The Hand of the Devil Read Online Free PDF

You’re nearly a foot taller than me,’ he said, holding his hands out in apology.
    I smiled, a little nervously. However, I soon felt the heat surging through my clothes and body. ‘I think at this rate I’ll be dry in no time,’ I said.
    ‘Yes, I do hope so. Now then, how about some tea?’ He glanced at the window when a flash of lightning illuminated the clearing outside.
    ‘Anything hot would be great,’ I replied. ‘I’m anxious to hear about this mosquito of yours. It sounds fascinating.’ We could now hear the rain intensifying, accompanied by the occasional clap of thunder.
    ‘Ah, all in good time. I have some cake or could make you some sandwiches if you’re hungry. You’ll stay the night, of course? I couldn’t possibly send you back out in this storm.’
    ‘Oh, er, I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides, I’ve arranged to stay at the Rocklyn Bluewater. Though now I’ve lost my boat, I would appreciate it if you could help me get back to the mainland.’
    ‘Oh,’ he said, sounding rather disappointed. ‘Oh I see. Well, of course, if you must stay there, then . . . And I would be glad to take you back to the mainland – it’s just that the storm seems to be worsening and—’
    ‘No, it’s very kind of you, really, but I can put it on expenses, so I may as well, you know . . .’
    ‘Yes of course – although once the lake is in the grip of a storm as violent as this one is turning out to be, sailing can be a difficult business. As you’ll know from your unfortunate accident.’ The flames from the fire were dancing in the lenses of his spectacles. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
    ‘I’m fine, really.’ I smiled to try to reassure him. ‘I suppose . . . if it’s going to be dangerous to go back out . . . I mean, I wouldn’t want to put you to any—’
    ‘Excellent! It’s settled then. The spare room has already been arranged for this eventuality. Now then, are you sure I can’t make you a sandwich?’
    ‘Oh yes, that would be great, thank you.’
    For a moment Mather seemed to detach himself from the conversation. Something cracked in the fire and woke him from his stupor.
    ‘Oh yes, of course, sandwiches. Ha!’ With that, he hurried out of the room again.
    I cursed silently, annoyed by the predicament I now found myself in. A guest house was one thing; a stranger’s house, especially one as secluded as this, was quite another.
    I had a good look around the room. Aside from the erratic light generated by the fire, the only illumination was from a small oil lamp on a sideboard to my right. But despite the near gloom I could see a large number of books piled high on several shelves around me. And what at first looked like paintings or prints on the walls turned out, on closer scrutiny, to be silhouettes. I peered closely at one that was mounted above the fireplace. The artist had talent: the outline of a large butterfly with elaborate wings and long antennae had been expertly cut from black paper. It was perfect, and I found it hard to imagine the creature’s actual shadow being any more impressive. I looked at a couple of other examples before Mather reappeared with a tray.
    I returned to my chair and gulped down the tea, as Mather handed me a plate of cheese and tomato sandwiches. He sat down in an armchair, just behind me.
    ‘The silhouettes,’ I began. ‘Did you do them yourself?’ I turned to see his face brighten.
    ‘I did indeed,’ he replied, glancing up at the butterfly picture above the mantelpiece. ‘Do you like them?’
    ‘Mmm. They’re very good.’
    ‘It’s an honour I bestow on only the finest specimens nature has to offer. Rendering them in shadow, in black and white, takes away any pretence, any fancy. I love them for their shapes, you see, not their colours. It is the same principle with black and white photography. It exposes the truth, blanches out all the extravagance, revealing the true, naked image . . . the beauty.’ He