October 5, 1887

Someone washed up on the shore again today.  He looks like he will present an interesting challenge for the master.  I admit that the idea of hunting a man seems strange to me, but Mr. Connell is, after all, a gentleman, and who am I but a gentleman's gentleman--a butler?  I did what I could for the man.  The salts of the ocean have been washed from his skin, he's in bed in flannel pajamas--he might live.

October 7, 1887

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Our stranger has awakened.  He gave his name as Darius, and says he fell from a ship named the Mary Piper, although he didn't say out of what port they were.  I gave him some soup and some bread, and told him that when he was feeling better, the master would like to have dinner with him.  He indicated that he would like that.  He asked about Master Connell, and--it was the oddest thing, and took me aback from the abruptness of it--when I explained that Master Connell was a big game hunter, he asked if the master ever hunted men.  It only proves what I was taught--things which seem strange to me are apparently quite expected by my betters.  I suspect that this Mister Darius must have been on a similar hunt himself at some time.

October 9, 1887

Tonight our guest Darius was well enough to have dinner with Master Connell.  He seemed to accept the Master's proposal readily enough--in fact, he said he would not need the knife or the hunting clothes, and he would be ready to leave in the morning.  He said to Master Connell, "What makes you think you will live three days?"--a challenge which the Master truly appreciated.  It has been a while since there has been a good hunt here; this Darius is a very promising quarry.

October 10, 1887

I am wounded; the Master says I shall survive.

I woke Darius before dawn, delivered his clothes, and offered him breakfast.  He declined the breakfast, and (much to my shock) the clothes.  I asked if he intended to begin the hunt in flannel pajamas or a dinner jacket; he replied that he would begin "buck naked".  I asked if he wouldn't reconsider; failing that, I asked if he would at least wear a robe to the door.  He refused.  Thus I escorted him--"buck naked"--to the door, and unlocked it for him.

He then had a change of heart, apparently, and asked if he might have the knife after all.  Not having expected he would truly begin with nothing, I had brought the sheathed knife with me.  I gave it to him.

Without any warning, he lunged at me and plunged the knife into my abdomen.  Breaching decorum horribly, I screamed.  He thrust the blade again, but I was falling back away from him, and he did not connect.  Before he could strike again (and I fear that another wound would have been fatal), Master Connell rushed in with his Winchester rifle, and shot the blackguard in the head.

It was the strangest thing I ever saw.  Perhaps because of my own wounds, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.  I fancied that I saw the bullet pierce his skin, fracturing the bones in his skull; then the back of his skull began to open as the bullet began to force its way out.  His mouth opened--as if to scream--and he abruptly vanished.  All that remained was a pile of dust on the floor.

Master Connell says that he will clean up the dust, and the blood--I'm to rest and recover.  He seems as mystified as I regarding the disappearance of the man.  But, as I said, he is confident that I shall survive.

Introduction to the Collected Papers
Stories from the Verse
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