The Heads of Cerberus

The Heads of Cerberus by Francis Stevens
1919
CHAPTER 1
: "WELCOME, HOWEVER YOU COME!"
UPON a walnut bed in a small, plainly furnished room which dawn had
just begun grayly to illuminate, a man lay unconscious.
His thin face, indefinably boyish for all its gauntness, wore that placid,
uncaring look which death shares with complete insensibility. Under
him his right arm was doubled in an uncomfortable, strained position,
while the left hand, slender and well cared for, trailed limp to the floor
by the bedside. On his right temple there showed an ugly wound,
evidently made by some blunt, heavy instrument, for the skin was burst
rather than cut. His fair hair was plastered with blood from the wound,
and a good deal of blood had also run down over the side of the face,
lending a sinister and tragic aspect to his otherwise not unpleasant
countenance. Fully dressed in a rather shabby blue serge, both
appearance and attitude suggested that the man had been flung down
here and left brutally to die or revive, as he might.
The dawn light grew brighter, and as if in sympathy with its
brightening, the face of the man on the bed began to take on a look
more akin to that of life. That alien, wax-like placidity of one who is
done with pain slowly softened and changed. The features twitched; the
lips which had fallen slightly apart, closed firmly. With a sudden
contraction of the brows the man opened his eyes.
For several minutes he lay quiet, staring upward. Then he attempted to
withdraw his right hand from beneath him, groaned, and by a
considerable effort at last raised himself on one elbow. Gazing about
the room with bewildered, pain-stricken eyes, he raised his hand to his

head and afterward stared stupidly at the blood on his fingers. He
seemed like one who, having fallen victim to some powerful drug,
awakens in unfamiliar and inexplicable surroundings.
As he again looked about him, however, the expression changed. What
he saw, it seemed, had revived some memory that mingled with a new
and different bewilderment.
In a corner of the room, near the one window, stood a small,
old-fashioned, black steel safe. The door of it was swung wide open,
while scattered on the floor before it lay a mass of papers. From
between loose pages and folded, elastic-bound documents gleamed a
few small articles of jewelry. Two or three empty morocco cases had
been carelessly tossed on top of the pile.
With eyes fixed on this heap, the man swung his legs over the side of
the bed, and, staggering across to the safe, dropped on his knees beside
it. He ran his hand through the papers, uncovered a small brooch which
he picked up and examined with a curious frowning intentness; then let
it fall and again raised a hand to his head.
In another corner of the room was a doorway through which he
glimpsed a porcelain washbowl. Toward this the man dragged himself.
Wetting a towel that hung there, he began bathing the wound on his
temple. The cold water seemed to relieve the dizziness or nausea from
which he suffered. Presently he was able to draw himself erect, and
having contemplated his disheveled countenance in the small mirror
above the bowl, he proceeded with some care to remove the more
obvious traces of disaster. The blood fortunately had clotted and ceased
to flow. Having washed, he sought about the room, found his hat, a
worn, soft gray felt, on the floor near the bed, and, returning to the
mirror, adjusted it with the apparent intent to conceal his wound.
The effort, though attended by a grimace of pain, was successful, and
now at length the man returned his attention to that stack of
miscellanies which had been the safe's contents.
Ignoring the papers, he began separating from them the few bits of

jewelry. Beside the brooch there was a man's heavy gold signet ring, a
pair of cuff links set with seed pearls, a bar pin of silver and
moonstones, and a few similar trifles. He sorted and searched with an
odd scowl, as if the task were unpleasant, though it might equally well
have been the pain of his wound which troubled him.
As he found each piece he thrust it in his pocket without examination,
until the displacing of a small bundle of insurance policies disclosed
the first thing of any real value in the entire collection.
With an astonished ejaculation the man seized upon it, scrutinized it
with wide, horrified eyes, and for a moment afterward knelt motionless,
while his pallid face slowly flushed until it was nearly crimson in color.
"Good God!"
The man flung the thing from him as if it had burned his