Authors: The Black Mask
I am still uncertain which surprised me more, the telegram
calling my attention to the advertisement, or the advertisement
itself. The telegram is before me as I write. It would appear
to have been handed in at Vere Street at eight o'clock in the
morning of May 11, 1897, and received before half-past at
Holloway B.O. And in that drab region it duly found me, unwashen
but at work before the day grew hot and my attic insupportable.
"See Mr. Maturin's advertisement Daily Mail might suit you
earnestly beg try will speak if necessary — —"
I transcribe the thing as I see it before me, all in one
breath that took away mine; but I leave out the initials at the
end, which completed the surprise. They stood very obviously for
the knighted specialist whose consulting-room is within a
cab-whistle of Vere Street, and who once called me kinsman for
his sins. More recently he had called me other names. I was a
disgrace, qualified by an adjective which seemed to me another.
I had made my bed, and I could go and lie and die in it. If I
ever again had the insolence to show my nose in that house, I
should go out quicker than I came in. All this, and more, my
least distant relative could tell a poor devil to his face;
could ring for his man, and give him his brutal instructions on
the spot; and then relent to the tune of this telegram! I have
no phrase for my amazement. I literally could not believe my
eyes. Yet their evidence was more and more conclusive: a very
epistle could not have been more characteristic of its sender.
Meanly elliptical, ludicrously precise, saving half-pence at
the expense of sense, yet paying like a man for "Mr." Maturin,
that was my distinguished relative from his bald patch to his
corns. Nor was all the rest unlike him, upon second thoughts.
He had a reputation for charity; he was going to live up to it
after all. Either that, or it was the sudden impulse of which
the most calculating are capable at times; the morning papers
with the early cup of tea, this advertisement seen by chance,
and the rest upon the spur of a guilty conscience.
Well, I must see it for myself, and the sooner the better,
though work pressed. I was writing a series of articles upon
prison life, and had my nib into the whole System; a literary
and philanthropical daily was parading my "charges," the graver
ones with the more gusto; and the terms, if unhandsome for
creative work, were temporary wealth to me. It so happened that
my first check had just arrived by the eight o'clock post; and
my position should be appreciated when I say that I had to cash
it to obtain a Daily Mail.
Of the advertisement itself, what is to be said? It should speak
for itself if I could find it, but I cannot, and only remember
that it was a "male nurse and constant attendant" that was
"wanted for an elderly gentleman in feeble health." A male
nurse! An absurd tag was appended, offering "liberal salary to
University or public-school man"; and of a sudden I saw that I
should get this thing if I applied for it. What other
"University or public-school man" would dream of doing so? Was
any other in such straits as I? And then my relenting relative;
he not only promised to speak for me, but was the very man to do
so. Could any recommendation compete with his in the matter of
a male nurse? And need the duties of such be necessarily
loathsome and repellent? Certainly the surroundings would be
better than those of my common lodging-house and own particular
garret; and the food; and every other condition of life that I
could think of on my way back to that unsavory asylum. So I
dived into a pawnbroker's shop, where I was a stranger only
upon my present errand, and within the hour was airing a decent
if antiquated suit, but little corrupted by the pawnbroker's
moth, and a new straw hat, on the top of a tram.
The address given in the advertisement was that of a flat at
Earl's Court, which cost me a cross-country journey, finishing
with the District Railway and a seven minutes' walk. It was now
past mid-day, and the tarry wood-pavement was good to smell as
I strode up the Earl's Court Road. It was great to walk the
civilized world again. Here were men with coats on their backs,
and ladies in gloves. My only fear was lest I might run up
against one or other whom I had known of old. But it was my
lucky day. I felt it in my bones. I was going to get this
berth; and sometimes I should be able to smell the wood-pavement
on the old boy's errands; perhaps he would insist on skimming
over it in his bath-chair, with me behind.
I felt quite nervous when I reached the flats. They were a small
pile in a side street, and I pitied the doctor whose plate I saw
upon the palings before the ground-floor windows; he must be in
a very small way, I thought. I rather pitied myself as well.
I had indulged in visions of better flats than these. There
were no balconies. The porter was out of livery. There was no
lift, and my invalid on the third floor! I trudged up, wishing
I had never lived in Mount Street, and brushed against a
dejected individual coming down. A full-blooded young fellow in
a frock-coat flung the right door open at my summons.
"Does Mr. Maturin live here?" I inquired.
"That's right," said the full-blooded young man, grinning all
over a convivial countenance.
"I—I've come about his advertisement in the Daily Mail."
"You're the thirty-ninth," cried the blood; "that was the
thirty-eighth you met upon the stairs, and the day's still
young. Excuse my staring at you. Yes, you pass your prelim.,
and can come inside; you're one of the few. We had most just
after breakfast, but now the porter's heading off the worst
cases, and that last chap was the first for twenty minutes.
Come in here."
And I was ushered into an empty room with a good bay-window,
which enabled my full-blooded friend to inspect me yet more
critically in a good light; this he did without the least false
delicacy; then his questions began.
I told him, and he sighed relief.
"At last! You're the very first I've not had to argue with as
to what is and what is not a public school. Expelled?"
"No," I said, after a moment's hesitation; "no, I was not
expelled. And I hope you won't expel me if I ask a question in
"Are you Mr. Maturin's son?"
"No, my name's Theobald. You may have seen it down below."
"The doctor?" I said.
"His doctor," said Theobald, with a satisfied eye. "Mr.
Maturin's doctor. He is having a male nurse and attendant by my
advice, and he wants a gentleman if he can get one. I rather
think he'll see you, though he's only seen two or three all day.
There are certain questions which he prefers to ask himself, and
it's no good going over the same ground twice. So perhaps I had
better tell him about you before we get any further."
And he withdrew to a room still nearer the entrance, as I could
hear, for it was a very small flat indeed. But now two doors
were shut between us, and I had to rest content with murmurs
through the wall until the doctor returned to summon me.
"I have persuaded my patient to see you," he whispered, "but I
confess I am not sanguine of the result. He is very difficult
to please. You must prepare yourself for a querulous invalid,
and for no sinecure if you get the billet."
"May I ask what's the matter with him?"
"By all means—when you've got the billet."
Dr. Theobald then led the way, his professional dignity so
thoroughly intact that I could not but smile as I followed his
swinging coat-tails to the sick-room. I carried no smile across
the threshold of a darkened chamber which reeked of drugs and
twinkled with medicine bottles, and in the middle of which a
gaunt figure lay abed in the half-light.
"Take him to the window, take him to the window," a thin voice
snapped, "and let's have a look at him. Open the blind a bit.
Not as much as that, damn you, not as much as that!"
The doctor took the oath as though it had been a fee. I no
longer pitied him. It was now very clear to me that he had one
patient who was a little practice in himself. I determined
there and then that he should prove a little profession to me,
if we could but keep him alive between us. Mr. Maturin,
however, had the whitest face that I have ever seen, and his
teeth gleamed out through the dusk as though the withered lips
no longer met about them; nor did they except in speech; and
anything ghastlier than the perpetual grin of his repose I defy
you to imagine. It was with this grin that he lay regarding me
while the doctor held the blind.
"So you think you could look after me, do you?"
"I'm certain I could, sir."
"Single-handed, mind! I don't keep another soul. You would
have to cook your own grub and my slops. Do you think you could
do all that?"
"Yes, sir, I think so."
"Why do you? Have you any experience of the kind?"
"No, sir, none."
"Then why do you pretend you have?"
"I only meant that I would do my best."
"Only meant, only meant! Have you done your best at everything
I hung my head. This was a facer. And there was something in
my invalid which thrust the unspoken lie down my throat.
"No, sir, I have not," I told him plainly.
"He, he, he!" the old wretch tittered; "and you do well to own
it; you do well, sir, very well indeed. If you hadn't owned up,
out you would have gone, out neck-and-crop! You've saved your
bacon. You may do more. So you are a public-school boy, and a
very good school yours is, but you weren't at either University.
Is that correct?"
"What did you do when you left school?"
"I came in for money."
"I spent my money."
"And since then?"
I stood like a mule.
"And since then, I say!"
"A relative of mine will tell you if you ask him. He is an
eminent man, and he has promised to speak for me. I would
rather say no more myself."
"But you shall, sir, but you shall! Do you suppose that I
suppose a public-school boy would apply for a berth like this if
something or other hadn't happened? What I want is a gentleman
of sorts, and I don't much care what sort; but you've got to
tell me what did happen, if you don't tell anybody else. Dr.
Theobald, sir, you can go to the devil if you won't take a hint.
This man may do or he may not. You have no more to say to it
till I send him down to tell you one thing or the other. Clear
out, sir, clear out; and if you think you've anything to
complain of, you stick it down in the bill!"
In the mild excitement of our interview the thin voice had
gathered strength, and the last shrill insult was screamed after
the devoted medico, as he retired in such order that I felt
certain he was going to take this trying patient at his word.
The bedroom door closed, then the outer one, and the doctor's
heels went drumming down the common stair. I was alone in the
flat with this highly singular and rather terrible old man.