The Hand of the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

roof was lower at one end, and the door, although strong and rigid, seemed to have twisted slightly in its frame. Although its appearance was unique, there was simply no charm to the house, no character. I wondered why anyone would choose to live in such an uncomfortable-looking place and in such seclusion, when at any moment they could be severed from civilization by a change in the weather.
    I stepped into the porch, grateful to be out of the downpour. The doorway was just big enough to accommodate one person. I thought of Mather’s letter and wondered, standing there on his doorstep, if I was about to meet another oddball, another eccentric loner who, after buckling under the stress of solitude, had reached out to someone – anyone – who might listen to him, even for a minute. I felt a moment of trepidation, but given how cold I was, I was willing to take a chance. Even if he turned out to be a raving lunatic, I would happily sit and listen to his gibbering, as long as I was warm and dry.
    There was a strange trickling feeling near the ball of my right thumb and I saw that it must have caught a rock on my drop into the water. The skin was red, and was already turning purple in places. Blood was seeping out of a small cut. As I put the wound to my mouth I felt sure I heard a gasp, and a woman uttering the words: He’s here!
    I stood still for a few seconds to listen, but could make out nothing more. Deciding it must have been a radio or television, I knocked on the door and waited. All I could hear now was the sound of water dripping from the edge of the porch, before the door finally opened.
    Mather wasn’t quite what I had expected either. From the tone of his letter I’d imagined a refined, educated man. Instead I was greeted by a short, plump fellow with receding hair, old clothes and glasses that were thick-framed and slightly bent. You could tell from looking at him that he had little contact with the outside world. Either that or there were no mirrors in the house. To me his overall appearance suggested a man of little intelligence; but his manner quickly dispelled that illusion.
    ‘Mr Reeves?’ A tentative smile accompanied his enquiry.
    ‘Yes. You must be Mr Mather,’ I replied, droplets of water still falling from my hair.
    ‘The very same!’ His expression brightened. ‘Please – do come in.’ He ushered me inside the house, closing the door quickly against the rain. ‘I feel so guilty about you coming here in such awful weather. Did you have much trouble getting across the lake?’
    ‘Well, yes. I, er . . . crashed the boat, I’m afraid. It’s wrecked.’
    ‘No! My word. Are you all right?’
    ‘Yes, I’m fine. Just a few bruises, but—’
    ‘Good grief, how terrible though.’ There was concern in his voice, as well as curiosity.
    ‘I think I hit the rocks just off shore.’
    ‘You’re lucky to be alive then. And the water must have been freezing.’
    ‘Yes, it was a bit. But I’m fine, really,’ I assured him. ‘I should have checked the weather forecast before I left.’
    ‘Ah yes. But even then one has to account for the unpredictability of nature.’
    ‘Mmm.’
    I followed him into the living room, conscious that water was dripping from my trousers. A fire had been lit, and without hesitation I dropped my bag and stood before the fireplace, absorbing the much-needed warmth. I handed Mather my coat, which he took elsewhere. He came back a short time later with a small wooden chair, which he placed next to me.
    ‘Please sit and dry yourself. The bathroom is just down the hall if you need to use it. You might want to take a shower. I can dry your clothes for you in the meantime if you so wish.’
    I appreciated his generosity but didn’t want to impose. ‘No, no, it’s OK, really. It’s just my trousers. I’m sure they’ll dry out soon enough. I didn’t bring a spare pair unfortunately.’
    ‘Oh I see, yes. I don’t think a pair of mine would be of any use.