THE POPPIES OF DEATH.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2740, 19 February 1910, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE POPPIES OF DEATH.

(By Beatrix M. He Burgh.)

People wero beginning to suspect. He was sure of it. A word, a glance, just now and then, when his mind seemed to suddenly stop working in the. middle of a conversation, when the immediate surroundings faded without warning, and the' visions that should have been visions of the night came in broad daylight. He was troubled at this, much troubled, for lie had prided himself on the strength that had kept his brain calm and unclouded when so many men broke down in the same circumstances as his. And, it was only in his leisure moments, his hours of social enjoyment, that the. vision came. Once or twice it had troubled his working hours, end his superiors had looked at him oddly, or he thought they had. It was always th e same vision. Fields on fields of scarlet, flame-colored poppies, rippling under a south wind, and coming towards him as he lay crouched on a bed of tile glowing blossoms, drenched in the subtle odour of their crushed petals, a woman. He had never peon the woman except in a vision, and lie could not have described her, if ho tried, except to say that no daughter of man had over been so fair, so seductive, as no sound of earthly music had ever been so soothing as that strange monotonous song she hummed. The vision had come with liis iirst opium dream —his first lapse into that fatal vice of the East—and he had never iliad any other, always die same one, with variations, it is true.

but always the came. He had come to know the woman r.o well during the —how many years was it since that first visit to the dark room hidden in a crooked alley of the Bazaar? Six? Yes, he had some difficulty in counting, ho found, but it was six. Pie was sure of that, because it was six years since "lie had been home. Six years since John Jackson, a hard-working and successful member of the Civil Service, had gone back to England for long leave preparatory to taking up the big birth he had won by good fortune and hard work . Six years since he met Mabel Transomc, and loved her, with all the strength of a quiet, unspoiled nature. Six years since she had fooled him, and jilted him for a richer man, and .sent him back to the work that had been a pride, with an unending sense of toil and heartache.

And just when the heartache was worst, a friend—a man who had made a hobby of the study of native life—took him, for a joke, to that dark room in the crooked corner of the Bazaar. He had been disgusted at first, then he bad been envious. These people, at least, had found a land of sleep, of freedom from pain and sorrow. There was a woman there, a beautiful woman, who had been a dancer in a troupe of travelling conjurers and magicians, but she had not left the Itooni of the Black Smoke for years. She would, in all probability, die there. She had dreams, beautiful dreams, she told him of them, and in search of dreams he, too. had laid down in the dark room, and found his Poppylr.nd. Locking back, he found it hard to say just when lie had ceased to have the perfect control of liis thoughts. It was not long, of that lie was sure. His feelings had been blunted for some time, but not his intelligence. There was the time, for instance, when he had heard of his father’s and mother’s deaths. He had been left alone in the world, but .it had not seemed to matter, the world they belonged had ceased to bear any relation to the present John Jackson. There had been once a John Jackson, an only son, to whom his father and mother had stood for much, but that John Jackson had faded out of being for quite a long time. Hie present John Jackson was a man who cared for nothing so much as for the pride he felt in the clever way he regulated his life, and was business man to the world outside, and dreamer only when the outer world was. done

•' ; I must give it up,” he thought, ruefully, "I have no intention of letting it spoil m3' life. I can give it up,” with a sorrowful thought of his Dream Ladv.

How far he was the Dream Lady’s slave he had not fully realised. He was riding with a pretty girl, and talking the usual frivolous talk, when suddenly ho saw her looking at him strangely, ills Dream Lady was with him, and the poppy field lay before his longing eyes. He reeled in his saddle, and his eyes closed as if in sleep. "Are you ill?” His companion’s voice camc to him as from a great distance, while in his ear was the low humming rang of his dreams. With a great effort he recovered himself.

"How strong the poppies smell!” lie muttered confusedly. "There are! no poppies—” again he met that strange, doubtful look, and "I think we had better turn home,” she said. Yes, people were beginning to suspect.

Then at the office—

"What have you written here—there is some mistake.” His chief’s eyes looked at him with doubt, too. A fear shot across him.

"I’m afraid you want a rest, Jackson. You have been working too hard. Oet away for a time. 7 ’ Did his chief know?/ He felt humiliated, worried; he -had got further into the meshes till an he suspected. He would take leave and go to the hills. He would get some big game shooting, and 1 in the open-air life forget all abont this obsession that was upon him:He walked home from liis office full of his new resolution/and there found a letter which put all thoughts of big game shooting out of his head. A dis•f" l •

taut relative’ had died, leaving him a fortune —-not a big lortunt, but a pleasant sufficiency for any man’s needs, and a surplus on top of that. He had never need work again. Like all men, lie had once dreamed happily of the days when he should retire, and go ■back to England, but those dreams had been somewhat blurred of late. Now they revived, stirred into fresh activity by this pleasurable nows. He had a taste for country life. Tie would go Home and settle down. Pic was young yet, the old wound was almost healed. There was much lie could still get out of life. And then, in the middle of his plans and schemes, a longing came upon him. He must see. her once again, his Dream Lady; ho must bid her farewell, and with her the fanciful unrealities of that second liio of his. One more lajisc into the world of oblivion, and then, hey! for the world of common sense and the commonplace! Ayeslia, the dancer, who had been beautiful when lie first went to the Room of the Black Smoke, mixed liis pipe for him. A weird iriendship had sprung up between the two. They shared their dreams with each other. He teld her of the change that liad come to him, and that lie was going away over the sea to his own land. “1 shall smell the crushed poppies no more, Ayeslia, nor hoar my lady crooning strange melodies.” The woman leaned forward a s she. handed him the pipe, a strange, far-off look was in the eyes the drug had rendered dazed. She was dying. She knew it, and John Jackson knew it too, but Death had no terrors for her, and in her faded eyes was tile touch of prescience.

“You will see her again—you will see the great poppy petals rise and wave above you—you will hear tlio croon oi her song again—and all these things will come to you in the- strange land to which you go. In the hour you see and hear them, riso and 11 v lor chc poppies will be the Poppies of Death. Behold, if you sleep in that hour you will never wake again—and life is not bn nit out for you—as for me—the Black Sniche has been my life—it shall be mv death.’ ’

The message was heard, lmt scarcely heeded, lor already the pipe was between his lips, and John Jackson was passing into the land of visions. It seemed like a bad dream, and John Jackson’s face burned when he thought of it- Two months of journeying, and business and picking up the threads which made him his own self again, and the John Jackson of the Room of the Black Smoke was a thing of the past. It had required greater effort than he had anticipated to put that dark corner of his lif© into the limbo of forgotten things, but he hoped it was done, and done thoroughly. The rush of the new interests had helped him, and one stormy March night he found himself alone in London, his head teeming with plans for knotting v:p those old thread”, the ends of which he had been diligently seeking, but for the moment a solitary man. He had found out where Che old friends lie most wished to see were to be discc.<ereo. He had started negotiations for a small property in a .pretty country, and with a busy day before him on the morrow lie prepared to spend an idle evening. It wa s blowing hard, and cold rain was falling in gusty drifts and the streets were so unpleasant that he began to cast about for some place of amusement. Not a theatre or a musichall, lie felt disinclined for both. Outside' a big hall a notice of a billiardmatch in progress between two worldfamous players met his eye. It was the very thing! He was fond of the game, and it was ages since he had seen a match; liis interest- in that, as in most amusements, had faded when he became an opium-eater.

It was good to feel liis old 'keen zest of enjoyment was back with him. The match was exciting, and the. few onlookers were evidently men who appreciated a good game. With one of them, a tall, soldierly man, he fell into conversation, and found him a charming companion. So friendly did they become that when Jackson moved to the door the other man went with him, and, smilingly, genially offered liis card.

"Major Arthur Brown,” Jackson read on the pasteboard, with an address in a quiet street behind the Abbey, and a couple of quiet clubs underneath. He liked his companion well onough to reciprocate the introduction. "Jackson? Any relation to the lucky man who has come in for old Braudreth’s money?” the Major asked.

"I’m the man himself,” answered Jackson/ smiling. "I suppose I may add my congratulations to those you have, no doubt, been overwhelmed with?”

Jackson explained that as yet he had not come into touch with any of his old friends —

"In fact, not a soul knows that I am in town yet. I start picking np old links to-morrow—to-night I confess to being solitary.” "Then come home and spend an hour with me. We can smoke and have a game of cards, if you like. My place is only a top floor in an old house in Westminster —I have no wealthy surprises—but it’s a cosy litt e place, and I’m a first hand at mixing drinks! Will you come?” Jackson hesitated a moment; then, no excuse presenting itself to his mind, he accepted. As they crossed Dean’s Yard together, for the first time for weeks the sudden whiff of crushed poppies came to him, and lie half turned back.

"Wliat is the matter?” "Nothing—l—l almost fancied 1 could smell poppies.’ "In Dean’s Yard? My dear sir, you must be dreaming!” the Major answered. with his jolly laugh. What made him think of Ayeslui, John Jackson wondered, as he follow-

cd the Major up the steep panelled stair of a tall old house and into a room on the top floor ? He had not belied his.sanctum. It was a cosy den, full of comfort and warm color, and a pleasant contrast to the dark, windy streets •without. There was nothing Eastern about the room. It was typio.. ally English, yet the impression, of the East grew on John Jackson as ho seated himself in a deep chair at his host s request. It faded again when the Major, proving himself to be an excellent host, supplied his wants, and, with the aid of a man-servant, ministered to his comfort.

He was so well amused that twelve striking from the Abbey clock drew from him a startled exclamation. The Major, busy over a spirit lamp preparing onei of his famous drinks, looked up.

“Go? Nonsense! Not till you have had this,” holding a quaint little china goblet in which a deep-colored liquid steamed. “You must toss it off at once— it is not too hot—or you won’t get the full flavor—and I think you will like it.”

There was an odd look in the Major’s eyes as he spoke, and an odd tone in his voice as ho continued—“lt is the after-flavor which is go delicious.”

Jackson tossed off the contents of the cup, and found the concoction delicious —for a moment —then the after-flavor of which the Major spoke broke upon him—he knew it—disguised—but to an opium-eater, unmistakable —the drink was drugged. . In an instant the truth Hashed upon him. He had been decoyed by this specious stranger, in whom he had so rashly confided. Nay, the man might even have been shadowing him from liis hotel, and knew, from liis own unwise admissions, that the money with which he intended to complete his laml purchase on the morrow was then in his possess ion; knew also, that no one was aware of his presence in London, nor would be likely to miss him for several days. Force was no use —he had no idea how many of them were, in the plot. His wit must save him. His host was watching him with curious eyes, evidently waiting for the drug to take speedy effect.

“Did you like it?” ho inquired, in faint surprise.

“Delightful—l’d take another taste — wliat is the flavor?”

“Ah! That is my secret!” the man replied, laughing. “You shall have another glass, but don’t blame' me if it makes you feel queer —it is very strong,” and he turned his back to his stove.

Jackson sank back in liis chair, and closed bis eyes as he racked his brain for a chance of escape. He was about to open them, when a step outside, and the sound of the door opening, deterred him.

“He’s off all right, isn’t lie?” To liis amazement the voice was a woman’s. In his surprise he moved a little.

“Hush-h!” hissed the man’s voic-e, “I don’t think he is.” Jackson felt they were looking at him, and moved again, drowsily. “It did not take effect half as quickly as usual—the fool asked for a second dose,” the hissing whisper went on. “Where is Bates?” Bates was the immaculate man-servant.

“Gone,” the woman’s voice answered. “You know he never waits for t-he end of these affairs. Ho is afraid. As if after all this time” —Jackson moved again. “I don’t believe lie’s off. I’ll go till you make sure!” The faint rustle of skirts passed away, and the Avhispering ceased. John Jackson opened liis eyes with an admirable pretence of stupidity. “Is the other drink ready?” lie asked, with a sleepy laugh. “Yes, here it is,” the Major answered, coming towards him with a second cup. His victim rose heavily from the chair, and lurched up to the table on which the spirit stove stood.. “Like to see you mix it,” lie said thickly.' And I shan’t drink if you don’t drink with me.”

The Major protested, but Jackson was obstinate, and in the end 110 carefully rinsed out the first cup from which Jackson had drunk, and filled it from the little saucepan. That action told the dupe all he wanted to know. The opium had been dropped in the cup first, and the strongly-spiced drink poured on to it. The Major came to liis side and filled his goblet, then, taking Jackson by the arm, he pushed him towards the chair by which the other cup stood, with an affectation of good nature.

"Sit down for a few minutes,” be said, but the other man swaying against him unsteadily he set the cup he was carrying down beside the other while he guided him into the chair. For a moment the two drinks stood side by side as Jackson fell inertly into his scat.

‘ ‘Look! Look! the woman at tub door!” cried the apparently halfstupified man, and 1 the Major wheeled round with a muttered ; curse. There was no one there, and lie turned back sharply. ' His victim was leaning forward in liis.seat with dull eyes fixed on the door, to all appearances everything was the same, but in that one moment the cups had been changed.

"There is no woman there.” "Yes there is. No—l—l must be seeing double, old fellow. I could have sworn I saw a woman. Your drirfk is too strong. Perhaps I had better not drink the whole lot,” picking up the un-doctorbd cup. "It smells devilish good, though.” "Yes! Yes; We will drink together—to our better acquaintance.” Jackson responded sleepily to the toast, and both men tossed off their drink simultaneously. .There must have been ‘an extra dose in that second cup, for the effect on the Major was almost instantaneous. He realised wliat bad

happened, but, the potent drink was too much for him, and Jackson, alert and awake, on the instant, stood over him with his hand held over his bps to stifle cries for help. He did not desire any trouble with the woman, and he thought he could slip out unheard, once the man before him was asleep. Very soon the head lie was holding dropped heavily forward, and when lie released his hold, fell on the table. He crept cautiously to the door and opened it. All was as still as death. Quickly he returned, and, taking up the- old lamp on the table, crept out again. Nothing stirred. Evidently the woman did not mean to come till she was summoned. He crept down tiltstairs stealthily, till he (reached, as he thought, the front door. It was heavily barred and painted green. lie shot back t-lic bolts, and took a stop forward, but as he went he stumbled over something and fell forward, TTropping the lamp with a crash. Quickly he staggered to his feet, and looked down, frozen with horror.

The thing ho had stumbled over was the dead body of a man lying on a pile of straw, and the place was a cellar. A cry from above reached him faintly. The woman had discovered her mate. Wildly he stumbled back into the black darkness, and, over the terror which possessed him, lie felt a stupor creeping. The dose he had taken was more deadly than he knew.

In his ears the- old poppy song began to hum; in his nostrils was the old acrid scent. Before his eyes a wavering figure fled, and, almost unconsciously, he followed it up the stairs, through the passage, till ifi opened the locked door for him, and thrust him forth into the night air.

Ho staggered along till he reached the Embankment, and sank into a bench, Aycsha’s voice murmuring, “You will see her again—in the strange land—,” till ho became unconscious.

“’Ere, sir, ’ere! It’s time you woke up and moved on —.” The hand of a friendly policeman was on his arm, shaking him gently. “It’s time you went ’©me, or you l! be gettin’ into trouble.” “How long have I been here?” John Jackson asked, ; confusedly, looking round at t-he wet Embankment, lighted by a watery moon struggling through the drifting clouds.

“Long enough to get ycr death of

cold,” was the answer, with a grin. “Shall I call you a cab?” “No—no—,” his l brain was clearing now. “I’m all right. The walk will do me good. Many thanks, constable,” and half a sovereign changed hands.

“Thank you, sir,” the constable touched his helmet, and stood looking at the gentleman, as he walked slowly away, shivering.

“Get rheumatic fever, I shouldn’t wonder. Silly asses some of them fellows are! If I’d money, I wouldn’t do that sort of tiling. Nor this either,” muttered Robert, as he shook himself further into liis great coat and walked off on his beat. Meanwhile Jackson, feeling less and less confused, walked through into Pall Mall, thinking over liis escape. As he reached the broad thoroughfare, a wild rush and a shout of many voices roused him still more. A fire engine, bell clanging wildly, rushed past l:\in, then another, and following them the clatter of running feet. A glare in the sky, growing at every moment more vivid, drew his eyes to it with a kind of fascination. “Where is it?” he asked, catching one of the passing crowd, which seemed to spring from nowhere, by the arm. “One of the old (houses behind the Abbey. All wood nearly. It’ll burn like tinder,” and the man was gone. ' Then he knew —knew as certainly as lie did- a few minutes later, when he stood in front of the house he had just left, and saw a fiery furnace. Ayeslia was right. He saw them once move in the strange land —the flaming scarlet petals; he hoard the low humming, which others took for the roar of the flames, grow into the crooning melody ihe Jiad loved so much, and in the heart of the great flame poppy he saw a face—his Dream Lady’s face! “Save her! Save her!” he cried wildly as ho sprang forward. “It was} too late, sir,” said a civil voice beside him. , “The fire must have started in the cellar, but the whole house was well alight before they knew anyone was in it. The man -and the woman were only at the window for a second, then the floor fell in.

Started in the" cellar? A memory of tile. fallen lamp and the dead man beside it on the pile of straw came back to John Jackson. Nemesis had been sure and swift; the drugged victim had been the only one who could have helped the man and woman in their dire need,, and he was, by their own act, slumbering heavily on a seat on the Embankment not many yards away.

John Jackson said no more. He stood with the rest, and watched till the great flame poppies died and dropped, and the face of a helmeted fireman appeared at the window where, he had seen that brief vision of his Dream Lady. Then 110 walked back to his hotel, heavy-footed and heavy-heart-ed. He knew lie had seen her for the last time—and with her passing had passed for him for ever the Poppies of Death.