Classic Audiobook Collection - The Beast With Five Fingers by W. F. Harvey ~ Full Audiobook [horror]

Episode Date: June 5, 2023

The Beast With Five Fingers by W. F. Harvey audiobook. Genre: horror Eustace Borlsover is a cool-headed English scholar, more comfortable with heredity charts and specimen drawers than with grief. But when his eccentric, blind uncle Adrian dies, Eustace inherits more than an enormous library. A strange, ventilated box arrives at Borlsover Conyers carrying an object that should be inert, yet is unmistakably alive: Adrian's severed right hand, preserved and restless. Years earlier, Adrian had developed a disturbing talent for automatic writing, his hand scribbling messages that sounded like a sly, separate personality speaking from behind the veil. Now that same clever hand is loose in Eustace's home, slipping from confinement, defying locks, and turning ordinary corridors, desks, and safes into stages for quiet terror. With only his wary secretary, Saunders, to help him, Eustace tries to approach the phenomenon as a solvable problem - something to study, restrain, and control. But the longer the hand survives, the more intimate its intrusions become, and the more Eustace must face a question that threatens his rational world: what, exactly, has Eustace invited into his house, and what does it want from him? For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:16:02) Chapter 02 (00:31:51) Chapter 03 (00:51:58) Chapter 04 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Beast with Five F. F. F. Harvey. Chapter 1. When I was a little boy, I once went with my father to call on Adrian Burlesover. I played on the floor with a black spaniel while my father appealed for a subscription. Just before we left, my father said, Mr. Borlsover, may my son here shake hands with you? It will be a thing to look back upon with pride with he grows to be a man. I came up to the bed on which the old man was lying, and put my hand in his, awed by the still beauty of his face. He spoke to me, kindly, and hoped that I should always try to please my father. Then he placed his right hand on my head, and asked for a blessing to rest upon me. Amen, said my father, and I followed him out of the room, feeling as if I wanted to cry,

but my father was in excellent spirits. "'That old gentleman, Jim,' said he, "'is the most wonderful man in the whole town. "'For ten years he has been quite blind.' "'But I saw his eyes,' I said. "'They were ever so black and shiny. "'They weren't shut up like Nora's puppies. "'Can't he see it all?'

"'And so I learned for the first time "'that a man might have eyes that looked dark, and beautiful and shining, without being able to see. Just like Mrs. Tomlinson has big ears, I said, and can't hear at all except when Mr. Tomlinson shouts. Jim, said my father, it's not right to talk about a lady's ears. Remember what Mr. Burlesover said about pleasing me and being a good boy.

That was the only time I saw Adrian Burlesover. I soon forgot about him and the hand which he had laid and blessing on my head, but for a week I prayed that those dark, tender eyes might see. His spaniel may have puppies, I said in my prayers, and he will never be able to know how funny they look with their eyes all closed up. Please let old Mr. Borrelsover see. Adrian Borrelsover, as my father had said, was a wonderful man. He came of an eccentric family. Barlsover's sons, for some reason, always seemed to marry very ordinary women, which perhaps accounted for the fact that no borrlesover had ever been a genius,

and only one Boral Sover had been mad. But they were great champions of little causes, generous patrons of odd sciences, founders of querulous sects, trustworthy guides to the by-path meadows of erudition. Adrian was an authority on the fertilization of orchids. He had held at one time the family living at Burlesover Conyers until a congenital weakness of the lungs obliged him to seek a less rigorous climate in the sunny South Coast watering place where I had seen him.

Occasionally, he would relieve one or the other of the local clergy. My father described him as a fine preacher, who gave long and inspiring sermons from what many men would have considered unprofitable texts. An excellent proof, he would add, of the truth of the doctrine of direct verbal inspiration. Adrian Burlesover was exceedingly clever with his hands. His penmanship was exquisite. He illustrated all his scientific papers, made his own woodcuts, and carved the rubber-dose that is at present the chief feature of interest in the church at Burlesover Corniers.

He had an exceedingly clever knack and cutting silhouettes for young ladies and paper pigs and cows for little children, and made more than one complicated wind instrument of his own devising. When he was fifty years old, Adrian Burlesover lost his sight. In a wonderfully short time, he had adapted himself to the new conditions of life. He quickly learned to read Braille, so marvelous indeed was his sense of touch, that he was still able to maintain his interest in botany. The mere passing of his long, supple fingers over a flower was sufficient means for its identification, though occasionally he would use his

lips. I have found several letters of his among my father's correspondence. In no case was there anything to show that he was afflicted with blindness, and this in spite of the fact that he exercised undue economy in the spacing of lines. Towards the close of his life the old man was credited with powers of touch that seemed almost uncanny. It has been said that he could tell it once the color of a ribbon placed between his fingers. My father would neither confirm nor deny the story. Adrian Boralsover was a bachelor. His elder brother George had married late in life, leaving one son, Eustace,

who lived in the gloomy Georgian mansion at Borlsover Conyers, where he could work undisturbed in collecting material for his great book on heredity. Like his uncle, he was a remarkable man. The Borlsovers had always been born naturalists, but Eustace possessed in a sense. special degree the power of systematizing his knowledge. He had received his university education in Germany, and then, after postgraduate work in Vienna and Naples, had traveled for four

years in South America and the East, getting together a huge store of material for a new study into the processes of variation. He lived alone at Borlsover Conyers with Saunders, his secretary, a man who bore a somewhat dubious reputation in the district, but whose powers as a mathematician, combined with his business abilities, were invaluable to Eustace. Uncle and nephew saw little of each other. The visits of Eustace were confined to a week in the summer or autumn,

long weeks that dragged almost as slowly as the bath chair in which the old man was drawn along the sunny seafront. In their way, the two men were, men were fond of each other, though their intimacy would doubtless have been greater had they shared the same religious views. Adrian held to the old-fashioned evangelical dogmas of his early manhood. His nephew, for many years, had been thinking of embracing Buddhism. Both men possessed, too, the reticence the Borlsovers had always shown, and which their

enemies sometimes called hypocrisy. With Adrian, it was a reticence. as to the things he had left undone. But with Eustace, it seemed that the curtain which he was so careful to leave undrawn hit something more than a half-empty chamber. Two years before his death, Adrian Burlesover developed, unknown to himself,

the not uncommon power of automatic writing. Eustace made the discovery by accident. Adrian was sitting reading in bed, the forefinger of his left hand, tracing the braille characters. When his nephew noticed that a pencil the old man held in his right hand, was moving slowly across the opposite page. He left his seat in the window and sat down beside the bed.

The right hand continued to move, and now he could see plainly that they were letters and words which it was forming. Adrian Burlesover, wrote the hand. Eustace Borlsover. George Borlsover, Francis Borlsover, Sigismund borrows over, Adrian Borlz over, Ustis borrles over, Saville borrles over, B for Barlsover. Honesty is the best policy. Beautiful Belinda Borlsover. What curious nonsense, said Eustace to himself. King George III ascended the throne in 1716.

wrote the hand. Crowd. A noun of multitude. A collection of individuals. Adrian Burlesover. Eustace Burles over. It seems to me, said his uncle, closing the book, that you had much better make the most of the afternoon sunshine and take your walk now.

I think perhaps I will, Eustace answered as he picked up the volume. I won't go far, and when I come back I can read to you. you those articles in nature about which we were speaking. He went along the promenade, but stopped at the first shelter, and seating himself in the corner best protected from the wind, he examined the book at leisure. Nearly every page was scored with a meaningless jumble of pencil marks, rows of capital letters, short words, long words, complete sentences, copy-book tags. The whole thing, in fact, had the of a copy-book, and on a more careful scrutiny, Eustace thought that there was ample evidence

to show that the handwriting at the beginning of the book, good though it was, was not nearly so good as the handwriting at the end. He left his uncle at the end of October, with a promise to return early in December. It seemed to him quite clear that the old man's power of automatic writing was developing rapidly, and for the first time he looked forward to a visit that combined duty with interest. But on his return he was at first disappointed. His uncle, he thought, looked older. He was listless, too, preferring others to read to him

and dictating nearly all his letters. Not until the day before he left had Eustace an opportunity of observing Adrian Burlesover's new-found faculty. The old man, propped up in bed with pillows, had sunk into a light sleep. His two hands lay on the coverlet, his left hand tightly clasping his right. Eustace took an empty manuscript book and placed a pencil within reach of the fingers of the right hand. They snatched at it eagerly, then dropped the pencil to unloose the left hand from its restraining grasp.

Perhaps to prevent interference I had better hold that hand, said Eustace to himself as he watched the pencil. almost immediately it began to write. Blundering burlesovers, unnecessarily unnatural, extraordinary eccentric, culpably curious. Who are you? asked Eustace in a low tone. Never you mind, wrote the hand of Adrian. Is it my uncle who was writing?

Oh, my prophetic soul, mine uncle. Is it anyone I know? Silly, Eustace, you'll see me very soon. When shall I see you? When poor Adrian's dead. Where shall I see you? Where shall you not? Instead of speaking his next question, Burlesover wrote it.

What is the time? The finger dropped the pencil and moved three or four times across the paper, Then, picking up the pencil, they wrote, Ten minutes before four. Put your book away, Eustace. Adrian mustn't find us working at this sort of thing. He doesn't know what to make of it, and I won't have poor old Adrian disturbed.

Au revoir. Adrian Borisover awoke with a start. I've been dreaming again, he said. Such queer dreams of leagered cities and for gotten towns. You were mixed up in this one, Eustace, though I can't remember how. Eustace, I want to warn you, don't walk in doubtful paths. Choose your friends well. You're a poor grandfather. A fit of coughing put an end to what he was saying, but Eustace saw that the hand was still writing. He managed, unnoticed, to draw the book away. I'll light the gas, he said,

and ring for tea. On the other side of the bed curtain, he saw the last sentences that had been written. It's too late, Adrian, he read. We're friends already, aren't we? Eustace Borrellsover. On the following day, Eustace Boralsover left. He thought his uncle looked ill when he said goodbye, and the old man spoke despondently of the failure his life had been. "'Nonsense, uncle,' said his nephew. have got over your difficulties in a way not one in a hundred thousand would have done. Everyone marvels at your splendid perseverance in teaching your hand to take the place of your lost sight. To me it's been a revelation of the possibilities of education.

Education, said his uncle, dreamily, as if the word had started a new train of thought. Education is good so long as you know to whom and for what purpose you give it. But with the lower orders of men, the base and more sordid spirits, I have graved out as to its results. Well, good-bye, Eustace. I may not see you again. You are a true borlsover with all the boros-over faults. Merry, Eustace, marry some good, sensible girl. And if by any chance I don't see you again, my will is at my solicitors. I've not left you any legacy, because I know you're not. well provided for. But I thought you might like to have my books.

Oh, and there's just one other thing. You know, before the end, people often lose control over themselves and make absurd requests. Don't pay any attention to them, Eustace. Goodbye. And he held out his hand. Eustace took it. It remained in his a fraction of a second longer than he had expected, and gripped him with a virility that was surprising.

There was, too, in its touch, a subtle sense of intimacy. Why, uncle, he said, I shall see you alive and well for many long years to come. Two months later, Adrian Burlesover died. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 of The Beast with Five F. Harvey. This Libre V. R.comx recording is in the public. domain. Eustace Borlsover was in Naples at the time.

He read the obituary notice in the morning post on the day announced for the funeral. Poor old fellow, he said, I wonder where I shall find room for all his books. The question occurred to him again with greater force when, three days later, he found himself standing in the library at Borlsover Conyers. A huge room built for use, and not for beauty, in the year of Waterloo by a Burlesover who was an ardent admirer of the great Napoleon. It was arranged on the plan of many college libraries, with tall projecting bookcases, forming deep recesses of dusty silence, fit graves for the old hates of forgotten controversy, the

dead passions or forgotten lives. At the end of the room, behind the bust of some unknown 18th-century divine, an ugly iron-cork-screw stare led to a shelf-lined gallery. Nearly every shelf was full. "'I must talk to Saunders about it,' said Eustace. "'I suppose that it will be necessary to have the billiard-room fitted up with bookcases.' The two men met for the first time after many weeks in the dining-room that evening. "'Hello,' said Eustace, standing before the fire with his hands in his

pockets. How goes the world, Saunders? Why these dressed hogs? He himself was wearing an old shooting jacket. He did not believe in mourning, as he had told his uncle on his last visit, and though he usually went in for quiet colored ties, he wore this evening one of an ugly red in order to shock Martin the butler, and to make them thrash out the whole question of mourning for themselves in the servants' hall. Eustace was a true borlsover. The world, said Saunders, goes the same as usual, confoundedly slow. The dress-togs are accounted for by an invitation from Captain Lockwood to Bridge.

How are you getting there? I've told your coachman to drive me in your carriage. Any objections? Oh, dear me, no. We've had all things in common for far too many. years for me to raise objections at this hour of the day." "'You'll find your correspondence in the library,' went on Saunders. "'Most of it I've seen to.

There are a few private letters I haven't opened. There's also a box with a rat or something inside it that came by the evening post. Very likely it's the six-toed albino. I didn't look because I don't want to mess up my things, but I should gather from the way it's jumping about that it's pretty hungry." "'Oh, I'll see to it,' said Eustace, while you and the Captain earn an honest penny. Dinner over and Saunders gone.

Eustace went into the library. Though the fire had been lit the room was by no means cheerful. We'll have all the lights on at any rate, he said as he turned the switches. And Martin, he added when the butler brought the coffee, get me a screwdriver or something to undo this box. Whatever the animal is, he's kicking up the deuce of a row. What is it? Why are you dawdling?

If you please, sir. When the postman brought it, he told me that they'd board the holes in the lid at the post office. There were no breathing holes in the lid, sir, and they didn't want the animal to die. That is all, sir. It's culpably careless of the man, whoever he was, said Eustace, as he removed the screws. packing an animal like this in a wooden box with no means of getting air confound it all i meant to ask martin to bring me a cage to put it in now i suppose i shall have to get one myself he placed a heavy book on the lid from which the screws had been removed and went into the billiard-room as he came back into the library with an empty cage in his hand he heard the sound of something falling and then of something scuttling along the floor

floor. Bother it. The beasts got out. How in the world am I to find it again in this library? To search for it did indeed seem hopeless. He tried to follow the sound of the scuttling in one of the recesses where the animal seemed to be running behind the books and the shelves, but it was impossible to locate it. Eustace resolved to go on quietly reading. Very likely the animal might gain confidence and show itself. Saunders seemed to have dealt in his usual, methodical manner with most of the correspondence. There were still the private letters. What was that?

Two sharp clicks and the lights in the hideous candelabra that hung from the ceiling suddenly went out. I wonder if something has gone wrong with the fuse, said Eustace, as he went to the switches by the door. Then he stopped. There was a no one. at the other end of the room, as if something was crawling up the iron-cork-screw stair.

If it's gone into the gallery, he said, well and good. He hastily turned on the lights, crossed the room, and climbed up the stair, but he could see nothing. His grandfather had placed a little gate at the top of the stair, so that children could run and romp in the gallery without fear of accident. Eustace closed, and, having considerably narrowed the circle of his search, returned to his desk by the fire. How gloomy the library was!

There was no sense of intimacy about the room. The few busts that an eighteenth-century burles over had brought back from the Grand Tour might have been in keeping in the old library. Here they seemed out of place. They made the room feel cold, in spite of the room. heavy red damask curtains and great gilt cornices. With the crash, two heavy books fell from the gallery to the floor. Then, as Burles overlooked, another, and yet another.

Very well, you'll starve for this, my beauty, he said. We'll do some little experiments on the metabolism of rats deprived of water. Go on, chuck them down. I think I've got the upper hand. He turned once again to his correspondence. The letter was from the family solicitor. It spoke of his uncle's death and of the valuable collection of books that had been left to him in the will. There was one request, he read, which entirely came as a surprise to me.

As you know, Mr. Adrian Borlsover had left instructions that his body was to be buried in as simple a manner as possible at Eastbourne. He expressed a desire that there should be neither wreaths nor flowers of any kind, and hoped that his friends and relatives would not consider it necessary to wear mourning. The day before his death we received a letter canceling these instructions. He wished his body to be embalmed. He gave us the address of the man we were to employ, Penifer Legate Hill, with orders that his right hand was to be sent to you, stating that.

it was at your special request. The other arrangements as to the funeral remained unaltered. Good Lord, said Eustace. What in the world was the old man driving at? And what in the name of all that's holy is that? Someone was in the gallery. Someone had pulled the cord attached to one of the blinds, and it had rolled up with a snap. Someone must be in the gallery, for a The second blind did the same thing. Someone must be walking round the gallery, for one after the other, the blinds sprang up, letting in the moonlight. "'I haven't got to the bottom of this yet,' said Eustace, but I will before the night is very much older, and he hurried up the corkscrew stair. He had just got to the top,

when the lights went out a second time, and he heard again the scuttling along the floor. Quickly he stole on tiptoe in the dim moonlight in the direction of the noise, feeling as he went for one of the switches. His fingers touched the metal knob at last. He turned on the electric light. About ten yards in front of him crawling along the floor was a man's hand. Eustace stared at it in utter astonishment. It was moving quickly in the manner of a geometer caterpillar.

The fingers humped up one moment, flattened out the next. The thumb appeared to give a crab-like motion to the hole. While he was looking, too surprised to stir, the hand disappeared round the corner. Eustace ran forward. He no longer saw it, but he could hear it, as it squeezed its way behind the the books on one of the shelves. A heavy volume had been displaced. There was a gap in the row of books where it had got in.

In his fear, lest it should escape him again, he seized the first book that came to his hand and plugged it into the hole. Then, emptying two shells of their contents, he took the wooden boards and propped them up in front to make his barrier doubly sure. I wish Saunders was back," he said. One can't tackle this sort of thing alone. It was after eleven, and there seemed little likelihood of Saunders returning before twelve. He did not dare to leave the shelf unwatched, even to run downstairs to ring the bell.

Martin the butler often used to come round about eleven to see that the windows were fastened, but he might not come. Eustace was thoroughly unstrung. Last he heard steps down below. "'Martin!' he shouted. "'Martin!' "'Sir?' "'Has Mr. Saunders got back yet?'

"'Not yet, sir.' "'Well, bring me some brandy and hurry up about it. I'm up here in the gallery, you duffer.' "'Thanks,' said Eustace as he emptied the glass. "'Don't go to bed yet, Morton. There are a lot of books that have fallen down by accident. Bring them up and put them back in their shelves.' Martin had never seen Borlsover in so talkative of mood as on that night.

"'Here,' said Eustace, when the books had been put back and dusted, "'you might hold up these boards for me, Martin. That beast in the box got out, and I've been chasing it all over the place.' "'I think I can hear it charing at the book, sir. They're not valuable, I hope. I think that's the carriage, sir. I'll go and call Mr. Saunders.' It seemed to Eustace that he was away for five minutes, but it could hardly have been

more than one when he returned with Saunders. All right, Martin, you can go now. I'm up here, Saunders. What's all the row, asked Saunders, as he lounged forward with his hands in his pockets. The luck had been with him all the evening. He was completely satisfied, both with himself and with Captain Lockwood's taste and wines. What's the matter? You look to me to be in an absolute blue funk?"

That old devil of an uncle of mine began Eustace. Oh, I can't explain it all. It's his hand that's been playing old Harry all evening, but I've got it cornered behind these books. You've got to help me catch it." What's up with you, Eustace? What's the game? It's no game, you silly idiot.

If you don't believe me, take out one of those books and put your hand. hand in and feel. All right, said Saunders, but wait till I've rolled up my sleeve. The accumulated dust of sentries, eh? He took off his coat, knelt down, and thrust his arm along the shelf. There's something there right enough, he said. It's got a funny, stumpy end to it, whatever it is, and nips like a crab. Ah, no, you don't, he pulled his hand out in a flash.

Shove in a book quickly, now it can't get out. What was it? asked Eustace. It was something that wanted very much to get hold of me. I felt what seemed like a thumb and forefinger. Give me some brandy. How are we to get it out of there? What about a landing net? No good. It would be too smart for us.

I tell you, Saunders, it can cover the ground far faster than I can walk. But I think I see how we can manage it. The two books at the end of the shelf are big ones that go right back against the wall. The others are very thin. I'll take out one at a time and you slide the rest along until we have it squashed between the end, too. It certainly seemed to be the best plan. One by one as they took out the books. The space behind grew smaller and smaller.

There was something in it that was certainly very much. very much alive. Once they caught sight of fingers pressing outward for a way of escape. At last they had it pressed between the two big books. "'There's muscle there, if there isn't flesh and blood,' said Saunders, as he held them together. "'It seems to be a hand right enough, too. I suppose this is some sort of infectious hallucination. I read about such cases before.' "'Infectious fiddlesticks,' said Eustace, his face white. with anger. Bring the thing downstairs. We'll get it back into the box."

It was not altogether easy, but they were successful at last. Drive in the screws, said Eustace. We won't run any risks. Put the box in this old desk of mine. There's nothing in it that I want. Here's the key. Thank goodness there's nothing wrong with the lock." "'Quite a lively evening,' said Saunders. "'Now let's hear more about your uncle. They sat up together until early morning. Saunders had no desire to sleep. Eustace was trying to explain and to forget. To conceal from himself a fear that he had never felt before.

The fear of walking alone down the long corridor to his bedroom. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of The Beast with Five F. F. Harvey. this librovoc's recording is in the public domain chapter three whatever it was said eustace to saunders on the following morning i propose that we drop the subject there's nothing to keep us here for the next ten days we'll motor up to the lakes and get some climbing and see nobody all day and sit bored to death with each other every night not for me thanks "'Why not run up to town? Run to the exact word in this case, isn't it?' "'We're both in such a blessed funk. Pull yourself together, Eustace, and let's have another look at the hand.' "'As you like,' said Eustace, "'there's the key.'

They went into the library and opened the desk. The box was as they had left it on the previous night. "'What are you waiting for?' asked Eustace. "'I'm waiting for you to volunteer to open the lid. However, since you seem to funk it, allow me. There doesn't seem to be the likelihood of any rumpus this morning, at all events.' He opened the lid and picked out the hand. "'Cold?' asked Eustace.

"'Tepid, a bit below blood-heat by the feel. and supple, too. If it's the embalming, it's a sort of embalming I've never seen before. Is it your uncle's hand? Oh, yes, it's his all right, said Eustace. I should know those long, thin fingers anywhere. Put it back in the box, hunters. Never mind about the screws. I locked the desk, so there'll be no chance of it's getting out. We'll compromise by motoring up to town for a week. If we get off soon after lunch, we ought to be at Grantham or Stamford by night.

Right, said Saunders. And tomorrow—oh, well, by tomorrow we shall have forgotten all about this beastly thing. If when the morrow came they had not forgotten, it was certainly true that at the end of the week they were able to tell a very vivid ghost story at the Little Supper Eustace gave on Halloween. You don't want us to believe that it's true, Mr. Barlesover. How perfectly awful! I'll take my oath on it, and so would Saunders here, wouldn't you, old chap?'

"'Any number of oaths,' said Saunders. "'It was a long, thin hand, you know, and it gripped me just like that.' "'Don't, Mr. Saunders. Don't. How perfectly horrid. Now, tell us another one, do. Only a really creepy one, please.' "'Here's a pretty mess,' said Eustace, on the following day, as he'll

He threw a letter across the table to Saunders. It's your affair, though. Mrs. Merritt, if I understand it, gives a month's notice." Oh, that's quite absurd on Mrs. Merritt's part," Sonders replied. She doesn't know what she's talking about. Let's see what she says. Dear Sir," he read, This is to let you know that I must give you a month's notice, as from Tuesday the 13th.

For a long time I felt the place too big for me, but when Jane Parfit and Emma Laylaw go off with scarcely as much as an if you please, after frightening the wits out of the other girls, so that they can't turn out a room by themselves or walk alone down the stairs for fear of treading on half-frozen toads, or hearing it run along the passages at night, all I can say is that it's no place for me. So I must ask you, Mr. Borlsover, sir, to find a new housekeeper that has no objection to large and lonely houses, which some people do say, not that I believe them for a minute, my poor mother always having been a Wesleyan, are haunted.

Yours faithfully, Elizabeth Merritt. P.S. I should be obliged if you would give my respects to Mr. Saunders. I hope that he won't run no risks with his cold. "'Sanders,' said Eustace, "'you've always had a wonderful way with you in dealing with servants. "'You mustn't let poor old married go.' "'Of course she shan't go,' said Saunders. "'She's probably only angling for a rise in salary.

"'I'll write to her this morning.' "'No, there's nothing like a personal interview. "'We've had enough of town. "'We'll go back to-morrow, "'and you must work your cold for all its worth.' Don't forget that it's got onto the chest and will require weeks of feeding up and nursing. All right, I think I can manage Mrs. Merritt." But Mrs. Merritt was more obstinate than he had thought.

She was very sorry to hear of Mr. Saunders cold, and how he lay awake all night in London coughing. Very sorry indeed. She changed his room for him gladly and get the south room aired. And wouldn't he have a basin of high? bread and milk lasting at night, but she was afraid that she would have to leave at the end of the month. Try her with an increase of salary, was the advice of Eustace?

It was no use. Mrs. Merritt was obdurate, though she knew of a Mrs. Handyside, who had been housekeeper to Lord Gargrave, who might be glad to come at the salary mentioned. What's the matter with the servants, Morton? asked Eustace that evening, when he brought the coffee into the library. What's all this about Mrs. Merritt wanting to leave?" "'If you please, sir, I was going to mention it myself. I have a confession to make, sir.

When I found your note asking me to open that desk and take out the box with the rat, I broke the lock as you told me and was glad to do it, because I could hear the animal in the box making a great noise, and thought it wanted food. So I took out the boxer and got a cage and was going to transfer it when the animal got away. What in the world are you talking about? I never wrote any such note. Excuse me, sir. It was the note I picked up here on the floor on the day you and Mr. Saunders left. I have it in my pocket now. It certainly seemed to be in Eustace's handwriting. It was written in pencil and began somewhat.

abruptly. Get a hammer, Morton," he read, or some other tool and break open the lock in the old desk in the library. Take out the box that is inside. You need not do anything else. The lid is already open. Eustace borrows over. And you open the desk?

Yes, sir. And as I was getting the cage ready, the animal hopped out? What animal? The animal inside. sir. What did it look like?" Well, sir, I couldn't tell," said Martin nervously. My back was turned, and it was halfway down the room when I looked up.

What was this color? asked Saunders. Black? Oh, no, sir. A grayish white. It crept along in a very funny way, sir. I don't think it had a tail. What did you do then? I tried to catch it, but it was no use.

So I set the rat traps and kept the library shut. Then that girl Emma Ladelaw left the door open when she was cleaning, and I think it must have escaped. And you think it was the animal that's been frightening the maids? Well, no, sir, not quite. They said it was— You will excuse me, sir. A hand that they saw. Emma trod on it once at the bottom of the stairs.

She thought then it was a half-frozen toad, only white, and then Parfit was washing up the dishes in the scullery. She wasn't thinking about anything in particular. It was close on dusk. She took her hands out of the water and was drying them absent-minded like on the roller-towel, when she found that she was drying someone else's hand as well, only colder than hers. What nonsense! exclaimed Saunders.

"'Exactly, sir. That's what I told her. But we couldn't get her to stop.' "'You don't believe all this,' said Eustace, turning suddenly toward the butler. "'Me, sir? Oh, no, sir. I've not seen anything.' "'Nor heard anything?'

"'Well, sir, if you must know, the bells do ring at odd times, and there's nobody there when we go. And when we go round to draw the blinds of a night, as often as not somebody's been there before us. But as I says to Mrs. Merritt, a young monkey might do wonderful things, and we all know that Mr. Barlesover has had some strange animals about the place. Very well, Martin, that will do. What do you make of it?" asked Saunders when they were alone.

I mean the letter he said you wrote. "'Oh, that's simple enough,' said Eustace. see the paper it's written on i stopped using that years ago but there were a few odd sheets and envelopes left in the old desk we never fastened up the lid of the box before locking it in the hand got out found a pencil wrote this note and shoved it through a crack onto the floor where morton found it that's plain as daylight but the hand couldn't write couldn't it you've not seen it do the things i've seen and he told saunders more of what had happened at eastbourne well said saunders in that case we have at least an explanation of the legacy it was the hand which wrote unknown to your uncle that letter to your solicitor bequeathing itself to you your uncle had no more to do with that request than i in fact it would seem that he had some idea of this automatic writing, and feared it. Then, if it's not my uncle, what is it?

I suppose some people might say that a disembodied spirit had got into your uncle to educate and prepare a little body for it. Now it's got into that little body, and is off on its own. Well, what are we to do? We'll keep our eyes open, said Saunders, and try to catch it. If we can't do that, we shall have to wait till the battle. clockwork runs down. After all, if it's flesh and blood it can't live forever. For two days, nothing happened. Then Sonder saw it sliding down the banister in the hall.

He was taken unawares and lost a full second before he started in pursuit, only to find that the thing had escaped him. Three days later, Eustace, writing alone in the library at night, saw it sitting on an open book at the other end of the room. The fingers crept over the page, feeling the print as if it were reading, but before he had time to get up from his seat, it had taken the alarm and was pulling itself up the curtains. Eustace watched it grimly as it hung on to the cornice with three fingers, flicking thumb and forefinger at him in an expression of scornful derision.

I know what I'll do, he said. If I only get it into the open, I'll set the dogs on it. He spoke to Saunders of this suggestion. It's a jolly good idea, he said. Only we won't wait till we find it out of doors. We'll get the dogs. There are two terriers and the underkeeper's Irish mongrel that's on to rats like a flash.

Your spaniel has not got spirit enough for this sort of game. they brought the dogs into the house and the keeper's irish mongrel chewed up the slippers and the terriers tripped up martin as he waited at table but all three were welcome even false security is better than no security at all for a fortnight nothing happened then the hand was caught not by the dogs but by mrs merritt's gray parrot the bird was in the habit of periodically removing the pins that kept its seed and water-tins in place, and of escaping through the holes in the side of the cage. When once at liberty, Peter would show no inclination to return, and would often be about the house for days. Now, after six consecutive weeks of captivity, Peter had again discovered a new means of unloosing his bolts, and was at large exploring the tapestreet forest of the curtains and singing songs in praise of liberty from cornice and picture-rail.

"'It's no use you're trying to catch him,' said Eustace to Mrs. Merritt, as she came into the study one afternoon towards dusk with a step-ladder. You'd much better leave Peter alone. Starve him into surrender, Mrs. Merritt, and don't leave bananas and seat about for him to peck at when he fancies he's hungry. You're far too soft-hearted." "'Well, sir, I see he's right out of reach now on that picture-rail. So if you wouldn't mind closing the door, sir, when you leave the room, I'll bring his cage in to-night and put some meat inside it.'

"'He's that fond of meat, though it does make him pull out his feathers to suck the quills. They do say that if you cook—' "'Never mind, Mrs. Merritt,' said Eustace, who was busy writing, "'that will do. I'll keep an eye on the bird. There was silence in the room, unbroken but for the continuous whisper of his pen. "' Scratch, poor Peter,' said the bird. "'Scatch poor Peter!'

"'Be quiet, you beastly bird. "'Poor old Peter! Scratch poor Peter do!' "'I'm more likely to wring your neck if I get hold of you.' He looked up at the picture rail, and there, was the hand, holding on to a hook with three fingers, and slowly scratching the head of the parrot with the fourth. Eustace ran to the bell and pressed it hard.

Then across to the window which he closed with a bang. Frightened by the noise the parrot shook its wings preparatory to flight, and as it did so the fingers of the hand got hold of it by the throat. There was a shrill scream from Peter as he fluttered across the room. wheeling round in circles that ever descended, borne down under the weight that clung to him. The bird dropped at last quite suddenly, and Eustace saw fingers and feathers rolled into an inextricable mass on the floor. The struggle abruptly ceased as finger and thumb squeezed the neck. The bird's eyes rolled up to show the whites, and there was a faint, half-choked gurgle.

But before the fingers had time to loose their hold, Eustas had them in his own. "'Send Mr. Saunders here at once,' he said to the maid who came in answer to the bell. "'Tell him I want him immediately.' Then he went with the hand to the fire. There was a ragged gash across the back where the bird's beak had torn it, but no blood oozed from the wound. He noticed with disgust that the nails had grown low. long and discolored. I'll burn the beastly thing, he said, but he could not burn it.

He tried to throw it into the flames, but his own hands, as if restrained by some old primitive feeling, would not let him. And so Saunders found him, pale and irresolute, with the hand still clasped tightly in his fingers. "'I've got it at last,' he said in a tone. of triumph? Good. Let's have a look at it.

Not while it's loose. Get me some nails and a hammer and a board of some sort. Can you hold it all right? Yes, the thing's quite limp, tarred out with throttling poor old Peter, I should say. And now, said Saunders when he returned with the things, what are we going to do? Drive a nail through it first so that it can't get away. Then we can take our time over examining it. "'Do it yourself,' said Saunders.

"'I don't mind helping you with guinea-pigs occasionally, when there's something to be learned, partly because I don't fear a guinea-pigs' revenge. This thing's different. All right, you miserable skunk. I won't forget the way you stood by me.' He took up a nail, and, before Saunders had realized what he was doing, had driven it through the hand deep into the board.

Oh, my aunt, he giggled hysterically. Look at it now! For the hand was writhing and agonized contortions, squirming and wriggling upon the nail like a worm upon the hook. Well, said Saunders, you've done it now. I'll leave you to examine it. Don't go in heaven's name. Cover it up, man. Cover it up.

Shove a cloth over it here. And he pulled off the Antimacassar from the back. of a chair and wrapped the board in it. Now get the keys from my pocket and open the safe. Chuck the other things out. Oh, Lord, it's getting itself into frightful knots, and open it quick. He threw the thing in and banged the door. We'll keep it in there till it dies, he said.

May I ever burn in hell if I ever opened the door of that safe again?" Mr.'s Merritt departed at the end of the month. Her successor certainly was more successful in the management of the servants. Early in her rule she declared that she would stand no nonsense, and gossip soon withered and died. Eustace Barlesover went back to his old way of life. Old habits crept over and covered his new experience. He was, if anything, less morose and showed a greater inclination to take his natural part

in country society. I shouldn't be surprised if he marries one of these days, said Saunders. Well, I'm in no hurry for such an event. I know Eustace far too well for the future Mrs. Barlesover to like me. It will be the same old story again, a long friendship slowly made, marriage, and a long friendship quickly forgotten. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of The Beast with Five F. F.

Harvey. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 4 But Eustace Burlesover did not follow the advice of his uncle and Mary. He was too fond of old slippers and tobacco. The cooking, too, under Mrs. Handyside's management was excellent, and she seemed, too, to have a heaven-sent faculty in knowing when to stop dusting. Little by little, the old life resumed its old power. Then came the burglary.

The men, it was said, broke into the house by way of the conservatory. It was really little more than an attempt, for they only succeeded in carrying away a few pieces of plate from the pantry. The safe in the study was certainly found open and empty, but, as Mr. Burlesover informed the police inspector. He had kept nothing of value in it during the last six months. "'Then you are lucky in getting off so easily, sir,' the man replied. "'By the way, they have gone about their business, I should say they were experienced cracksmen. They must have caught the alarm when they were just beginning their evening's work.'

"'Yes,' said Eustace, "'I suppose I am lucky.' "'I've no doubt,' said the inspector, "'that we shall be able to trace them in.' I've said that they must have been old hands at the game, the way they got in and opened the safe shows that. But there's one little thing that puzzles me. One of them was careless enough not to wear gloves, and I'm bothered if I know what he was trying to do. I've traced his finger marks on the new varnish on the window sashes in every one of the

downstairs rooms. They're very distinct ones, too. hand or left or both?" asked Eustace. Oh, right every time. That's the funny thing. He must have been a foolhardy fellow, and I rather think it was him that wrote that." He took out a slip of paper from his pocket. That's what he wrote, sir.

I've got out, Eustace Burles over, but I'll be back before long. Some jail-bird just escaped, I suppose. It will make all the easier for us to trace him. Do you know the writing, sir?" "'No,' said Eustace. It's not the writing of anyone I know." "'I'm not going to stay here any longer,' said Eustace to Saunders at luncheon. "'I've got on far better during the last six months than ever I expected, but I'm not

going to run the risk of seeing that thing again. I shall go up to town this afternoon. Martin to put my things together and join me with the car at Brighton or the day after tomorrow. And bring the proofs of those two papers with you. We'll run over them together. How long are you going to be away?" I can't say for certain, but be prepared to stay for some time.

We've stuck to work pretty closely through the summer, and I for one need a holiday. I'll engage the rooms at Brighton. You'll find it best to break the journey at Hitchin. I'll wire you there at the crown to tell you the Brighton address. The house he chose at Brighton was in a terrace. He had been there before. It was kept by his old college ship, a man of discreet silence, who was admirably partnered by an excellent cook.

The rooms were on the first floor. The two bedrooms were at the back and opened out of each other. Saunders can have the smaller one, Though it is the only one with the fireplace, he said. I'll stick to the larger of the two, since it's got a bathroom adjoining. I wonder what time he'll arrive with the car. Saunders came about seven, cold and cross and dirty. We'll light the fire in the dining room, said Eustace,

and get Prince to unpack some of the things while we are at dinner. What were the rows like? Rotten, swimming with mud, and a big, beastly cold wind against us all day. And this is July. Dear Old England—' "'Yes,' said Eustace. I think we might do worse than leave dear Old England for a few months. They turned in soon after twelve. "'You oughtn't to feel cold, Saunders,' said Eustace, when you can afford to support a great cat-skin-lined coat like this. You do yourself very well, all things considered.

Look at those gloves, for instance. Who could possibly feel cold when wearing them? They are far too clumsy, though, for driving. Try them on and see. And he tossed them through the door onto Eustace's bed, and went on with his unpacking. A minute later he heard a shrill cry of terror. Oh, Lord, he heard.

It's in the glove. Quick, Sonders, quick. Then came a smacking, thud. Eustace had thrown it from him. I chucked it into the bathroom, he gasped. It's hit the wall and fallen into the bath. Come now if you want to help.

Saunders, with a lighted candle in his hand, looked over the edge of the bath. There it was. Old and maimed, dumb and blind, with a ragged hole in the middle, crawling, staggering, to creep up the slippery sides, only to fall back helpless. "'Stay there,' said Saunders. I'll empty a collar-box for something, and we'll jam it in. It can't get out while I'm away." "'Yes, it can,' shouted Eustace.

"'It's getting out now. It's climbing up the plug chain. No, no, you brute, you don't. Come back, Saunders. It's getting away from me. I can't hold it. It's all slippery. Curse its claw!

Shut the window, you idiot! The top one, too, as well as the bottom. You utter idiot, it's got out!" There was the sound of something dropping onto the hard flagstones below, and Eustace fell back fainting. For a fortnight he was ill. I don't know what to make of it, the doctor said to Saunders. I can only suppose that Mr. Borrelsover has suffered some

some great emotional shock. You had better let me send someone to help you nurse him, and by all means indulge that whim of his never to be left alone in the dark. I would keep a light burning all night if I were you. But he must have more fresh air. It's perfectly absurd this hatred of open windows. Eustace, however, would have no one with him but Saunders. I don't want the other men, he said.

They'd smuggled it in somehow. I know they would. Don't worry about it, old chap. This sort of thing can't go on indefinitely. You know I saw it this time as well as you. It wasn't half so active. It won't go on living much longer, especially after that fall. I heard it hit the flags myself.

As soon as you're a bit stronger, we'll leave this place. Not bag and baggage, but with only the clothes on our backs. so that it won't be able to hide anywhere. We'll escape it that way. We won't give any dress, and we won't have any parcels sent after us. Cheer up, Eustace. You'll be well enough to leave in a day or two.

The doctor says I can take you out in a chair tomorrow. What have I done? asked Eustace. Why does it come after me? I'm no worse than other men. I'm no worse than you, Saunders. You know I'm not. It was you who are at the bottom of that dirty business in San Diego, and that was fifteen years ago." "'It's not that, of course,' said Saunders.

"'We are in the twentieth century, and even the Parsons have dropped the idea of your old sins finding you out. Before you caught the hand in the library, it was filled with pure malevolence, to you and all mankind. After you spiked it, though, with that nail it naturally forgot about other people and concentrated its attention on you. It was shut up in the safe, you know, for nearly six months. That gives plenty of time for thinking of revenge. Eustace Boralzover would not leave his room, but he thought that there might be something in Sonder's suggestion to leave Brighton without notice. He began rapidly to regain his strength. We'll go on the 1st of September, he said.

The evening of August 31st was oppressively warm. Though at midday the windows had been wide open, they had been shut an hour or so before dusk. Mrs. Prince had long since ceased to wonder at the strange habits of the gentleman on the first floor. Soon after their arrival, she had been told to take down the hip-down, window curtains in the two bedrooms, and day by day the rooms had seemed to grow more bare. Nothing was left lying about. Mr. Borlsover doesn't like to have any place where dirt can collect," Saunders had said

as an excuse. He likes to see into all the corners of the room. "'Couldn't I open the window just a little?' he said to Eustace that evening. "'We're simply roasting in here, you know.' "'No. Leave well alone.' We're not a couple of boarding school misses fresh from a course of hygiene lectures. Get the chessboard out.

They sat down and played. At ten o'clock Mrs. Prince came to the door with a note. I'm sorry I didn't bring it before, she said, but it was left in the letterbox. Open it, Saunders, and see if it was answering. It was very brief. There was neither address nor signature. Will eleven o'clock tonight be suitable for our last appointment?' "'Who is it from?' asked Borlsover.

"'It was meant for me,' said Saunders. "'There's no answer, Mrs. Prince.' And he put the paper into his pocket. A dunning letter from a tailor, I suppose he must have got wind of her leaving. It was a clever lie, and Eustace asked no more questions. They went on with their game. On the landing outside, Saunders could hear the grandfather clock whispering the seconds, blurting out the quarter-hours.

Check, said Eustace. The clock struck eleven. At the same time, there was a gentle knocking on the door. It seemed to come from the bottom panel. Who's there? asked Eustace. There was no answer. A Mrs. Prince, is that you? She is up above, said Saunders.

I can hear her walking about the room. Then lock the door, bolt it to. Your move, Sonders. While Sonders sat with his eyes on the chessboard, Eustace walked over to the window and examined the fastenings. He did the same in Sonders' room and the bathroom. There were no doors between the three rooms, or he would have shut and locked them, too.

Now, Sonders, he said, Don't stay all night over your move. I've had to. time to smoke one cigarette already. It's bad to keep an invalid waiting. There's only one possible thing for you to do. What was that? The ivy blowing against the window.

There, it's your move now, Eustace. It wasn't the ivy, you idiot. It's someone tapping at the window. And he pulled up the blind. On the outer side of the window, clinging to the sash, was the hand. What is it that it's holding? It's a pocket-knife. It's going to try to open the windows by pushing back the fastener with the blade.

Well, let it try, said Eustace. Those fasteners screw down. They can't be open that way. Anyhow, we'll close the shutters. It's your move, Saunders, I've played. But Saunders found it impossible to fix his attention on the game. He could not understand Eustace, who seemed all at once to have lost his feet. What do you say to some wine?" he asked. You seem to be taking things coolly, but I don't mind confessing that I'm in a blessed funk. You've no need to be.

There's nothing supernatural about that hand, Saunders. I mean it seems to be governed by the laws of time and space. It's not the sort of thing that vanishes into thin air or slides through open doors. And since that's so, I defy it to get in here. We'll leave the place in the morning. I, for one, have bottomed the depth of fear. Fill your glass, man. The windows are all shuttered.

The door is locked and bolted. Pledge me, my uncle Adrian. Drink, man. What are you waiting for? Saunders was standing with his glass half raised. It can get in, he said hoarsely. It can get in. We've forgotten.

There's the fireplace in my bedroom. It will come down the chimney. Quick, said Eustace, as he rushed into the other room. We haven't a minute to lose. What can we do? Light the fire, Saunders. Give me a match, quick. They must be all in the other room.

I'll get them. Hurry, man, for goodness sake. Look in the bookcases. Look in the bathroom. Here, come and stand here. I'll look. Be quick, shouted Saunders. I can hear something.

Then plug a sheet from your bed up the chimney. No, here's the match. He had found one at last that had slipped into a crack in the floor. Is the fire laid? Good. But it may not burn. I know. The arle from that old reading lamp and this cotton wool.

Now, the match, quick. Pull the sheet away, you fool. We don't want it now. There was a great roar from the grate as the flames shot up. Saunders had been a fraction of. a second too late with the sheet. The arl had fallen onto it. It too was burning. The whole place will be on fire, cried Eustace, as he tried to beat out the flames with the blanket. It's no good, I can't manage it. You must open the door Saunders and get help.

Saunders ran to the door and fumbled with the bolts. The key was stiff in the lock. Hurry! shouted Eustace, the whole place is a blaze. The key turned in the lock at last. For half a second, Sondra stopped to look back. Afterwards, he could never be quite sure as to what he had seen, but at the time he thought that something black and charred was creeping slowly, very slowly,

from the mass of flames towards Eustace Borlso. For a moment he thought of returning to his friend, but the noise and the smell of the burning sent him running down the passage crying, fire, fire! He rushed to the telephone to summon help, and then back to the bathroom, he should have thought of that before, for water. As he burst into the bedroom door, there came a scream of terror which ended suddenly, and then the sound of a heavy fall. End of Chapter 4. End of The Beast with Five F. F. Harvey.