THE MAGICIAN
Half-Moon Street was bathed in tropical sunlight. Dr. Cairn, with his
hands behind him, stood looking out of the window. He turned to his
son, who leant against a corner of the bookcase in the shadows of the
big room.
"Hot enough for Egypt, Rob," he said.
Robert Cairn nodded.
"Antony Ferrara," he replied, "seemingly travels his own atmosphere
with him. I first became acquainted with his hellish activities during
a phenomenal thunderstorm. In Egypt his movements apparently
corresponded with those of the _Khamsîn_. Now,"--he waved his hand
vaguely towards the window--"this is Egypt in London."
"Egypt is in London, indeed," muttered Dr. Cairn. "Jermyn has decided
that our fears are well-founded."
"You mean, sir, that the will--?"
"Antony Ferrara would have an almost unassailable case in the event
of--of Myra--"
"You mean that her share of the legacy would fall to that fiend, if
she--"
"If she died? Exactly."
Robert Cairn began to stride up and down the room, clenching and
unclenching his fists. He was a shadow of his former self, but now his
cheeks were flushed and his eyes feverishly bright.
"Before Heaven!" he cried suddenly, "the situation is becoming
unbearable. A thing more deadly than the Plague is abroad here in
London. Apart from the personal aspect of the matter--of which I dare
not think!--what do we know of Ferrara's activities? His record is
damnable. To our certain knowledge his victims are many. If the murder
of his adoptive father, Sir Michael, was actually the first of his
crimes, we know of three other poor souls who beyond any shadow of
doubt were launched into eternity by the Black Arts of this ghastly
villain--"
"We do, Rob," replied Dr. Cairn sternly.
"He has made attempts upon you; he has made attempts upon me. We owe
our survival"--he pointed to a row of books upon a corner shelf--"to
the knowledge which you have accumulated in half a life-time of
research. In the face of science, in the face of modern scepticism, in
the face of our belief in a benign God, this creature, Antony Ferrara,
has proved himself conclusively to be--"
"He is what the benighted ancients called a magician," interrupted Dr.
Cairn quietly. "He is what was known in the Middle Ages as a wizard.
What that means, exactly, few modern thinkers know; but I know, and
one day others will know. Meanwhile his shadow lies upon a certain
house."
Robert Cairn shook his clenched fists in the air. In some men the
gesture had seemed melodramatic; in him it was the expression of a
soul's agony.
"But, sir!" he cried--"are we to wait, inert, helpless? Whatever he
is, he has a human body and there are bullets, there are knives, there
are a hundred drugs in the British Pharmacopoeia!"
"Quite so," answered Dr. Cairn, watching his son closely, and, by his
own collected manner, endeavouring to check the other's growing
excitement. "I am prepared at any personal risk to crush Antony
Ferrara as I would crush a scorpion; but where is he?"
Robert Cairn groaned, dropping into the big red-leathern armchair, and
burying his face in his hands.
"Our position is maddening," continued the elder man. "We know that
Antony Ferrara visits Mr. Saunderson's house; we know that he is
laughing at our vain attempts to trap him. Crowning comedy of all,
Saunderson does not know the truth; he is not the type of man who
could ever understand; in fact we dare not tell him--and we dare not
tell Myra. The result is that those whom we would protect, unwittingly
are working against us, and against themselves."
"That perfume!" burst out Robert Cairn; "that hell's incense which
loads the atmosphere of Saunderson's house! To think that we know what
it means--that we know what it means!"
"Perhaps _I_ know even better than you do, Rob. The occult uses of
perfume are not understood nowadays; but you, from experience, know
that certain perfumes have occult uses. At the Pyramid of Méydûm in
Egypt, Antony Ferrara dared--and the just God did not strike him
dead--to make a certain incense. It was often made in the remote past,
and a portion of it, probably in a jar hermetically sealed, had come
into his possession. I once detected its dreadful odour in his rooms
in London. Had you asked me prior to that occasion if any of the
hellish stuff had survived to the present day, I should most
emphatically have said _no_; I should have been wrong. Ferrara had
some. He used it all--and went to the Méydûm pyramid to renew his
stock."
Robert Cairn was listening intently.
"All this brings me back to a point which I have touched upon before,
sir," he said: "To my certain knowledge, the late Sir Michael and
yourself have delved into the black mysteries of Egypt more deeply
than any men of the present century. Yet Antony Ferrara, little more
than a boy, has mastered secrets which you, after years of research,
have failed to grasp. What does this mean, sir?"
Dr. Cairn, again locking his hands behind him, stared out of the
window.
"He is not an ordinary mortal," continued his son. "He is
supernormal--and supernaturally wicked. You have admitted--indeed it
was evident--that he is merely the adopted son of the late Sir
Michael. Now that we have entered upon the final struggle--for I feel
that this is so--I will ask you again: _Who is Antony Ferrara_?"
Dr. Cairn spun around upon the speaker; his grey eyes were very
bright.
"There is one little obstacle," he answered, "which has deterred me
from telling you what you have asked so often. Although--and you have
had dreadful opportunities to peer behind the veil--you will find it
hard to believe, I hope very shortly to be able to answer that
question, and to tell you who Antony Ferrara really is."
Robert Cairn beat his fist upon the arm of the chair.
"I sometimes wonder," he said, "that either of us has remained sane.
Oh! what does it mean? What can we do? What can we do?"
"We must watch, Rob. To enlist the services of Saunderson, would be
almost impossible; he lives in his orchid houses; they are his world.
In matters of ordinary life I can trust him above most men, but in
this--"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Could we suggest to him a reason--any reason but the real one--why he
should refuse to receive Ferrara?"
"It might destroy our last chance."
"But sir," cried Robert wildly, "it amounts to this: we are using Myra
as a lure!"
"In order to save her, Rob--simply in order to save her," retorted Dr.
Cairn sternly.
"How ill she looks," groaned the other; "how pale and worn. There are
great shadows under her eyes--oh! I cannot bear to think about her!"
"When was _he_ last there?"
"Apparently some ten days ago. You may depend upon him to be aware of
our return! He will not come there again, sir. But there are other
ways in which he might reach her--does he not command a whole shadow
army! And Mr. Saunderson is entirely unsuspicious--and Myra thinks of
the fiend as a brother! Yet--she has never once spoken of him. I
wonder...."
Dr. Cairn sat deep in reflection. Suddenly he took out his watch.
"Go around now," he said--"you will be in time for lunch--and remain
there until I come. From to-day onward, although actually your health
does not permit of the strain, we must watch, watch night and day."