The House of the Vampire - 14 - Chapters 27 and 28

The House of the Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck 

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The House of the Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck, chapter
twenty seven. Reginald Clarke had hardly left the room when
Ernest hastily rose from his seat. While it was likely
that he would remain in undisturbed possession of the apartment
the whole morning, the stake at hand was too great
to permit of delay. Palpitating and a little uncertain, he

(00:23):
entered the studio, where scarcely a year ago Reginald Clarke
had bidden him welcome. Nothing had changed there since then,
only in Ernest's mind the room had assumed an aspect
of evil. The antinous was there, and the fawn the
christ head, but their juxtaposition to day partook of the
nature of the blasphemous. The statues of Shakespeare and Balzac

(00:44):
seemed to frown from their pedestals. As his fingers were
running through Reginald's papers, he brushed against a semblance of
Napoleon that was standing on the writing table, so that
it toppled over and made a noise that weirdly re
echoed in the silence of the room. At that moment,
a curious fac resemblance between Shakespeare Balzac Napoleon and Reginald

(01:05):
forcely impressed itself upon his mind. It was the indisputable
something that marks those who were chosen to give ultimate
expression to some gigantic world purpose, and Balzac's face it
was diffused with kindliness, and that of Napoleon, sheer brutality predominated.
The image of one who was said to be the
richest man of the world also rose before his eyes.

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Perhaps it was only the play of his fevered imagination,
but he could have sworn that this man's features, too,
bore the mark of those unoriginal, great, absorptive minds, who,
for better or for worse, are born to rob and rule.
They seemed to him monsters that know neither justice nor pity,
only the law of their being, the law of growth.

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Common weapons would not avail against such forces, being one
they were stronger than armies, nor could they be overcome
in single combat. Stealth, trickery the outfit of the Knave
were legitimate weapons, and so to fight. In this case,
the end justified the means, even if the latter included burglary.
After a brief and fruitless search of the desk, he

(02:09):
attempted to force open a secret drawer the presence of
which he had one day accidentally discovered. He tried a
number of keys to no account, and was thinking of
giving up his researches for the day until he had
procured a skeleton key. When at last the lock gave way,
the drawer disclosed a large file of manuscript. Ernest paused
for a moment to draw breath. The paper rustled under

(02:32):
his nervous fingers, and there at last his eyes lit
upon a bulky bundle that bore this legend, Leontina, a novel.
It was true, then, all his dream, Reginald's confession, and
the house that had opened its doors so kindly to
him was the house of a vampire. Finally, curiosity overcame

(02:55):
his burning indignation. He tempted to read. The letters seemed
to dance before his eyes, his hands trembled. At last
he succeeded. The words that had first rolled over like
drunken soldiers, now marched before his vision in orderly sequence.
He was delighted, then stunned. This was indeed authentic literature.
There could be no doubt about it, and it was his.

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He was still a poet, a great poet. He drew
a deep breath, sudden joy tremble in his heart. This story,
set down by a foreign hand, had grown chapter by
chapter in his brain. There were some slight changes, slight
deviations from the original plan. A defter hand than his
had retouched it here and there. But for all that

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it remained his very own. It did not belong to
that thief. The blood weld to his cheek as he
uttered the word that applied to Reginald seemed almost sacrilegious.
He had nearly reached the last chapter when he heard
steps in the hallway. Hurriedly, he restored the manuscript to
its place, closed the drawer, and left the room on tiptoe.

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It was Reginald, but he did not come alone. Some
one was speaking to him. The voice seemed familiar. Ernest
could not make out what it said. He listened intently,
And was it possible Jack? Surely he could not yet
have come in response to his note. What mysterious power,
what dim presentiment of his friend's plight had led him thither?

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But why did he linger so long in Reginald's room?
Instead of hastening to greet him. Cautiously he drew nearer.
This time he caught Jack's words. It would be convenient
and pleasant. Still, some way I feel that it is
not right for me, of all men, to take his
place here. That need not concern you, Reginald deliberately replied,

(04:42):
the dear boy expressed the desire to leave me within
a fortnight. I think he will go to some private sanitarium.
His nerves are frightfully overstrained. This seems hardly surprising after
the terrible attack he had when you read your play.
That idea has since then developed into a monomania. I
am awfully sorry for him. I cared for him much,

(05:04):
perhaps too much, but I always feared that he would
come to such an end. Of late, his letters have
been strangely unbalanced. You will find him very much changed.
In fact, he is no longer the same, No, said Jack,
he is no longer the friend I loved. Ernest clutched
for the wall, his face was contorted with intense agony.

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Each word was like a nail driven into his flesh,
crucified upon the cross of his own affection by the
hand he loved. All white and trembling, he stood there.
Tears rushed to his eyes, but he could not weep.
Dry eyed. He reached his room and threw himself upon
his bed. Thus he lay uncomforted and alone Chapter twenty eight.

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Terrible as was his loneliness, a meeting with Jack would
have been more terrible. And after all it was true
a gulf had opened between them. Ethel alone could bring
solace to his soul. There was a great void in
his heart which only she could fill. He hungered for
the touch of her hand. He longed for her presence, strongly,
as a wanton lusts for pleasure, and as sad men

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crave death. Noiselessly he stole to the door so as
not to arouse the attention of the other two men,
whose every whisper pierced his heart like a dagger. When
he came to Ethel's home, he found that she had
gone out for a breath of air. The servant ushered
him into the parlor, and there he waited, waited, waited
for her. Greatly calmed by his walk, he turned the

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details of Clark's conversation over in his mind, and the
conviction grew upon him that the friend of his boyhood
was not to blame for his course of action. Reginald
probably had encircled Jack's soul with his demonacal influence and
singled him out for another victim that must never be.
It was his turn to save. Now. He would warn
his friend of the danger that threatened him, even if

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his words should be spoken into the wind. For Reginald,
with an ingenuity almost satanic, had already suggested that the
delusion of former days had developed into a monomania, and
any attempt on his part to warn Jack would only
seem to confirm this theory. In that case, only one
way was left open. He must plead with Reginald himself.

(07:15):
Confronted all risks that snatcher of souls. To night, he
would not fall asleep. He would keep his vigil, and
if Reginald should approach his room, if in some way
he felt the direful presence, he must speak out, threaten,
if need be, to save his friend from ruin. He
had fully determined upon this course when a cry of
joy from Ethel, who had just returned from her walk,

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interrupted his reverie. But her gladness changed to anxiety when
she saw how pale he was. Ernest recounted to her
the happenings of the day from the discovery of his novel.
In Reginald's desk to the conversation, which he had accidentally overheard.
He noticed that her features brightened as he drew near
the end of his tale. Was your novel finished? She
suddenly asked, I think so. Then you are out of danger.

(08:00):
He will want nothing else of you. But you should
have taken it with you. I had only sufficient presence
of mind to slip it back into the drawer. Tomorrow,
I shall simply demand it. You will do nothing of
the kind. It is in his handwriting, and you have
no legal proof that it is yours. You must take
it away secretly, and he will not dare to proclaim it.

(08:21):
And Jack, she had quite forgotten. Jack. Women are invariably
selfish for those they love. You must warn him, she replied,
He would laugh at me. However, I must speak to Reginald.
It is of no avail to speak to him. At least,
you must not do so before you have obtained the manuscript.
It would unnecessarily jeopardize our plans. And after after perhaps,

(08:45):
But you must not expose yourself to any danger. No, dear,
he said, and kissed her. What danger is there? Provided
I keep my wits about me. He steals upon men
only in their sleep. And in the dark, be careful. Nevertheless,
I shall, In fact, I think he is not at
home at this moment. If I go now, I am
able to get hold of the manuscript and hide it

(09:05):
before he returns. I cannot but tremble to think of
you in that house. You shall have no more reason
to tremble in a day or two. Shall I see
you to morrow? I don't think so. I must go
over my papers and things. Who as to be ready
at any moment to leave the house. And then then
he took her in his arms and looked long and
deeply into her eyes. Yes, she replied, at least perhaps.

(09:32):
Then he turned to go, resolute and happy. How strangely
he had matured since the summer. Her heart swelled with
the consciousness that it was her love that had effected
this transformation. As I cannot expect you to morrow, I
shall probably go to the opera, but I shall be
home before midnight. Will you call me up? Then a
word from you will put me at ease for the night,

(09:52):
even if it comes over the telephone. I will call
you up. We moderns have an advantage over the ancients
in this respect. The twin teeth century Pyramids can speak
to thisby even if innumerable walls sever his body from
hers a quaint conceit. But let us hope that our
love story will end less tragically, she said, tenderly, caressing

(10:12):
his hair. Oh, we shall be happy, you and I,
she added, after a while, The iron finger of faith
that lay so heavily on our lives is now withdrawn,
almost withdrawn, Yes, almost, only almost. And then a sudden
fear came over her. No, she cried, do not go,
Do not go, Stay with me, Stay here. I feel

(10:34):
so frightened. I don't know what comes over me. I
am afraid, afraid for you. No, dear, he rejoined. You
need not be afraid in your heart. You don't want
me to desert a friend, and besides, leave the best
part of my artistic life in Reginald's clutch. Why should
you expose yourself to God knows what danger for a
friend who is ready to betray you. You forget friendship

(10:57):
is a gift. If it exacts payment in any form,
it is no longer either friendship or a gift. And
you yourself have assured me that I have nothing to
fear from Reginald. I have nothing to give to him.
She rallied under his words and had regained her self possession.
When the door closed behind him, he walked a few
blocks very briskly. Then his pace slackened. Her words had

(11:19):
unsettled him a little, and when he reached home he
did not at once resume his exploration of Reginald's papers.
He had hardly lit a cigarette when, at an unusually
early hour, he heard Reginald's key in the lock. Quickly
he turned the light out, and in the semi darkness,
lit up by an electric lantern below, barricaded the door,
as on the previous night. Then he went to bed

(11:41):
without finding sleep. Supreme's silence reigned over the house. Even
the elevator had ceased to run. Ernest's brain was all ear.
He heard Reginald walking up and down in the studio.
Not the smallest movement escaped his attention. Thus hours passed.
When the clock box struck twelve, he was still walking

(12:02):
up and down, down and up, up and down one o'clock.
Still the measured beat of his footfall had not ceased.
There was something hypnotic in the regular tread. Nature at
last exacted its toll from the boy. He fell asleep
hardly had he closed his eyes, when again that horrible nightmare,

(12:24):
no longer a nightmare, tormented him again. He felt the pointed,
delicate fingers, carefully feeling their way along the innumerable tangled
threads of nerve matter that lead to the innermost recesses
of self. A subconscious something strove to arouse him, and
he felt the fingers softly withdrawn. He could have sworn

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that he heard the scurrying of feet in the room.
Bathed in perspiration, he made a leap for the electric light,
but there was no sign of any human presence. The
barricade at the door was undisturbed, but fear like a
great wind, filled the wings of his soul. Yet there
was nothing, nothing to warrant his conviction that Reginald Clarke
had been with him only a few moments ago, plying

(13:06):
his horrible trade. The large mirror above the fireplace only
showed him his own face, white, excited, the face of
a madman. End of Section fourteen.