“HECTOR” MANIFESTS ANTIPATHY
Meanwhile the Master of Storton, after the departure of his visitors in
the afternoon, went up into his study, and stood with his hands in his
coat pockets, looking out of the west window for quite a long time.
To see him standing there, one would have been inclined to think
that he was idly viewing the landscape stretched out before him; but
as a fact he was thinking about the identical thing which occupied
Constance’s mind later on in the evening, though from a very different
standpoint.
His disposition toward the opposite sex was indifferent, if not cold;
but, all the same, it was not particularly pleasant to become suddenly
aware that something about him should cause a look of horror—and no
doubt the feeling with the look—to come over one of them, the first
time he had practically had anything to do with her. He could not sum
it up.
He knew that animals were susceptible to the power of his eyes—or
rather the hypnotic force behind them—but that could not explain the
phenomenon. No animal or human being he had used the power upon had, he
was quite sure, shown horror, fear, disgust; all of which symptoms Miss
Alletson plainly exhibited before she passed into the sleep.
It might possibly have been nervousness on her part, through the
strangeness of the circumstances—he understood that she had never
experimented excepting with her brother—but, against that, he had not
noticed any abnormal state, or he would not have proceeded with the
experiment; indeed she seemed to be quite cool and collected; and, as
far as he could judge, she was of strong character, above the average.
No, it was not that, but then, the thing was a—he stopped abruptly as
he thought of the word “mystery,” and bit his lip in perplexity; it
had such a resemblance to superstition, and all his life, while he had
been instinctively drawn toward such things—so-called mysteries or
superstitions—he had really only concerned himself with such matters to
analyse and expose them.
And yet, what other word could he use for that which is not understood?
Another thing, why should he let it bother him? He could let the
incident drop, and it would be done with. Yes, that might be all right
for some people, but to him it was not possible; his habit of research
would not let him do it.
Again, there was only one so-called mystery he had tackled, of which he
had not been able to get to the bottom, so surely he should be able to
overcome this one?
He felt that he would very much like to know Miss Alletson’s version of
it, but he hardly felt justified—at present—in approaching her. Still,
there was another way to get at the thing; he would experiment on
someone else, and see if the same phenomenon exhibited itself.
Though a man of deep thought, he was practical and of quick action, so
he straight away put on his hat and walked across to Agar Halfi’s lodge.
As he approached the door, he was greeted with a growl of pleasure from
his huge bull-mastiff, which came leaping up at him, and nearly knocked
him down in its delight.
“Down, Hector! Down!” he exclaimed, as he patted the dog’s head, “Where
is Agar Halfi?”
The animal ran to the door, sniffed at it, and came back, wagging his
tail, as much as to say that the door was shut.
“Not in?” queried Brentwood; “well, I’ll wait. Come along!”
He walked into the living room, and sat down on the table, swinging
his legs. Agar Halfi, he knew, could not be long, as it was only five
minutes’ run to the Vicarage.
He looked casually round the room, and started to whistle, when a
thought flashed across his mind which caused him to stop abruptly.
“Why not try the experiment on the dog?”
Calling the animal to him, he took its great head between his hands,
and looked steadily into its eyes. Hector wriggled, and made as if
to get away, but his master silenced him with his voice, and the dog
obediently returned his look with its big honest eyes.
For fully half a minute he concentrated the power of his mind on the
animal, and then, with the second contraction of the pupils, Brentwood
began to be satisfied that the experiment—as he expected it would
do—had passed off satisfactorily. All at once the dog, who had almost
passed into the sleep, whimpered, and, breaking away from his grasp,
backed away from his master whining with terror.
The animal’s action was so sudden and so strange, that the man
momentarily let go the mental hold he had of it. In that instant the
dog’s eyes flamed, and, with a deep, savage bay, he made as if to
spring. Recovering himself immediately, Brentwood shouted in sharp
tones:
“Lie down!”
His master’s voice of command had the desired effect. The
dog—habitually used to obeying it—lay down, though apparently ill at
ease, giving vent to occasional suppressed growls.
The Master of Storton took a long breath, and, pulling out his
pocket-handkerchief, wiped small drops of perspiration from his
forehead. He was keenly awake to the fact that he had had a narrow
escape of his life. No man unarmed could stand against the attack of a
dog like Hector.
However, it was not the first time he had faced death and probably it
would not be the last. But the fact of the dog turning on him set him
“furiously to think.” It looked as if the animal had been affected in
the same way as Miss Alletson. If that were so, he wondered what sort
of a nerve Miss Alletson had, because it would have to be something
extraordinary to make Hector attack his master.
His head sank down on his chest as he tried to unravel it. The animal
without doubt showed fear and horror, whilst under the spell of his
eyes. He also noticed that the thing happened just about the time when
the sleep was in evidence.
He was still musing over it when Agar Halfi entered the room. On seeing
Brentwood sitting there, the Hindoo waited for him to speak. This for
a time he did not do, but instead looked absently at him, as though
debating in his mind whether or not he would say anything at all. At
last he broke the silence.
“Agar Halfi, I’ve a problem I want to discuss with you.”
Without a word the man crossed the room, and, squatting on the
hearthrug—Eastern fashion—began to stare at the fire.
Brentwood watched him and smiled. It was one of the Hindoo’s
peculiarities that he never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary,
and what he had done was simply his way of stating that he was ready to
listen, and all attention.
“I don’t think there is much known about hypnotism with which I am not
acquainted?”
The other man nodded.
“On the other hand,” continued the speaker, “as far as it is possible
I know that you are a master of the science, as you are of most things
occult, and I am going to lay before you a phenomenon which I have
to-day discovered. But before I do so, I want you to test my hypnotic
influence.”
“Why waste time, Sahib? Your powers in that direction need no testing.”
“I have good reason for it, Agar Halfi. It will make all the difference
to what I have to lay before you.”
“Then we will test it,” replied the man laconically.
“What I want you to note is, what you experience while I am using the
power, before you lose consciousness.”
Agar Halfi made no reply, but getting up from the floor, sat in a chair
and got ready for the experiment.
To Brentwood’s surprise, everything went off without the slightest
hitch. No disturbing element at all manifested itself. The Master of
Storton whistled softly under his breath; this complicated matters.
He awoke the Hindoo almost immediately, who at once resumed his seat on
the hearthrug and gazed calmly into the fire.
“So you experienced nothing out of the common?”
“Nothing, Sahib,” was the reply.
The Master of Storton looked vacantly at the ceiling, and then,
without “beating about the bush,” related what had occurred during the
afternoon’s experiment, and what happened later on with the dog.
“Now, my friend, what do you think of it?”
The Hindoo did not reply, but instead rose from the floor, and going
over to the dog, swiftly put him into the sleep, without the slightest
trouble. Brentwood watched while he did it, with interested eyes; not
the slightest action escaped him, and he noticed that there was not any
sign of trouble at all with the animal.
When he had finished, Agar Halfi resumed his seat and studied the fire
with half-closed eyes. At last he remarked:
“When did the Sahib last use the power?”
“Really, I forget, but I think it was well over six months ago.”
“I once saw a man who was possessed with a devil shrink with the fear
of death when I cast out the evil one.”
“What do you think caused the fear?”
“Ah, Sahib, who knows? Possibly the unfortunate one, when on the
borderland above the world, caught sight of his tormentor before he
flew away. Possibly the poor man saw its reflection in my eyes? But
still, who knows?”
Brentwood laughed lightly as he replied:
“I don’t think the lady has a devil, even if the dog has. But it is
possible that they both saw a devil in me.”
“Then why did not Agar Halfi see it?” was the terse reply.
“Exactly, my friend, that is the curious point,” answered the Master of
Storton.
“Besides,” continued the Hindoo, “if you had a devil, you would show
signs of him, and there are no such signs to my knowledge.”
“It is perplexing,” replied the other; “but still, I don’t doubt that
we shall unravel it. There is nothing which we have yet tackled which
we have not conquered, is there?” Brentwood paused, then continued,
“excepting”—he again paused, and looked at the Hindoo, who, without
turning his head, said:
“Excepting that one great mystery, Sahib, which nearly cost you your
life.”
The Master of Storton looked thoughtful, then said in a low voice:
“Yes, I had almost forgotten. Let me see, how long was I in that
trance?”
“Six weeks and two days, Sahib; and at times I did not know whether you
were alive or dead. You never moved nor spoke a word, and although I
did my best, I could not rouse you. You were in the grip of some force
stronger than any Agar Halfi knows.”
“And but for your charmed ring, my friend, I should not be here now!”
The Hindoo slightly shrugged his shoulders as he answered:
“Who knows?”
“Yes,” continued the Master of Storton, “if I had been wise I should
have taken your advice and forgotten that such a place existed; then I
should not have got this,” and pulling down his collar he pointed to a
jagged white scar about three inches long.
“And yet there was no wound, Sahib!”
“Still, Agar Halfi, I will be quits with that ghost yet! For that
reason I am glad you photographed for me those footprints.” He paused,
and whistled softly, then went on:
“My word, each one fully three times as big as a man’s hand! And, as
we have proved since, no known bird has got a foot like that. But the
strangest part of all is, that there were only two of them, and those
close together, barely three yards from where I was lying.”
“That was so, Sahib, and, although I searched closely, I discovered no
others.”
Brentwood thought silently for a time, then remarked:
“It is very extraordinary, but look here, Agar Halfi, if it had not
been material, how could it have left footprints? Answer me that.”
“And if it was material, Sahib, how could it have _not_ left its
tracks?”
They both looked at each other and laughed. Then Brentwood closed his
eyes and said quietly:
“Presumably, being of the bird type, it could have flown.”
“True, Sahib, but Agar Halfi did not see it fly.”
“It was dark, my friend.”
“True again, but Agar Halfi could see the Sahib plainly enough, and he
could also see the great dim shape of the hobgoblin, it being hardly
three strides away from where you were lying.”
“My face is white, besides I was lying close to the fire, and could
easily be seen by you. But the night was dark, you said, there being no
moon, and if the thing was sombre in colour you could not have seen it
any more than to think it was a shadow.”
“Also true, Sahib; but again, if it were material, and did not walk
away (and it must have left its tracks if it had done that), it must
have flown away as you said. But Agar Halfi did not hear the rustle of
its wings!”
Brentwood smiled at the Oriental’s arguments, the subtlety of which
proved to him that there was reason in the Hindoo’s make-up, and what
was more, common sense.
“Quite so, Agar Halfi; but then you were horror-stricken, and all your
attention was apparently turned to me, and in that case you may not
have heard it fly away.”
“If the Sahib judges the size of the evil one from his feet, does he
think it possible that Agar Halfi would not hear him fly away under any
circumstances? I have ears, and should have had to be unconscious not
to have heard him.”
“Even then,” continued the Master of Storton, “you may have been
oblivious to all external things except the one. Remember the state you
were in; all sorts of things may happen under such conditions.”
The Hindoo shook his head as he replied:
“You can find an answer to all things, but Agar Halfi was not deceived.”
“Well, we will leave it at that,” continued the Master of Storton; “and
now, I want to tell you that probably I shall be visiting the priory
ruins to-morrow with the Vicar and his sister, and I want you to come
also. It is possible that there may be work to do there.”