“And now,” resumed the lodger, “now that I hold in mine your loyal hand, I lay by my apprehensions, I dismiss suspicion, I go further—by an effort of will, I banish the memory of what is past. How you came here, I care not: enough that you are here—as my guest. Sit ye down; and let us, with your good permission, improve acquaintance over a glass of excellent whisky.”
So speaking, he produced glasses and a bottle; and the pair pledged each other in silence.
“Confess,” observed the smiling host, “you were surprised at the appearance of the room.”
“I was indeed,” said Somerset; “nor can I imagine the purpose of these changes.”
“These,” replied the conspirator, “are the devices by which I continue to exist. Conceive me now, accused before one of your unjust tribunals; conceive the various witnesses appearing, and the singular variety of their reports! One will have visited me in this drawing-room as it originally stood; a second finds it as it is to-night; and to-morrow or next day, all may have been changed. If you love romance (as artists do), few lives are more romantic than that of the obscure individual now addressing you. Obscure yet famous. Mine is an anonymous, infernal glory. By infamous means, I work towards my bright purpose. I found the liberty and peace of a poor country desperately abused; the future smiles upon that land; yet, in the meantime, I lead the existence of a hunted brute, work towards appalling ends, and practise hell’s dexterities.”
Somerset, glass in hand, contemplated the strange fanatic before him, and listened to his heated rhapsody, with indescribable bewilderment. He looked him in the face with curious particularity; saw there the marks of education; and wondered the more profoundly.
“Sir,” he said—“for I know not whether I should still address you as Mr. Jones—”
“Jones, Breitman, Higginbotham, Pumpernickel, Daviot, Henderland, by all or any of these you may address me,” said the plotter; “for all I have at some time borne. Yet that which I most prize, that which is most feared, hated, and obeyed, is not a name to be found in your directories; it is not a name current in post-offices or banks; and indeed, like the celebrated clan M’Gregor, I may justly describe myself as being nameless by day. But,” he continued, rising to his feet, “by night, and among my desperate followers, I am the redoubted Zero.”
Somerset was unacquainted with the name; but he politely expressed surprise and gratification. “I am to understand,” he continued, “that, under this alias, you follow the profession of a dynamiter?”[3]
The plotter had resumed his seat and now replenished the glasses.