AN INSTANCE OF OCCULTISM
The guests at Beauleys were all grouped together in the hall after
dinner, the men, and some of the women, smoking cigarettes. Coffee and
liqueurs were being served from the great oak sideboard. Lord Guerdon
and his host had drawn a little apart from the others, at the former's
instigation.
"Your friend Saton--extraordinary name, by the bye--seems to have
struck upon an interesting theme of conversation," the judge remarked,
a little drily, glancing across to where Saton stood, surrounded by
most of the other guests.
"He has travelled a great deal," Rochester said, "and he seems to be
one of that extravagant sort of persons who imbibe more or less the
ideas of every country. Chiefly froth, I should imagine, but it gives
him plenty to talk about."
The judge nodded thoughtfully.
"His face," he declared, "still puzzles me a little. Sometimes I am
sure that I have seen it before. At others, I find it quite
unfamiliar."
Rochester, who was watching Pauline, shrugged his shoulders.
"We may as well hear what the fellow is talking about," he remarked.
"Let us join the adoring throng." ...
"I will tell you one thing which I have realized in the course of my
travels," Saton was saying as they drew near. "Amongst all the nations
of the world, we English are at once the most ignorant, and the
slowest to receive a new thing. In the exact sciences, we are perhaps
just able to hold our own, but when it comes to the great unexplored
fields, the average English person turns away with a shrug of the
shoulders. 'I do not believe!' he says stolidly, and that is
sufficient. He does not believe! Since the birth of Time there has
been no more pitiful cry than that."
"One might easily be convinced that the fellow is in earnest,"
Rochester whispered.
The judge laid his hand upon his host's shoulder. There was a curious
gleam in those deep-set eyes.
"Let him go on," he said. "This is interesting. I begin to remember."
"We all have a hobby, I suppose," Saton continued. "Mine has always
been the study of the least understood of the sciences--I mean
occultism. I, too, was prejudiced at first. I saw wonderful things in
India, and my British instincts rose up like a wall. I did not
believe. I refused to believe my eyes. In Egypt, and on the west coast
of Africa, I had the chance of learning new things, and again I
refused. But there came a time when even I was impressed. Then I began
to study. I began to see that some of those things which we accept as
being wonderful, and from which we turn away with a shrug of the
shoulders, are capable of explanation--are submissive, in fact, to
natural laws. There is not a doubt that in the generations to come,
people will smile upon us, and pity us for our colossal stupidity."
"No wise person, my dear Mr. Saton," Mrs. Hinckley remarked, "would
deny that there is yet a great deal to learn in life. But tell us
exactly to what you refer?"
Saton raised his dark eyes and looked steadfastly at her.
"I mean, madam," he said, "the apprehension of things happening in the
present in other parts, the apprehension of things about to happen in
the future. Our brain we realize, and our muscles, but there is a
subtler part of ourselves, of which we are as ignorant to-day as our
forefathers were of electricity."
Lady Mary drew a little sigh.
"This is so fascinating," she said. "Do you really believe, then, that
it is possible to foretell the future?"
"Why not?" Saton answered quietly. "The world is governed by laws just
as inevitable as the physical laws which govern the seasons. It is
only a matter of apprehension, a deliberate schooling of ourselves
into the necessary temperament."
"Then all these people in Bond Street--these crystal gazers and
fortune-tellers--" Lois began eagerly.
"They are charlatans, and stand in the way of progress," Saton
declared, fiercely. "They have not the faintest glimmering of the
truth, and they turn what should be the greatest of the sciences into
buffoonery. To the real student it is never possible to answer
questions to foretell specific things. On the other hand, it is as
sure as the coming of night itself that there are times when a person
who has studied these matters even so slightly as I myself, can feel
the coming of events."
"Give us an instance," Lady Mary begged. "Tell us of something that is
going to happen."
Saton moved a little back. His face was unnaturally pale.
"No!" he answered. "Don't ask me that. Remember, this is not a game.
It might even happen that I should tell you something terrifying. I am
sorry that I've talked like this," he went on, a little wildly. "I am
sorry that I came here to-night. Before I came I felt it coming. If
you will excuse me, Lady Mary----"
She held out her hands and refused to accept his adieux.
"You shall not go!" she declared. "There is something in your mind.
You could tell us something if you would."
Saton looked around, as one genuinely anxious to escape. On the
outskirts of the circle he saw Rochester, smiling faintly, half
amused, half contemptuous, and by his side the parchment-like face of
Lord Guerdon, whose eyes seemed riveted upon his.
"My dear Saton," Rochester said, "pray don't disappoint us of our
thrill, after all this most effective preliminary. You believe that
you possess a gift which we none of us share. Give us a proof of it.
No one here is afraid to hear the truth. Is it one specific thing you
could tell?"
"One specific thing," Saton answered quickly, "about to happen to one
person, and one person only."
"Is it a man or a woman?" Rochester asked.
"A man!" was the quick reply.
Rochester glanced carelessly around the little circle.
"Come," he said, "the women can have their thrill. There is nothing to
fear. Penarvon here has all the pluck in the world. Hinckley is a V.C.
Captain Vandermere is a soldier, and I will answer for it that he has
no nerves. Guerdon and I, I am sure, are safe. Let us hear your
gruesome prophecy, my dear Saton, and if it comes true, we will form a
little society, and you shall be our apostle. We will study occultism
in place of bridge. We will be the founders of a new cult."
Saton pushed them away from him. His face was almost ghastly.
"It is not fair, this," he cried. "You do not know what you are
asking. Can't you feel it, any of you others, as I do?" he exclaimed,
looking a little wildly around. "There is something else in the room,
something else besides you warm and living people. Be still, all of
you."
There was a moment's breathless silence. Some papers on the table
rustled. A picture on the wall shook. Lady Mary sat down in a chair.
Lois gave a little scream.
"There is a slight draught," Rochester remarked, calmly.
"It is no draught," Saton answered. "You want the truth and you shall
have it. See, there are five men present."--He counted rapidly with
his forefinger. "One of them will be dead before we leave this room."
Rochester strolled over to the sideboard, and helped himself to a
cigarette.
"Come," he said, "this is going a little too far! Look at the cheeks
of these ladies, Saton. A little melodrama is all very well, but you
are too good an actor. Hinckley, and all of you," he said, looking
around, "I propose that we end the strain. Let us go into the
billiard-room and have a pool. I presume that the spell will then be
broken."
Lady Mary shrieked.
"Don't move, any of you!" she cried. "I am afraid!"
Rochester laughed softly, and crossed the floor with firm footsteps.
He stood on the threshold of the door leading to the billiard-room.
"Come," he said, "I am indeed between life and death, for I have one
foot in one room and one in the other. Come, you others, and seek
safety too."
The women also rose. There was a rush for the door, a swish of
draperies, a little sob from Lois, who was terrified. Saton remained
standing alone. He had not moved. His eyes were fixed upon the figure
of the judge, who also lingered. They two were left in the centre of
the hall.
"Come, Guerdon," Rochester cried. "You and I will take the lot on."
Guerdon did not move. He motioned to Saton slightly.
"Young man," he said, "we have met before. I said so when you first
came in. My memory is improving."
Saton leaned forward.
[Illustration: "Some water, quick, and brandy," Rochester cried.]
"Be careful, judge," he said.
"Be careful be d--d!" the judge answered. "Rochester, come here. God
in Heaven!"
His left hand went suddenly to his throat. He almost tore away the
collar and primly arranged tie. Rochester was by his side in a second,
and saved him from falling. His face was white to the lips. A shriek
from the women rang through the hall, and came echoing back again from
the black rafters.
"Some water quick, and brandy," Rochester cried, tearing open the
shirt from the man he was supporting. "Send for a doctor, someone.
Penarvon, you see to that. Let them take the motor. Keep those d--d
women quiet!"
The judge opened his eyes.
"I remember him," he faltered.
"Drink some of this, old fellow," Rochester said. "You'll be better in
a moment."
The judge's eyes were closed again. He had suddenly become a dead
weight on Rochester's arm. Vandermere, who had done amateur doctoring
at the war, brought a pillow for his head. They cut off more of his
clothes. They tried by every means to keep a flicker of life in him
until the doctor came. Only Rochester knew it was useless. He had seen
the shadow of death pass across the gray, stricken face.