Smith walked ahead of me upstairs; he had snapped up the light in the
hallway, and now he turned and cried back loudly:
“I fear we should never get servants to stay here.”
Again I detected the appeal to a hidden Audience; and there was
something very uncanny in the idea. The house now was deathly still; the
ringing had entirely subsided. In the upper corridor my companion, who
seemed to be well acquainted with the position of the switches, again
turned up all the lights, and in pursuit of the strange comedy which he
saw fit to enact, addressed me continuously in the loud and unnatural
voice which he had adopted as part of his disguise.
We looked into a number of rooms all well and comfortably furnished, but
although my imagination may have been responsible for the idea, they
all seemed to possess a chilly and repellent atmosphere. I felt that to
essay sleep in any one of them would be the merest farce, that the
place to all intents and purposes was uninhabitable, that something
incalculably evil presided over the house.
And through it all, so obtuse was I, that no glimmer of the truth
entered my mind. Outside again in the long, brightly lighted corridor,
we stood for a moment as if a mutual anticipation of some new event
pending had come to us. It was curious that sudden pulling up and silent
questioning of one another; because, although we acted thus, no sound
had reached us. A few seconds later our anticipation was realized. From
the direction of the stairs it came--a low wailing in a woman’s voice;
and the sweetness of the tones added to the terror of the sound. I
clutched at Smith’s arm convulsively whilst that uncanny cry rose and
fell--rose and fell--and died away.
Neither of us moved immediately. My mind was working with feverish
rapidity and seeking to run down a memory which the sound had stirred
into faint quickness. My heart was still leaping wildly when the wailing
began again, rising and falling in regular cadence. At that instant I
identified it.
During the time Smith and I had spent together in Egypt, two years
before, searching for Karamaneh, I had found myself on one occasion in
the neighborhood of a native cemetery near to Bedrasheen. Now, the
scene which I had witnessed there rose up again vividly before me, and
I seemed to see a little group of black-robed women clustered together
about a native grave; for the wailing which now was dying away again
in the Gables was the same, or almost the same, as the wailing of those
Egyptian mourners.
The house was very silent again, now. My forehead was damp with
perspiration, and I became more and more convinced that the uncanny
ordeal must prove too much for my nerves. Hitherto, I had accorded
little credence to tales of the supernatural, but face to face with such
manifestations as these, I realized that I would have faced rather a
group of armed dacoits, nay! Dr. Fu-Manchu himself, than have remained
another hour in that ill-omened house.
My companion must have read as much in my face. But he kept up the
strange, and to me, purposeless comedy, when presently he spoke.
“I feel it to be incumbent upon me to suggest,” he said, “that we spend
the night at a hotel after all.”
He walked rapidly downstairs and into the library and began to strap up
the grip.
“After all,” he said, “there may be a natural explanation of what we’ve
heard; for it is noteworthy that we have actually seen nothing. It might
even be possible to get used to the ringing and the wailing after a
time. Frankly, I am loath to go back on my bargain!”
Whilst I stared at him in amazement, he stood there indeterminate as it
seemed, Then:
“Come, Pearce!” he cried loudly, “I can see that you do not share my
views; but for my own part I shall return to-morrow and devote further
attention to the phenomena.”
Extinguishing the light, he walked out into the hallway, carrying the
grip in his hand. I was not far behind him. We walked toward the door
together, and:
“Turn the light out, Pearce,” directed Smith; “the switch is at your
elbow. We can see our way to the door well enough, now.”
In order to carry out these instructions, it became necessary for me to
remain a few paces in the rear of my companion, and I think I have never
experienced such a pang of nameless terror as pierced me at the moment
of extinguishing the light; for Smith had not yet opened the door, and
the utter darkness of the Gables was horrible beyond expression. Surely
darkness is the most potent weapon of the Unknown. I know that at the
moment my hand left the switch, I made for the door as though the hosts
of hell pursued me. I collided violently with Smith. He was evidently
facing toward me in the darkness, for at the moment of our collision, he
grasped my shoulder as in a vise.
“My God, Petrie! look behind you!” he whispered.
I was enabled to judge of the extent and reality of his fear by the
fact that the strange subterfuge of addressing me always as Pearce was
forgotten. I turned, in a flash....
Never can I forget what I saw. Many strange and terrible memories are
mine, memories stranger and more terrible than those of the average
man; but this thing which now moved slowly down upon us through
the impenetrable gloom of that haunted place, was (if the term be
understood) almost absurdly horrible. It was a medieval legend come to
life in modern London; it was as though some horrible chimera of the
black and ignorant past was become create and potent in the present.
A luminous hand--a hand in the veins of which fire seemed to run so
that the texture of the skin and the shape of the bones within were
perceptible--in short a hand of glowing, fiery flesh clutching a short
knife or dagger which also glowed with the same hellish, internal
luminance, was advancing upon us where we stood--was not three paces
removed!
What I did or how I came to do it, I can never recall. In all my years
I have experienced nothing to equal the stark panic which seized upon me
then. I know that I uttered a loud and frenzied cry; I know that I tore
myself like a madman from Smith’s restraining grip...
“Don’t touch it! Keep away, for your life!” I heard...
But, dimly I recollect that, finding the thing approaching yet nearer,
I lashed out with my fists--madly, blindly--and struck something
palpable...
What was the result, I cannot say. At that point my recollections
merge into confusion. Something or some one (Smith, as I afterwards
discovered) was hauling me by main force through the darkness; I fell a
considerable distance onto gravel which lacerated my hands and gashed
my knees. Then, with the cool night air fanning my brow, I was running,
running--my breath coming in hysterical sobs. Beside me fled another
figure.... And my definite recollections commence again at that point.
For this companion of my flight from the Gables threw himself roughly
against me to alter my course.
“Not that way! not that way!” came pantingly.
“Not on to the Heath... we must keep to the roads...”
It was Nayland Smith. That healing realization came to me, bringing such
a gladness as no words of mine can express nor convey. Still we ran on.
“There’s a policeman’s lantern,” panted my companion. “They’ll attempt
nothing, now!”
* * * * *
I gulped down the stiff brandy-and-soda, then glanced across to where
Nayland Smith lay extended in the long, cane chair.
“Perhaps you will explain,” I said, “for what purpose you submitted
me to that ordeal. If you proposed to correct my skepticism concerning
supernatural manifestations, you have succeeded.”
“Yes,” said my companion, musingly, “they are devilishly clever; but we
knew that already.”
I stared at him, fatuously.
“Have you ever known me to waste my time when there was important work
to do?” he continued. “Do you seriously believe that my ghost-hunting
was undertaken for amusement? Really, Petrie, although you are very fond
of assuring me that I need a holiday, I think the shoe is on the other
foot!”
From the pocket of his dressing-gown, he took out a piece of silk fringe
which had apparently been torn from a scarf, and rolling it into a ball,
tossed it across to me.
“Smell!” he snapped.
I did as he directed--and gave a great start. The silk exhaled a
faint perfume, but its effect upon me was as though some one had cried
aloud:--
“Karamaneh!”
Beyond doubt the silken fragment had belonged to the beautiful servant
of Dr. Fu-Manchu, to the dark-eyed, seductive Karamaneh. Nayland Smith
was watching me keenly.
“You recognize it--yes?”
I placed the piece of silk upon the table, slightly shrugging my
shoulders.
“It was sufficient evidence in itself,” continued my friend, “but I
thought it better to seek confirmation, and the obvious way was to pose
as a new lessee of the Gables...”
“But, Smith,” I began...
“Let me explain, Petrie. The history of the Gables seemed to be
susceptible of only one explanation; in short it was fairly evident to
me that the object of the manifestations was to insure the place being
kept empty. This idea suggested another, and with them both in mind, I
set out to make my inquiries, first taking the precaution to disguise my
identity, to which end Weymouth gave me the freedom of Scotland Yard’s
fancy wardrobe. I did not take the agent into my confidence, but posed
as a stranger who had heard that the house was to let furnished and
thought it might suit his purpose. My inquiries were directed to a
particular end, but I failed to achieve it at the time. I had theories,
as I have said, and when, having paid the deposit and secured possession
of the keys, I was enabled to visit the place alone, I was fortunate
enough to obtain evidence to show that my imagination had not misled me.
“You were very curious the other morning, I recall, respecting my object
in borrowing a large brace and bit. My object, Petrie, was to bore a
series of holes in the wainscoating of various rooms at the Gables--in
inconspicuous positions, of course...”
“But, my dear Smith!” I cried, “you are merely adding to my
mystification.”
He stood up and began to pace the room in his restless fashion.
“I had cross-examined Weymouth closely regarding the phenomenon of
the bell-ringing, and an exhaustive search of the premises led to the
discovery that the house was in such excellent condition that, from
ground-floor to attic, there was not a solitary crevice large enough to
admit of the passage of a mouse.”
I suppose I must have been staring very foolishly indeed, for Nayland
Smith burst into one of his sudden laughs.
“A mouse, I said, Petrie!” he cried. “With the brace-and-bit I rectified
that matter. I made the holes I have mentioned, and before each set a
trap baited with a piece of succulent, toasted cheese. Just open that
grip!”
The light at last was dawning upon my mental darkness, and I pounced
upon the grip, which stood upon a chair near the window, and opened it.
A sickly smell of cooked cheese assailed my nostrils.
“Mind your fingers!” cried Smith; “some of them are still set,
possibly.”
Out from the grip I began to take mouse-traps! Two or three of them were
still set but in the case of the greater number the catches had slipped.
Nine I took out and placed upon the table, and all were empty. In
the tenth there crouched, panting, its soft furry body dank with
perspiration, a little white mouse!
“Only one capture!” cried my companion, “showing how well-fed the
creatures were. Examine his tail!”
But already I had perceived that to which Smith would draw my attention,
and the mystery of the “astral bells” was a mystery no longer. Bound to
the little creature’s tail, close to the root, with fine soft wire
such as is used for making up bouquets, were three tiny silver bells. I
looked across at my companion in speechless surprise.
“Almost childish, is it not?” he said; “yet by means of this simple
device the Gables has been emptied of occupant after occupant. There was
small chance of the trick being detected, for, as I have said, there was
absolutely no aperture from roof to basement by means of which one of
them could have escaped into the building.”
“Then...”
“They were admitted into the wall cavities and the rafters, from some
cellar underneath, Petrie, to which, after a brief scamper under the
floors and over the ceilings, they instinctively returned for the
food they were accustomed to receive, and for which, even had it been
possible (which it was not) they had no occasion to forage.”
I, too, stood up; for excitement was growing within me. I took up the
piece of silk from the table.
“Where did you find this?” I asked, my eyes upon Smith’s keen face.
“In a sort of wine cellar, Petrie,” he replied, “under the stair. There
is no cellar proper to the Gables--at least no such cellar appears in
the plans.”
“But...”
“But there is one beyond doubt--yes! It must be part of some older
building which occupied the site before the Gables was built. One can
only surmise that it exists, although such a surmise is a fairly safe
one, and the entrance to the subterranean portion of the building is
situated beyond doubt in the wine cellar. Of this we have at least two
evidences:--the finding of the fragment of silk there, and the fact that
in one case at least--as I learned--the light was extinguished in the
library unaccountably. This could only have been done in one way: by
manipulating the main switch, which is also in the wine cellar.”
“But Smith!” I cried, “do you mean that Fu-Manchu...”
Nayland Smith turned in his promenade of the floor, and stared into my
eyes.
“I mean that Dr. Fu-Manchu has had a hiding-place under the Gables for
an indefinite period!” he replied. “I always suspected that a man of his
genius would have a second retreat prepared for him, anticipating the
event of the first being discovered. Oh! I don’t doubt it! The place
probably is extensive, and I am almost certain--though the point has
to be confirmed--that there is another entrance from the studio further
along the road. We know, now, why our recent searchings in the East End
have proved futile; why the house in Museum Street was deserted; he has
been lying low in this burrow at Hampstead!”
“But the hand, Smith, the luminous hand...”
Nayland Smith laughed shortly.
“Your superstitious fears overcame you to such an extent, Petrie--and I
don’t wonder at it; the sight was a ghastly one--that probably you don’t
remember what occurred when you struck out at that same ghostly hand?”
“I seemed to hit something.”
“That was why we ran. But I think our retreat had all the appearance of
a rout, as I intended that it should. Pardon my playing upon your very
natural fears, old man, but you could not have simulated panic half so
naturally! And if they had suspected that the device was discovered,
we might never have quitted the Gables alive. It was touch-and-go for a
moment.”
“But...”
“Turn out the light!” snapped my companion.
Wondering greatly, I did as he desired. I turned out the light... and
in the darkness of my own study I saw a fiery fist being shaken at me
threateningly!... The bones were distinctly visible, and the luminosity
of the flesh was truly ghastly.
“Turn on the light, again!” cried Smith.
Deeply mystified, I did so... and my friend tossed a little electric
pocket-lamp on to the writing-table.
“They used merely a small electric lamp fitted into the handle of a
glass dagger,” he said with a sort of contempt. “It was very effective,
but the luminous hand is a phenomenon producible by any one who
possesses an electric torch.”
“The Gables--will be watched?”
“At last, Petrie, I think we have Fu-Manchu--in his own trap!”