"Perhaps. They say that the leaves never fall, even in January."
I gazed at what appeared to be a little fluff of white mist above it,
the whiter by contrast with the black clouds that lowered around the
hill-tops. To my questions about the town council, Susan Gird told me
some rather curious things about the government of the community. There
were five councilmen, elected every year, and no mayor. Each of the
five presided at a meeting in turn. Among the ordinances enforced by
the council was one providing for support of the single church.
"I should think that such an ordinance could be set aside as illegal,"
I observed.
"I think it could," she agreed, "but nobody has ever wished to try."
The minister of the church, she continued, was invariably a member of
the council. No such provision appeared on the town records, nor was it
even urged as a "written law," but it had always been deferred to. The
single peace officer of the town, she continued, was the duly elected
constable. He was always commissioned as deputy sheriff by officials at
the county seat, and his duties included census taking, tax collecting
and similar matters. The only other officer with a state commission was
the justice; and her father, John Gird, had held that post for the last
six years.
"He's an attorney, then?" I suggested, but Susan Gird shook her head.
"The only attorney in this place is a retired judge, Keith Pursuivant,"
she informed me. "He came from some other part of the world, and he
appears in town about once a month--lives out yonder past the Croft. As
a matter of fact, an ordinary experience of law isn't enough for our
peculiar little government."
She spoke of her fellow-townsmen as quiet, simple folk who were content
for the most part to keep to themselves, and then, yielding to my
earnest pleas, she told me something of herself.
The Gird family counted its descent from an original settler--though
she was not exactly sure of when or how the settlement was made--and
had borne a leading part in community affairs through more than two
centuries. Her mother, who had died when Susan Gird was seven, had been
a stranger; an "outlander" was the local term for such, and I think it
is used in Devonshire, which may throw light on the original founders
of the community. Apparently this woman had shown some tendencies
toward psychic power, for she had several times prophesied coming
events or told neighbors where to find lost things. She was well loved
for her labors in caring for the sick, and indeed she had died from a
fever contracted when tending the victims of an epidemic.
"Doctor Zoberg had known her," Susan Gird related. "He came here
several years after her death, and seemed badly shaken when he heard
what had happened. He and Father became good friends, and he has been
kind to me, too. I remember his saying, the first time we met, that I
looked like Mother and that it was apparent that I had inherited her
spirit."
She had grown up and spent three years at a teachers' college, but
left before graduation, refusing a position at a school so that she
could keep house for her lonely father. Still idiotically mannerless, I
mentioned the possibility of her marrying some young man of the town.
She laughed musically.
"Why, I stopped thinking of marriage when I was fourteen!" she cried.
Then, "Look, it's snowing."
So it was, and I thought it time to start for her home. We finished
the drive on the best of terms, and when we reached her home in
midafternoon, we were using first names.
* * * * *
Gird, I found, had capitulated to Doctor Zoberg's genial insistence.
From disliking the thought of a séance, he had come to savor the
prospect of witnessing it--Zoberg had always excluded him before. Gird
had even picked up a metaphysical term or two from listening to the
doctor, and with these he spiced his normally plain speech.
"This ectoplasm stuff sounds reasonable," he admitted. "If there is any
such thing, there could be ghosts, couldn't there?"
Zoberg twinkled, and tilted his beard-spike forward. "You will find
that Mr. Wills does not believe in ectoplasm."
"Nor do I believe that the production of ectoplasm would prove
existence of a ghost," I added. "What do you say, Miss Susan?"
She smiled and shook her dark head. "To tell you the truth, I'm aware
only dimly of what goes on during a séance."
"Most mediums say that," nodded Zoberg sagely.
As the sun set and the darkness came down, we prepared for the
experiment.
The dining-room was chosen, as the barest and quietest room in the
house. First I made a thorough examination, poking into corners,
tapping walls and handling furniture, to the accompaniment of jovial
taunts from Zoberg. Then, to his further amusement, I produced from my
grip a big lump of sealing-wax, and with this I sealed both the kitchen
and parlor doors, stamping the wax with my signet ring. I also closed,
latched and sealed the windows, on the sills of which little heaps of
snow had begun to collect.
"You're kind of making sure, Mr. Wills," said Gird, lighting a patent
carbide lamp.
"That's because I take this business seriously," I replied, and Zoberg
clapped his hands in approval.
"Now," I went on, "off with your coats and vests, gentlemen."
Gird and Zoberg complied, and stood up in their shirt-sleeves. I
searched and felt them both all over. Gird was a trifle bleak in
manner, Zoberg gay and bright-faced. Neither had any concealed
apparatus, I made sure. My next move was to set a chair against the
parlor door, seal its legs to the floor, and instruct Gird to sit
in it. He did so, and I produced a pair of handcuffs from my bag and
shackled his left wrist to the arm of the chair.
"Capital!" cried Zoberg. "Do not be so sour, Mr. Gird. I would not
trust handcuffs on Mr. Wills--he was once a magician and knows all the
escape tricks."
"Your turn's coming, Doctor," I assured him.
Against the opposite wall and facing Gird's chair I set three more
chairs, melting wax around their legs and stamping it. Then I dragged
all other furniture far away, arranging it against the kitchen door.
Finally I asked Susan to take the central chair of the three, seated
Zoberg at her left hand and myself at her right. Beside me, on the
floor, I set the carbide lamp.
"With your permission," I said, and produced more manacles. First I
fastened Susan's left ankle to Zoberg's right, then her left wrist to
his right. Zoberg's left wrist I chained to his chair, leaving him
entirely helpless.
"What thick wrists you have!" I commented. "I never knew they were so
sinewy."
"You never chained them before," he grinned.
With two more pairs of handcuffs I shackled my own left wrist and ankle
to Susan on the right.
"Now we are ready," I pronounced.
"You've treated us like bank robbers," muttered Gird.
"No, no, do not blame Mr. Wills," Zoberg defended me again. He looked
anxiously at Susan. "Are you quite prepared, my dear?"
Her eyes met his for a long moment; then she closed them and nodded. I,
bound to her, felt a relaxation of her entire body. After a moment she
bowed her chin upon her breast.
"Let nobody talk," warned Zoberg softly. "I think that this will be a
successful venture. Wills, the light."
With my free hand I turned it out.
All was intensely dark for a moment. Then, as my eyes adjusted
themselves, the room seemed to lighten. I could see the deep gray
rectangles of the windows, the snow at their bottoms, the blurred
outline of the man in his chair across the floor from me, the form
of Susan at my left hand. My ears, likewise sharpening, detected the
girl's gentle breathing, as if she slept. Once or twice her right hand
twitched, shaking my own arm in its manacle. It was as though she
sought to attract my attention.
Before and a little beyond her, something pale and cloudy was making
itself visible. Even as I fixed my gaze upon it, I heard something
that sounded like a gusty panting. It might have been a tired dog
or other beast. The pallid mist was changing shape and substance,
too, and growing darker. It shifted against the dim light from the
windows, and I had a momentary impression of something erect but
misshapen--misshapen in an animal way. Was that a head? And were those
pointed ears, or part of a head-dress? I told myself determinedly that
this was a clever illusion, successful despite my precautions.
[Illustration: "Something pale and cloudy was making itself visible."]
It moved, and I heard a rattle upon the planks. Claws, or perhaps
hobnails. Did not Gird wear heavy boots? Yet he was surely sitting in
his chair; I saw something shift position at that point. The grotesque
form had come before me, crouching or creeping.
Despite my self-assurance that this was a trick, I could not govern the
chill that swept over me. The thing had come to a halt close to me, was
lifting itself as a hound that paws its master's knees. I was aware of
an odor, strange and disagreeable, like the wind from a great beast's
cage. Then the paws were upon my lap--indeed, they were not paws. I
felt them grip my legs, with fingers and opposable thumbs. A sniffing
muzzle thrust almost into my face, and upon its black snout a dim, wet
gleam was manifest.
Then Gird, from his seat across the room, screamed hoarsely.
"That thing isn't my daughter----"
In the time it took him to rip out those five words, the huddled
monster at my knees whirled back and away from me, reared for a trice
like a deformed giant, and leaped across the intervening space upon
him. I saw that Gird had tried to rise, his chained wrist hampering
him. Then his voice broke in the midst of what he was trying to say; he
made a choking sound and the thing emitted a barking growl.
Tearing loose from its wax fastenings, the chair fell upon its side.
There was a struggle and a clatter, and Gird squealed like a rabbit in
a trap. The attacker fell away from him toward us.
It was all over before one might ask what it was about.
_4. "I Don't Know What Killed Him."_
Just when I got up I do not remember, but I was on my feet as the
grapplers separated. Without thinking of danger--and surely danger was
there in the room--I might have rushed forward; but Susan Gird, lying
limp in her chair, hampered me in our mutual shackles. Standing where
I was, then, I pawed in my pocket for something I had not mentioned to
her or to Zoberg; an electric torch.
It fitted itself into my hand, a compact little cylinder, and I whipped
it out with my finger on the switch. A cone of white light spurted
across the room, making a pool about and upon the motionless form of
Gird. He lay crumpled on one side, his back toward us, and a smudge of
black wetness was widening about his slack head and shoulders.
With the beam I swiftly quartered the room, probing it into every
corner and shadowed nook. The creature that had attacked Gird had
utterly vanished. Susan Gird now gave a soft moan, like a dreamer of
dreadful things. I flashed my light her way.
It flooded her face and she quivered under the impact of the glare, but
did not open her eyes. Beyond her I saw Zoberg, doubled forward in his
bonds. He was staring blackly at the form of Gird, his eyes protruding
and his clenched teeth showing through his beard.
"Doctor Zoberg!" I shouted at him, and his face jerked nervously toward
me. It was fairly cross-hatched with tense lines, and as white as fresh
pipe-clay. He tried to say something, but his voice would not command
itself.
Dropping the torch upon the floor, I next dug keys from my pocket and
with trembling haste unlocked the irons from Susan Gird's wrist and
ankle on my side. Then, stepping hurriedly to Zoberg, I made him sit
up and freed him as speedily as possible. Finally I returned, found my
torch again and stepped across to Gird.
My first glance at close quarters was enough; he was stone-dead, with
his throat torn brutally out. His cheeks, too, were ripped in parallel
gashes, as though by the grasp of claws or nails. Radiance suddenly
glowed behind me, and Zoberg moved forward, holding up the carbide lamp.
"I found this beside your chair," he told me unsteadily. "I found a
match and lighted it." He looked down at Gird, and his lips twitched,
as though he would be hysterical.
"Steady, Doctor," I cautioned him sharply, and took the lamp from him.
"See what you can do for Gird."
He stooped slowly, as though he had grown old. I stepped to one side,
putting the lamp on the table. Zoberg spoke again:
"It is absolutely no use, Wills. We can do nothing. Gird has been
killed."
I had turned my attention to the girl. She still sagged in her chair,
breathing deeply and rhythmically as if in untroubled slumber.
"Susan," I called her. "Susan!"
She did not stir, and Doctor Zoberg came back to where I bent above
her. "Susan," he whispered penetratingly, "wake up, child."
Her eyes unveiled themselves slowly, and looked up at us. "What----"
she began drowsily.
"Prepare yourself," I cautioned her quickly. "Something has happened to
your father."
She stared across at Gird's body, and then she screamed, tremulously
and long. Zoberg caught her in his arms, and she swayed and shuddered
against their supporting circle. From her own wrists my irons still
dangled, and they clanked as she wrung her hands in aimless distraction.
Going to the dead man once more, I unchained him from the chair and
turned him upon his back. Susan's black cloak lay upon one of the other
chairs, and I picked it up and spread it above him. Then I went to each
door in turn, and to the windows.
"The seals are unbroken," I reported. "There isn't a space through
which even a mouse could slip in or out. Yet----"
"I did it!" wailed Susan suddenly. "Oh, my God, what dreadful thing
came out of me to murder my father!"
* * * * *
I unfastened the parlor door and opened it. Almost at the same time a
loud knock sounded from the front of the house.
Zoberg lifted his head, nodding to me across Susan's trembling
shoulder. His arms were still clasped around her, and I could not
help but notice that they seemed thin and ineffectual now. When I had
chained them, I had wondered at their steely cording. Had this awful
calamity drained him of strength?
"Go," he said hoarsely. "See who it is."
I went. Opening the front door, I came face to face with a tall,
angular silhouette in a slouch hat with snow on the brim.
"Who are you?" I jerked out, startled.
"O'Bryant," boomed back an organ-deep bass. "What's the fuss here?"
"Well----" I began, then hesitated.
"Stranger in town, ain't you?" was the next question. "I saw you when
you stopped at the Luther Inn. I'm O'Bryant--the constable."
He strode across the door-sill, peered about him in the dark, and then
slouched into the lighted dining-room. Following, I made him out as a
stern, roughly dressed man of forty or so, with a lean face made strong
by a salient chin and a simitar nose. His light blue eyes studied
the still form of John Gird, and he stooped to draw away the cloak.
Susan gave another agonized cry, and I heard Zoberg gasp as if deeply
shocked. The constable, too, flinched and replaced the cloak more
quickly than he had taken it up.
"Who done that?" he barked at me.
Again I found it hard to answer. Constable O'Bryant sniffed
suspiciously at each of us in turn, took up the lamp and herded us into
the parlor. There he made us take seats.
"I want to know everything about this business," he said harshly.
"You," he flung at me, "you seem to be the closest to sensible. Give me
the story, and don't leave out a single bit of it."
Thus commanded, I made shift to describe the séance and what had led up
to it. I was as uneasy as most innocent people are when unexpectedly
questioned by peace officers. O'Bryant interrupted twice with a
guttural "Huh!" and once with a credulous whistle.
"And this killing happened in the dark?" he asked when I had finished.
"Well, which of you dressed up like a devil and done it?"
Susan whimpered and bowed her head. Zoberg, outraged, sprang to his
feet.
"It was a creature from another world," he protested angrily. "None of
us had a reason to kill Mr. Gird."
O'Bryant emitted a sharp, equine laugh. "Don't go to tell me any ghost
stories, Doctor Zoberg. We folks have heard a lot about the hocus-pocus
you've pulled off here from time to time. Looks like it might have been
to cover up some kind of rough stuff."
"How could it be?" demanded Zoberg. "Look here, Constable, these
handcuffs." He held out one pair of them. "We were all confined with
them, fastened to chairs that were sealed to the floor. Mr. Gird was
also chained, and his chair made fast out of our reach. Go into the
next room and look for yourself."
"Let me see them irons," grunted O'Bryant, snatching them.
He turned them over and over in his hands, snapped them shut, tugged
and pressed, then held out a hand for my keys. Unlocking the cuffs, he
peered into the clamping mechanism.
"These are regulation bracelets," he pronounced. "You were all chained
up, then?"
"We were," replied Zoberg, and both Susan and I nodded.
Into the constable's blue eyes came a sudden shrewd light. "I guess
you must have been, at that. But did you stay that way?" He whipped
suddenly around, bending above my chair to fix his gaze upon me. "How
about you, Mr. Wills?"
"Of course we stayed that way," I replied.
"Yeh? Look here, ain't you a professional magician?"
"How did you know that?" I asked.
He grinned widely and without warmth. "The whole town's been talking
about you, Mr. Wills. A stranger can't be here all day without his
whole record coming out." The grin vanished. "You're a magician, all
right, and you can get out of handcuffs. Ain't that so?"
"Of course it's so," Zoberg answered for me. "But why should that mean
that my friend has killed Mr. Gird?"
O'Bryant wagged his head in triumph. "That's what we'll find out later.
Right now it adds up very simple. Gird was killed, in a room that was
all sealed up. Three other folks was in with him, all handcuffed to
their chairs. Which of them got loose without the others catching on?"
He nodded brightly at me, as if in answer to his own question.
Zoberg gave me a brief, penetrating glance, then seemed to shrivel up
in his own chair. He looked almost as exhausted as Susan. I, too, was
feeling near to collapse.
"You want to own up, Mr. Wills?" invited O'Bryant.
"I certainly do not," I snapped at him. "You've got the wrong man."
"I thought," he made answer, as though catching me in a damaging
admission, "that it was a devil, not a man, who killed Gird."