THE INCENSE
To Robert Cairn it seemed that the boat-train would never reach
Charing Cross. His restlessness was appalling. He perpetually glanced
from his father, with whom he shared the compartment, to the flying
landscape with its vistas of hop-poles; and Dr. Cairn, although he
exhibited less anxiety, was, nevertheless, strung to highest tension.
That dash from Cairo homeward had been something of a fevered dream to
both men. To learn, whilst one is searching for a malign and
implacable enemy in Egypt, that that enemy, having secretly returned
to London, is weaving his evil spells around "some we loved, the
loveliest and the best," is to know the meaning of ordeal.
In pursuit of Antony Ferrara--the incarnation of an awful evil--Dr.
Cairn had deserted his practice, had left England for Egypt. Now he
was hurrying back again; for whilst he had sought in strange and dark
places of that land of mystery for Antony Ferrara, the latter had been
darkly active in London!
Again and again Robert Cairn read the letter which, surely as a royal
command, had recalled them. It was from Myra Duquesne. One line in it
had fallen upon them like a bomb, had altered all their plans, had
shattered the one fragment of peace remaining to them.
In the eyes of Robert Cairn, the whole universe centred around Myra
Duquesne; she was the one being in the world of whom he could not bear
to think in conjunction with Antony Ferrara. Now he knew that Antony
Ferrara was beside her, was, doubtless at this very moment, directing
those Black Arts of which he was master, to the destruction of her
mind and body--perhaps of her very soul.
Again he drew the worn envelope from his pocket and read that ominous
sentence, which, when his eyes had first fallen upon it, had blotted
out the sunlight of Egypt.
"... And you will be surprised to hear that Antony is back in London ...
and is a frequent visitor here. It is quite like old times...."
Raising his haggard eyes, Robert Cairn saw that his father was
watching him.
"Keep calm, my boy," urged the doctor; "it can profit us nothing, it
can profit Myra nothing, for you to shatter your nerves at a time when
real trials are before you. You are inviting another breakdown. Oh! I
know it is hard; but for everybody's sake try to keep yourself in
hand."
"I am trying, sir," replied Robert hollowly.
Dr. Cairn nodded, drumming his fingers upon his knee.
"We must be diplomatic," he continued. "That James Saunderson proposed
to return to London, I had no idea. I thought that Myra would be far
outside the Black maelström in Scotland. Had I suspected that
Saunderson would come to London, I should have made other
arrangements."
"Of course, sir, I know that. But even so we could never have foreseen
this."
Dr. Cairn shook his head.
"To think that whilst we have been scouring Egypt from Port Said to
Assouan--_he_ has been laughing at us in London!" he said. "Directly
after the affair at Méydûm he must have left the country--how, Heaven
only knows. That letter is three weeks old, now?"
Robert Cairn nodded. "What may have happened since--what may have
happened!"
"You take too gloomy a view. James Saunderson is a Roman guardian.
Even Antony Ferrara could make little headway there."
"But Myra says that--Ferrara is--a frequent visitor."
"And Saunderson," replied Dr. Cairn with a grim smile, "is a
Scotchman! Rely upon his diplomacy, Rob. Myra will be safe enough."
"God grant that she is!"
At that, silence fell between them, until punctually to time, the
train slowed into Charing Cross. Inspired by a common anxiety, Dr.
Cairn and his son were first among the passengers to pass the barrier.
The car was waiting for them; and within five minutes of the arrival
of the train they were whirling through London's traffic to the house
of James Saunderson.
It lay in that quaint backwater, remote from motor-bus
high-ways--Dulwich Common, and was a rambling red-tiled building which
at some time had been a farmhouse. As the big car pulled up at the
gate, Saunderson, a large-boned Scotchman, tawny-eyed, and with his
grey hair worn long and untidily, came out to meet them. Myra Duquesne
stood beside him. A quick blush coloured her face momentarily; then
left it pale again.
Indeed, her pallor was alarming. As Robert Cairn, leaping from the
car, seized both her hands and looked into her eyes, it seemed to him
that the girl had almost an ethereal appearance. Something clutched at
his heart, iced his blood; for Myra Duquesne seemed a creature
scarcely belonging to the world of humanity--seemed already half a
spirit. The light in her sweet eyes was good to see; but her
fragility, and a certain transparency of complexion, horrified him.
Yet, he knew that he must hide these fears from her; and turning to
Mr. Saunderson, he shook him warmly by the hand, and the party of four
passed by the low porch into the house.
In the hall-way Miss Saunderson, a typical Scottish housekeeper, stood
beaming welcome; but in the very instant of greeting her, Robert Cairn
stopped suddenly as if transfixed.
Dr. Cairn also pulled up just within the door, his nostrils quivering
and his clear grey eyes turning right and left--searching the shadows.
Miss Saunderson detected this sudden restraint.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked anxiously.
Myra, standing beside Mr. Saunderson, began to look frightened. But
Dr. Cairn, shaking off the incubus which had descended upon him,
forced a laugh, and clapping his hand upon Robert's shoulder cried:
"Wake up, my boy! I know it is good to be back in England again, but
keep your day-dreaming for after lunch!"
Robert Cairn forced a ghostly smile in return, and the odd incident
promised soon to be forgotten.
"How good of you," said Myra as the party entered the dining-room, "to
come right from the station to see us. And you must be expected in
Half-Moon Street, Dr. Cairn?"
"Of course we came to see _you_ first," replied Robert Cairn
significantly.
Myra lowered her face and pursued that subject no further.
No mention was made of Antony Ferrara, and neither Dr. Cairn nor his
son cared to broach the subject. The lunch passed off, then, without
any reference to the very matter which had brought them there that
day.
It was not until nearly an hour later that Dr. Cairn and his son found
themselves alone for a moment. Then, with a furtive glance about him,
the doctor spoke of that which had occupied his mind, to the exclusion
of all else, since first they had entered the house of James
Saunderson.
"You noticed it, Rob?" he whispered.
"My God! it nearly choked me!"
Dr. Cairn nodded grimly.
"It is all over the house," he continued, "in every room that I have
entered. They are used to it, and evidently do not notice it, but
coming in from the clean air, it is--"
"Abominable, unclean--unholy!"
"We know it," continued Dr. Cairn softly--"that smell of unholiness;
we have good reason to know it. It heralded the death of Sir Michael
Ferrara. It heralded the death of--another."
"With a just God in heaven, can such things be?"
"It is the secret incense of Ancient Egypt," whispered Dr. Cairn,
glancing towards the open door; "it is the odour of that Black Magic
which, by all natural law, should be buried and lost for ever in the
tombs of the ancient wizards. Only two living men within my knowledge
know the use and the hidden meaning of that perfume; only one living
man has ever dared to make it--to use it...."
"Antony Ferrara--"
"We knew he was here, boy; now we know that he is using his powers
here. Something tells me that we come to the end of the fight. May
victory be with the just."