GUESSES AT THE RIDDLE
We tried to follow Dr. Hinman's prescription, but not with any great
success, for it is difficult to talk about one thing and think about
another. So the doctor took himself off, before long, and Swain
announced that he himself would have to return to the city. He had
come out without so much as a tooth-brush, he pointed out; his
trousers were in a lamentable condition, and, while Godfrey's coat was
welcome, it was far from a perfect fit.
"Which reminds me," he added, "that I don't know what has become of my
own coat and shirt."
I looked at Godfrey quickly.
"No, I forgot them," he said. "They're over in the library at
Elmhurst," he added to Swain. "You can get them to-morrow."
"I shall have to be there to-morrow, then?"
"Yes, at the inquest; I've promised to produce you there," I said.
"At what time?"
"You'd better be there by ten."
"Very well; that's all the more reason for getting back to my base of
supplies. If I went on the stand looking like this, the jury would
probably think I was the murderer!" he added, laughing.
My answering smile was decidedly thin. Godfrey did not even try to
force one.
"Wait a few minutes," he suggested, "and I'll take you down in my car.
I'll try to get back early, Lester," he added, apologetically. "I'm
far from an ideal host--but you'll find some books on my desk that may
interest you--I got them up to-day. Take a look at them after dinner."
He went back to bring out his car, and Swain sat down again beside me.
"Mr. Lester," he said, in a low voice, "I hope you haven't forgotten
your promise."
"What promise?"
"To put Miss Vaughan in a safe place and to look after her interests."
"No," I said, "I haven't forgotten. I am going to ask to see her after
the inquest to-morrow. If she wishes us to represent her, we will."
"And to protect her," he added, quickly. "She hasn't even a mad father
now!"
"She's safe enough for the present," I pointed out. "Dr. Hinman has
employed another nurse, so that one is with her all the time."
"I won't be satisfied," said Swain, "till you get her out of that
house and away from those damned Hindus. One nurse, or even two,
wouldn't stop them."
"Stop them from what?"
"I don't know," and he twisted his fingers helplessly.
"Well, the police will stop them. There are three or four men on duty
there, with orders to let no one in or out."
His face brightened.
"Ah, that's better," he said. "I didn't know that. How long will they
be there?"
"Till after the inquest, anyway."
"And you will see Miss Vaughan after the inquest?"
"Yes."
"And urge her to go to Mr. and Mrs. Royce?"
"Yes--but I don't think she'll need much urging. I'll get a note from
Mrs. Royce. I'll telephone to Mr. Royce now, and you can stop and get
the note as you come up in the morning."
Godfrey's car glided up the drive and stopped at the porch. Swain held
out his hand and clasped mine warmly.
"Thank you, Mr. Lester," he said; and a moment later the car turned
into the highway and passed from sight.
Then I went in, got Mr. Royce on the 'phone, and give him a brief
outline of the incidents of the night before. He listened with an
exclamation of astonishment from time to time, and assented heartily
when I suggested that Miss Vaughan might be placed in Mrs. Royce's
care temporarily.
"She's a beautiful girl," I concluded, "and very young. I agree with
Swain that she mustn't be left alone in that house."
"Certainly she mustn't," said my partner. "I'll have Mrs. Royce write
the note, and get a room ready for her."
"Of course," I said, "it's possible she won't come--though I believe
she'll be glad to. Or there may be a family lawyer who will want to
look after her. Only she didn't appear to know of any when she was
talking to Swain."
"Well, bring her along if you can," said Mr. Royce. "We'll be glad to
have her. And take your time about coming back, if you're needed up
there. We're getting along all right."
I thanked him, and hung up; and presently Mrs. Hargis came to summon
me to dinner. That meal over, I went in to Godfrey's desk to see what
the books were he had suggested that I look at. There was quite a pile
of them, and I saw that they all related to mysticism or to the
religions of India. There was Sir Monier Williams's "Brahmanism and
Hinduism," Hopkins's "The Religions of India," a work on
crystallomancy, Mr. Lloyd Tuckey's standard work on "Hypnotism and
Suggestion," and some half dozen others whose titles I have forgotten.
And as I looked at them, I began to understand one reason for
Godfrey's success as a solver of mysteries--no detail of a subject
ever escaped him.
I lit my pipe, sat down, and was soon deep in the lore of the East. I
must confess that I did not make much of it. In that maze of
superstition, the most I could do was to pick up a thread here and
there. The yogi had referred to the White Night of Siva, and I soon
found out that Siva is one of the gods of Hinduism--one of a great
trilogy: Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Siva the
destroyer. He had also spoken of the attributes of Kali, and, after a
little further search, I discovered that Kali was Siva's wife--a most
unprepossessing and fiendish female.
But when I passed on to Hinduism itself, and tried to understand its
tenets and its sects, I soon found myself out of my depth. They were
so jumbled, so multitudinous, and so diverse that I could get no clear
idea of them. I read of the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Brâhmanas; of
metaphysical abstractions too tenuous to grasp; of karna or action,
of maya or illusion, and I know not what "tangled jumble of ghosts and
demons, demi-gods, and deified saints, household gods, village gods,
tribal gods, universal gods, with their countless shrines and temples
and din of discordant rites." At last, in despair, I gave it up, and
turned to the book on crystallomancy.
Here, at least, was something comprehensible, if not altogether
believable, and I read with interest of the antiquity of
crystal-gazing as a means of inducing hallucination for the purpose of
seeking information not to be gained by any normal means. I read of
its use in China, in Assyria, in Egypt, in Arabia, in India, in Greece
and Rome; of how its practitioners in the Middle Ages were looked upon
as heretics and burnt at the stake or broken on the wheel; of the
famous Dr. Dee, and so down to the present time. The scryers or seers
sometimes used mirrors, sometimes vessels filled with water, but
usually a polished stone, and beryl was especially esteemed.
The effect of gazing at these intently for a time was to abstract the
mind from normal sensory impressions, and to induce a state of partial
hypnosis during which the scryer claimed he could perceive in the
crystal dream-pictures of great vividness, scenes at a distance,
occurrences of the past, and of the future.
I was still deep in this, when I heard a step outside, the door
opened, and Godfrey came in. He smiled when he saw what I was doing.
"How have you been getting along?" he asked.
"Not very well," and I threw the book back on the table. "The
crystal-gazing isn't so bad--one can understand that; but the jumble
of abstractions which the Hindus call religion is too much for me. I
didn't know it was so late," I added, and looked at my watch; but it
was not yet eleven o'clock.
"I'm earlier than usual," said Godfrey. "I cut loose as soon as I
could, because I thought we'd better talk things over. I saw Simmonds
in town to-night."
"Ah," I said; "and what did he tell you?"
"Nothing I didn't know already. The police have discovered nothing
new--or, if they have, they're keeping it dark until to-morrow.
Simmonds did, however, regale me with his theory of the case. He says
the murder was done either by one of the Hindus or by young Swain."
"What do _you_ think?" I asked.
"I'm inclined to agree with Simmonds," said Godfrey, grimly. "With the
emphasis on the Hindus," he added, seeing the look on my face, "I
don't believe Swain had any hand in it."
"Neither do I," I agreed, heartily. "In fact, such a theory is too
absurd to discuss."
"Just the same," said Godfrey, slowly, "I'm glad he didn't touch
Vaughan. If he had happened to seize him by the neck, while they were
struggling together,--in other words, if those finger-prints
Goldberger found had happened to be Swain's--things would have looked
bad for him. I'm hoping they'll turn out to belong to one of the
Hindus--but, as I said to Goldberger, I'm afraid that's too good to be
true."
"Which one of the Hindus?" I asked.
"Oh, the Thug, of course."
I sat bolt upright.
"The Thug?" I echoed.
"Didn't you get that far?" and Godfrey picked up one of the books and
ran rapidly through the pages. "You remember we found him squatting on
the floor with a rag and a tooth and a bone in front of him?"
"Yes."
"And do you remember how the yogi described them, when Goldberger
asked him about them?"
"Very distinctly--he called them the attributes of Kali."
"Now listen to this: 'The Thugs are a religious fraternity, committing
murders in honor of Kali, the wife of Siva, who, they believe, assists
them and protects them. Legend asserts that she presented her
worshippers with three things, the hem of her lower garment to use as
a noose, a rib to use as a knife, and a tooth to use as a pick-axe in
burying the victims.'" He glanced at me, and then went on: "'But the
knife was little used, for the religious character of an assassination
came to depend more and more upon its bloodless character, and for
this a noose was used, with which the victim was strangled. The
aversion to bloodshed became in time so great that many sects of
Thuggee consider it defiling to touch human blood!'" He closed the
book and threw it on the table. "Don't you think that proves the
case?"
"Yes," I said, thoughtfully. "And the yogi--is he also a Thug?"
"Oh, no; a White Priest of Siva could never be a Thug. The worship of
Siva and of Kali are the very opposites of each other. The Saivas are
ascetics. That is," he added, in another tone, "if the fellow is
really a Saiva and not just a plain fraud."
"All these fellows are frauds, more or less, aren't they?" I
questioned.
"No," was Godfrey's unexpected answer; "the real yogin are no doubt
sincere; but a real yogi wouldn't waste his time on a soft-brained old
man, and fire sky-rockets off at midnight to impress him. My own
opinion is that this fellow is a fakir--a juggler, a sleight-of-hand
man--and, of course, a crook."
"Well?" I asked, as Godfrey stopped and failed to continue.
"Well, that's as far as I've got. Oh, yes--there's Toto. A cobra is
one of a fakir's stock properties."
"But, Godfrey," I protested, "he is no ignorant roadside juggler. He's
a cultivated man--an unusual man."
"Certainly he is--most unusual. But that doesn't disprove my guess; it
only makes the problem harder. Even a roadside juggler doesn't do his
tricks for nothing--what reward is it this fellow's working for? It
must be a big one, or it wouldn't tempt him."
"I suppose Vaughan paid him well," I ventured.
"Yes; but did you look at him, Lester? You've called him unusual, but
that word doesn't begin to express him. He's extraordinary. No doubt
Vaughan _did_ pay him well, but it would take something more than that
to persuade such a man to spend six months in a place like that. And I
think I can guess at the stake he's playing for."
"You mean Miss Vaughan?"
"Just that," and Godfrey leaned back in his chair.
I contemplated this theory for some moments in silence. It was, at
least, a theory and an interesting one--but it rested on air. There
was no sort of foundation for it that I could see, and at last I said
so.
"I know it's pretty thin," Godfrey admitted, "but it's the best I've
been able to do--there's so little to build a theory out of. But I'm
going to see if I can't prove one part of it true to-night."
"Which part?"
"About his being a fakir. Here's my theory: that hocus-pocus on the
roof at midnight was for the purpose of impressing Vaughan. No doubt
he believed it a real spiritual manifestation, whereas it was only a
clever bit of jugglery. Now that Vaughan is dead, that particular bit
of jugglery will cease until there is some new victim to impress. In
fact, it has ceased already. There was no star last night."
"But you know why," I pointed out. "The yogi spent the night in
contemplation. We can bear witness to that."
"We can't bear witness to when he started in," said Godfrey, drily.
"We didn't see him till after half-past twelve. However, accepting his
explanation, there would be no reason for omitting the phenomenon
to-night, if it's a genuine one."
"No," I agreed.
"And if it _is_ omitted," Godfrey went on, "it will be pretty
conclusive evidence that it isn't genuine. Although," he went on
hurriedly, "I don't need any proof of that--anything else would be
unbelievable." He glanced at his watch. "It's ten minutes to twelve,"
he said. "Come along."
I followed him out of the house and through the grove with very mixed
sensations. If the star _didn't_ fall, it would tend to prove that it
was, as Godfrey had said, merely a fake arranged to impress a
credulous old man; but suppose it _did_ fall! That was a part of the
test concerning which Godfrey had said nothing. Suppose it _did_ fall!
What then?
So it was in silence that I followed Godfrey up the ladder and took my
place on the limb. But Godfrey seemed to have no uneasiness.
"We won't have long to wait," he said. "We'll wait till five minutes
after twelve, just to make sure. It must be twelve now. I wish I could
persuade that fellow to show me how the fake was worked, for it was
certainly a good one--one of the best...."
He stopped abruptly, staring out into the darkness. I was staring,
too, for there, against the sky, a light began to glow and brighten.
It hung for a moment motionless, and then began slowly to descend,
steadily, deliberately, as of set purpose. Lower and lower it sank, in
a straight line, hovered for an instant, and burst into a million
sparks.
In the flare of light, a white-robed figure stood, gazing upwards, its
arms strained toward the sky.
As we went silently down the ladder, a moment later, it seemed to me
that I could hear Godfrey's theory crashing about his ears.