the heir to a throne, he had gambled away his future and that of a
brave and loyal country. “God,” he cried, “God forgive
me!” And with that, the confusion of his senses passed away, and he
regained his self-possession in a moment.
To his surprise Geraldine had disappeared. There was no one in the card-room
but his destined butcher consulting with the President, and the young man of
the cream tarts, who slipped up to the Prince, and whispered in his ear:—
“I would give a million, if I had it, for your luck.”
His Highness could not help reflecting, as the young man departed, that he
would have sold his opportunity for a much more moderate sum.
The whispered conference now came to an end. The holder of the ace of clubs
left the room with a look of intelligence, and the President, approaching the
unfortunate Prince, proffered him his hand.
“I am pleased to have met you, sir,” said he, “and pleased to
have been in a position to do you this trifling service. At least, you cannot
complain of delay. On the second evening—what a stroke of luck!”
The Prince endeavoured in vain to articulate something in response, but his
mouth was dry and his tongue seemed paralysed.
“You feel a little sickish?” asked the President, with some show of
solicitude. “Most gentlemen do. Will you take a little brandy?”
The Prince signified in the affirmative, and the other immediately filled some
of the spirit into a tumbler.
“Poor old Malthy!” ejaculated the President, as the Prince drained
the glass. “He drank near upon a pint, and little enough good it seemed
to do him!”
“I am more amenable to treatment,” said the Prince, a good deal
revived. “I am my own man again at once, as you perceive. And so, let me
ask you, what are my directions?”
“You will proceed along the Strand in the direction of the City, and on
the left-hand pavement, until you meet the gentleman who has just left the
room. He will continue your instructions, and him you will have the kindness to
obey; the authority of the club is vested in his person for the night. And
now,” added the President, “I wish you a pleasant walk.”
Florizel acknowledged the salutation rather awkwardly, and took his leave. He
passed through the smoking-room, where the bulk of the players were still
consuming champagne, some of which he had himself ordered and paid for; and he
was surprised to find himself cursing them in his heart. He put on his hat and
greatcoat in the cabinet, and selected his umbrella from a corner. The
familiarity of these acts, and the thought that he was about them for the last
time, betrayed him into a fit of laughter which sounded unpleasantly in his own
ears. He conceived a reluctance to leave the cabinet, and turned instead to the
window. The sight of the lamps and the darkness recalled him to himself.
“Come, come, I must be a man,” he thought, “and tear myself
away.”
At the corner of Box Court three men fell upon Prince Florizel and he was
unceremoniously thrust into a carriage, which at once drove rapidly away. There
was already an occupant.
“Will your Highness pardon my zeal?” said a well known voice.
The Prince threw himself upon the Colonel’s neck in a passion of relief.
“How can I ever thank you?” he cried. “And how was this
effected?”
Although he had been willing to march upon his doom, he was overjoyed to yield
to friendly violence, and return once more to life and hope.
“You can thank me effectually enough,” replied the Colonel,
“by avoiding all such dangers in the future. And as for your second
question, all has been managed by the simplest means. I arranged this afternoon
with a celebrated detective. Secrecy has been promised and paid for. Your own
servants have been principally engaged in the affair. The house in Box Court
has been surrounded since nightfall, and this, which is one of your own
carriages, has been awaiting you for nearly an hour.”
“And the miserable creature who was to have slain me—what of
him?” inquired the Prince.
“He was pinioned as he left the club,” replied the Colonel,
“and now awaits your sentence at the Palace, where he will soon be joined
by his accomplices.”
“Geraldine,” said the Prince, “you have saved me against my
explicit orders, and you have done well. I owe you not only my life, but a
lesson; and I should be unworthy of my rank if I did not show myself grateful
to my teacher. Let it be yours to choose the manner.”
There was a pause, during which the carriage continued to speed through the
streets, and the two men were each buried in his own reflections. The silence
was broken by Colonel Geraldine.
“Your Highness,” said he, “has by this time a considerable
body of prisoners. There is at least one criminal among the number to whom
justice should be dealt. Our oath forbids us all recourse to law; and
discretion would forbid it equally if the oath were loosened. May I inquire
your Highness’s intention?”
“It is decided,” answered Florizel; “the President must fall
in duel. It only remains to choose his adversary.”
“Your Highness has permitted me to name my own recompense,” said
the Colonel. “Will he permit me to ask the appointment of my brother? It
is an honourable post, but I dare assure your Highness that the lad will acquit
himself with credit.”
“You ask me an ungracious favour,” said the Prince, “but I
must refuse you nothing.”
The Colonel kissed his hand with the greatest affection; and at that moment the
carriage rolled under the archway of the Prince’s splendid residence.
An hour after, Florizel in his official robes, and covered with all the orders
of Bohemia, received the members of the Suicide Club.
“Foolish and wicked men,” said he, “as many of you as have
been driven into this strait by the lack of fortune shall receive employment
and remuneration from my officers. Those who suffer under a sense of guilt must
have recourse to a higher and more generous Potentate than I. I feel pity for
all of you, deeper than you can imagine; to-morrow you shall tell me your
stories; and as you answer more frankly, I shall be the more able to remedy
your misfortunes. As for you,” he added, turning to the President,
“I should only offend a person of your parts by any offer of assistance;
but I have instead a piece of diversion to propose to you. Here,” laying
his hand on the shoulder of Colonel Geraldine’s young brother, “is
an officer of mine who desires to make a little tour upon the Continent; and I
ask you, as a favour, to accompany him on this excursion. Do you,” he
went on, changing his tone, “do you shoot well with the pistol? Because
you may have need of that accomplishment. When two men go travelling together,
it is best to be prepared for all. Let me add that, if by any chance you should
lose young Mr. Geraldine upon the way, I shall always have another member of my
household to place at your disposal; and I am known, Mr. President, to have
long eyesight, and as long an arm.”
With these words, said with much sternness, the Prince concluded his address.
Next morning the members of the club were suitably provided for by his
munificence, and the President set forth upon his travels, under the
supervision of Mr. Geraldine, and a pair of faithful and adroit lackeys, well
trained in the Prince’s household. Not content with this, discreet agents
were put in possession of the house in Box Court, and all letters or visitors
for the Suicide Club or its officials were to be examined by Prince Florizel in
person.
Here (says my Arabian author) ends The Story
of the Young Man with the Cream Tarts, who is now a comfortable
householder in Wigmore Street, Cavendish Square. The number,
for obvious reasons, I suppress. Those who care to pursue the
adventures of Prince Florizel and the President of the Suicide Club, may
read the History of the Physician and the Saratoga
Trunk.
