Jasper County Democrat, Volume 4, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 February 1902 — The Infernal Machine [ARTICLE]

The Infernal Machine

V?O GH, what a night It was! Twas IHI as If the usual winter slush of the London streets had vaporized Itself, and settled down again in the atmosphere as fog. Then it was Christmas eve. That made it worse. The poor in London Often find it bard enough to keep up their spirits in spite of cold, starvation, and neglect Yet even to the most mlserable and desperate of us all, the commotion that heralds Christmastide, the busy going to and fro of those with money to buy, and the hearty display on the part of those who have anything jat all to sell—all these are something to see, even if you haven’t sixpence to buy a dinner with, or a friend on earth to greet with the “Compliments of the Season." But when King Fog blurs and overshadows everything, the temper of the unfortunate classes Is severely tried. I was very savage that night; savage with myself, savage with my employers, and savage most of ah with my miserable lot in life. Once on a time I was a well-to-do householder, with a flourishing watch and clockmaker’s business. But after a while things went badly, somehow or other, and I suppose 1 took more than was good for me. At last the business broke up; and then—but there! what’s the use of looking back? I had now joined the ranks of the struggling and hopeless, and it seemed hard that, half-suffo-cated with fog, I should be trudging the grimy streets between Clerkenwell and St. James' with a heavylsh weight to carry on such a night and at such a season, while the rich and fortunate were eating and drinking and enjoying themselves more than was good for them. Bah! it made my blood boil to think of It all. And yet 1 felt the Justice of it all. It was cause and effect. As we make our bed, so we must lie upon It. The fog grew so thick as I went along that I—l who have been familiar with every square yard of London ever since I can remember knowing anything—came for a moment to a standstill, and had to admit that I had lost my way. I knew well enough bow I had come—Red Lion Square, High Holborn, Broad street and the Dials. I ought to be In Cranborne street, or Leicester Square; but, for the life of me, I could not see two yards in front to make sure. Only with some difficulty did 1 ascertain that there were houses at three paces distance. I resolved to push on, however, keeplrtfc my disengaged hand upon the walls and lintels and doors, in order to have something substantial .to go by. Even this was awkward, aud my progress soon became slower than ever. Bo thick was the fog, that with my hand on a lamp post I literally could not distinguish the flame of the gas above me. Nevertheless, I stumbled onward in hope of meeting some one to direct me. But no one came in sight. I suppose I had got into a slum; one of those places where, they say, so many foreign desperadoes lie in hiding; and 1 w'as mining on the evil repute of some of the back streets in the most luxurious city in the world, when all of a sudden I was roughly seized, and before I had time to use my tongue I was dragged within a neighboring doorway. The door was immediately slammed, and ruthless hands hustled me down a dark passage and into a back room, from which (I felt sure) It was inqxjsslble to summon assistance, however loudly I employed my lungs. Happily I was not injured in any way -only greatly alarmed; and fortunately 1 had retained enough presence of mind to bold tight the handle of the wooden box which I carried in my hand. If 1 had dropped it! Well, 1 would rather, not speculate upon what would have happened If I had dropped that box. The room into which 1 had been thrust was lighted by a single gas Jet. There was nothing about the apartment itself to suggest that my life was In danger, for it was an ordinary sitting' room, fitted up with something like feminine care. But I was very quickly made to understand, by the men who had dragged me into the house, that they were capable of anything in pursuit of their object. There were only two scoundrels present, though It had seemed as if a full score were taking me prisoner. “Now!” began one of the bullies, n cross-eyed, burly brute, standing between me aud the door. “Well,” I said, as he paused. The box I carried was rather heavy. I placed it cautiously upon the table In the center of the room, and asked, “Pray, what is the meaning of thia treatment?” “Money,” replied the burly blackguard, with laconic frankness. The second ruffinn, who was meantime looking at me over his friend’s ■boulder, confirmed this explanation with a nod; but the request, or rather demand, made to a man In my position of life seemed to me so absurd that I could not restrain a little laugh. The cross eyed party frowned angrily. “We can’t stop here nil night,” he blurted out In menacing tones. “I’m sure 1 don’t wish you to do so," I rejoined, trying to gain time. “Well, then, out with the blunt!" put In the second bully; "and look sharp!” Baying which, he drew from bis pocket a life-preserver (as people are pleased to call the murderous weapon). “Really, gentlemen," 1 ngswered paofficially, “1 am sorry I cannot oblige you. At the present moment 1 don’t possess a cent in the world.”

“Won’t do," returned the cross-eyed one, incredulously- “Gammon—flambunkum ! Turn out your pockets." “With pleasure,” said I, being anxious to promote a feeling of confidence, and suiting my action to the words. The second ruffian approached and helped me. He handled my pockets and patted my waistcoat to satisfy himself that I hid nothing. It soon became clear that I had spoken the truth, and he returned to his place between the table and the door to consult with his comrade as to their next step. “What have you got in that box?” then inquired the gentleman with duplex sight, perceiving for the first time that I had at least one portable article in my possession. “What’s inside that box ?” “That is my business,” I replied, sharply. “Come, come, we don’t want any of your pertness. Open up, and look spry about it.” a "No.” “Yes,” he roared, adding a frightful expression which I should be sorry to repeat. “No,” I said, very firmly. The two men glanced at one another. My opposition was beginning to enrage them. I wondered what they would do next. They evidently meant mischief, and I anxiously watched the burlier blackguard as he hesitated, and then apparently determined to open the box almself. He stepped forward. "Good heavens!” I cried, holding out my hand to stop him. "You don’t know what you are doing! You will be blown to atoms!” The man started back ns if he had been struck. I pursued my advantage, after a little smile at the situation. "I will open the outer case,” said I, after a pause, “and explain. But by all that’s sacred, if either of you conies one step nearer, I’ll touch the spring aud we’ll all go to atoms together! Do you think I’d stick at finishing the business? Do you think a man cares two straws about what happens to him when he makes an infernal machine, and carries it about, dynamite and all, on his way to set the blessed thing going in a tidy corner of—well, no matter where—for the good of his country?” The two ruffians stood as if turned to stone. “Ha, ha!’’ I laughed. “You don’t know what stuff an anarchist is made of!” The bullies turned as pale as ghosts. They had not bargained for this sort of tiling. I gave them no time to doubt me and recover. In a moment I inserted a key in the lock of my wooden case, turned it, and raised the lid. Opening an inner mahogany box, I displayed the face of a dial. “This,” I said, solemnly, "is the clock. If I turn this screw I set the indicator for whatever hour or minute desire. If I touch this button, I start the exploding mechanism. This bliss rod ends in a detonating fuse. I ha re only to release this spring, and bbvv the whole street down.” My cowardly captors ottered an exclamation of surprise and terror. They seemed to have entirely lost their power of articulate speech. I looked at a clock—a trumpery, cheap, French ticker—on the mantelpiece, and continued remorselessly. "It is four minutes to 10. I will now turn the screw, and set the indicator to explode at 10. I will then tough the button, and set the dynamite myclianism in motion. This will jive you three minutes to open this door and the front door—wide—and to make yourselves scarce. If you don’t do so, pretty quick, the Infernal thing will take its course—and I don’t think I should meet either of you in Paradise.” The two ruffians, petrified with terror, glared at me while I made the necessary movements. “Now,” I said, firmly, “you have three minutes in which to do as I said. And remember—at the very first sign of any attempt at violence, I touch this spring under my flngft and blow you both to smithereens. Now—only two minutes and a half left.” The cross-eyed villain glanced at me, then at bls comrade, and lastly al the face of the dial. A bare two minutes of respite remained. But it was enough for him to deliver a parting shot, in words that forced themselves hoarsely from his throat. “Well," he said, “of all the Mcpblstopheles I ever set my blessed eyes on, you’re the most horrible!” And without another word be and bls horror-stricken companion hurried out. There was but one ruinate more to go. They were clearly awake to that. I heard them fling the front door oi»en hastily, and run clattering along the pavement la the street—for dear life. There was not the slfetitest chance they would attempt to Interfere again with the anarchist. I shut up my box In Its case, taking It by the handle, quickly made my way out into the street. The fog had Hftgd slightly. I perceived that there was a by-street opposite, and I ran down It as fast as my legs would carry me. Before very long I found myself in Leicester Square, and In another tsn minutes I rang the bell at the back door of a well-known clock and watchmaker's shop in St James'. The door was bpened by my employer. “Confound it all, Jeremy!" he said. "I thought you were going to fall me. Have you brought the chronometer?" "Here it la, sir. One-pound-ten, please. And here’s my little account for repairs and other work. It’s been owing some time.”

“Come in, Jeremy, and I’ll give you your money, and a glass of You’re only just in time with the chronometer. Lord Bluebury starts the first thing to-morrow morning to meet hts yacht in the Mediterranean, and he wouldn’t go without the Instrument for anything.” “Well—here’s the article, and a very pretty old timekeeper it Is, too. You don’t see anything to beat it nowadays. I told you you’d have it to-night, and I never tell an untruth to anybody.” And then I remembered that what I was asserting as to my truthfulness was not strictly accurate. But I said nothing more; for, if I had confessed how near I had been to losing Lord Bluebury’s valuable chronometer altogether, I’m sure I should never have been given another job to do at home so long as I lived. It was a narrow escape, that little adventure. But I can’t help laughing to myself whenever I think of poor Jeremy as a full-blown anarchist. “Of all the Mephisto-pheles I ever set my blessed eyes on,” said the crosseyed gentleman, “you’re the most horrible!” And yet you wouldn’t think ft to look at me.—Argosy.