Part 16

"They did more than believe they were animals," said Herrick dryly. "They seem to have succeeded in impressing their belief pretty strongly upon their neighbours and relatives. Did you ever dig into old records of that sort, Austin? The were-wolf stories of the Middle Ages? They're rather grim reading."

I was silent.

"Remember our facts," he went on. "Menning's mother came from Westphalia, one of the parts of Europe where the belief in lycanthropy is most widely spread and where its existence is still credited among the peasants of today. Lycanthropy was believed to be a hereditary taint, as transmissible as insanity, which may lie dormant through one or more generations, so much so that at one time the relatives of an accused man or woman were all held suspect. There seems to have been more or less of a mystery about the Mennings altogether, chiefly on account of the mother's character, and most particularly in regard to Jakey. Remember also what Lennox said about the strong persistence of type in both sons, although of different paternity. We have Lennox's assertion that there was something peculiar, 'animal', about Jakey, which certainly impressed him, but which he seemed rather at a loss to describe. Then there is that unexplained incident when Jakey was with the circus. Whatever it was, it was something that gave such a shock to the proprietor--who, remember, had originally conceived the idea of the wild-man stunt himself, so wasn't likely to have been taken in by acting--that he sacrificed his best drawing card then and there sooner than have Jakey remain another night with the show. All the brother would say was that he 'guessed Jakey acted too well,' which in itself is fairly significant.

"That Aaron knew, or suspected, certain facts about his brother, there is no doubt. Why else should he so obstinately oppose any medical examination, and particularly the idea of Jakey being removed even temporarily from their control? Why did he make the very singular statement that Jakey was 'all right in the daytime,' and that _at night they shut him up_?"

"And the bullet?" I asked.

"Do you remember that Aaron promised if it became necessary he would take steps? What those steps were he did not say, but I believe myself that this silver bullet answers the question. Remember the horror in which lycanthropy was held, the revulsion it excited, and think whether he would not have resorted to the gravest measures sooner than have the whole concealed story come to light.

"I think that Aaron had already determined that night, unknown to their mother, to put an end to the whole thing; that he went out to seek his half-brother at the time, and under that form, when alone it would be possible to bring himself to do that which he felt had to be done. Jakey must have suspected. There was a struggle between the two, and it was Aaron who was killed, before he had time to use the silver bullet which he dropped, there, in the moment of unexpected attack. The old mother must have known the truth; through all her horror and superstition her love for her first son survived, and together they concocted the story of Aaron's absence with the wagon. That she paid bitterly, many times over, for her impulse, there is no doubt. She was now completely under Jakey's dominion--the dominion of a being little better than a monster, whom she dared not now denounce, for who would have believed her story?

"It is certain that what we saw last night is what attacked Lessing, and had attacked him previously. It reached him through the skylight, but not altogether as he thought. It climbed. You will remember that in every instance the attack was from overhead."

"But the thing that... that I touched..." I cried. "It was _furry_! It----"

I stopped short, taken with a sudden shudder.

"I know," said Herrick.

"I had hoped," he went on, "that you didn't retain any very definite impression. That's why----"

"_You_ saw it."

"We all saw something. We thought we did."

"And Sliefer..." I paused. "Herrick, there was something else. I remember now. You were holding me. And you told Sliefer not to fire. I wondered..."

"They say there is a change, one way or another, at the moment of death," Herrick said. "I knew it. I tried to stop him." He paused a moment. "I was too late. That's all."

We sat there for a moment, not speaking. Then Herrick knocked his pipe out against the boulder and rose to his feet.

"Come on back to the house. Mrs. Searle will have breakfast for us, and we both look rather a wreck!" He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Take my advice, Austin, and put this whole thing out of your mind. I told you in the beginning--there's the other explanation; why not stand by it? As I say, it covers all the facts. The rest is between us three. Look at it how you will, whatever happened last night happened for the best."

I remembered the thing that had cried and twisted on the ground, and was silent. Herrick was right.

As soon as Lessing was able to travel we went down, the three of us, to the little cottage on the Sound which they had rented for the remainder of the fall. Herrick came down for an occasional long week-end, and it was during one of these, when we were lounging out on the beach before supper, that he handed me without comment a little cutting from a Pennsylvania local paper.

It was headed "Man's Body found in Millpond" and stated briefly how some boys, fishing in Sliefer's dam, had discovered the body of a man, believed to be that of a certain Aaron Menning, chicken pedlar, who had disappeared from the neighborhood mysteriously some weeks before. The body, which had lain for a considerable time in the water, showed the trace of two bullet wounds, but owing to the difficulties of medical evidence after so long a time had elapsed it was not possible to prove that either of these had been sufficient to cause death, which was brought in, on the finding of the coroner's jury, as accidental. "It will be remembered," the article concluded, "that equally mysterious circumstances attended, less than a year ago, the death of Menning's stepbrother, whose body was found at a spot not half a mile from the scene of this later tragedy. Though there was no suggestion of foul play at the time, rumor later connected Aaron's name, in no uncertain terms, with his stepbrother's death, a rumor which his disappearance served to strengthen in many persons' minds. Whatever the circumstances which led to this second tragedy, and how far the two may be connected, will remain for ever a mystery, since Aaron's death closes definitely the last chapter in the story of this singularly ill-fated family."

"What's that?" asked Lessing.

I slipped the cutting into my pocket. My compact with Herrick still held good.

"Only some more nonsense of Jack's."

Lessing grinned up at me from where he lounged, one bandaged arm stretched above his head, in the deck-chair.

"I should think, as an engaged man, you ought to be getting impervious by this time."

"I am. Don't you worry!"

Over the lawn, through the warm-scented dusk, came Mary's voice from the porch.

"Austin!" she called. "Dick! Are you three going to sit there all night?"

Herrick moved away.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Supper is ready, and I won't risk being told again that I monopolize you all the day!"

THE END