THE POWER OF THE MYSTIC
“Agar Halfi, I’ve lost that photograph of the footprints!”
A surprised look entered the Hindoo’s eyes as he gazed at the Master
of Storton, who was leaning easily against the mantelpiece of the
breakfast-room.
“It may be awkward, Sahib, if _some_ people find it.”
Brentwood smiled.
“The worst of it is, I have lost it outside somewhere. I had it in the
pocket of my shooting jacket on the morning I first went to the priory,
and it is not there now. I know for certain that I did not take it out
when I returned home.”
“You have the original, Sahib.”
“True; but what I am concerned about is, that whoever happens to find
it may take it to the police, who, you will remember, took great care
to have copied exact impressions of the footmarks that were found
beside the body of the Rev. Henry Thornton, and, as we only too well
know, they are the same!”
“If anyone had found it, you would most probably have heard something
before now.”
“That seems reasonable enough. Still, I wish I had it safely here.”
He stood thinking for a time, and then, dismissing the matter from his
mind for a moment, said:
“I expect, like me, you have been wondering how this evil thing got
over here?”
The Hindoo folded his arms and shook his head solemnly.
“What concerns me more,” he replied, “is that we do not know how to
cope with it.”
“I’m afraid it baffles me,” returned Brentwood. “Has it, then,
exhausted all _your_ powers?”
“No, Sahib, I cannot say that, because a man does not know the limit
of his power until it is really tested. But up to the present it has
mystified me.”
“It does not appear to correspond in principle to anything we have
met,” said Brentwood meditatively.
“If I speak my mind, Sahib, I feel that this evil thing is impervious
to any attack by man from the physical plane.”
The Master of Storton looked at him thoughtfully, as he replied:
“If that is true, Agar Halfi, then there is only one possible way to
deal with it, at least to our knowledge, and that is——”
“With an almost certain risk of death,” interrupted the other.
Brentwood nodded slowly, then remarked:
“Well, we shall see. Now, to go back to my original question. Why
should it be here where we are? Remember that, so far as we know, you
and I are the only two people in England who have met with it. Has it
followed us?”
“I do not know about that, Sahib. It is five years and more since we
encountered the hobgoblin in Afghanistan, and surely if it has followed
us, why did it not do so immediately?”
“That argument seems reasonable enough, my friend, but it does not
necessarily follow that it is right.”
“Your Western theory of astronomy is accepted because it is the most
reasonable, but it does not necessarily follow that it is right.”
Brentwood laughed outright, and then replied:
“I don’t think your analogy is quite right, Agar Halfi. The alternative
to your argument is not a very feasible one, whereas in my case it is
quite a probable one. The thing may have followed us here directly we
came!”
“Then why has it not manifested before?” returned the Oriental quickly.
“That, of course, is the natural answer to my remark,” replied
Brentwood, “and it constitutes the doubtful point in my theory.
However, we shall see how things develop.”
Having spoken, the Master of Storton looked down at the curb, and
started kicking it with the toe of his boot. At length he remarked:
“Agar Halfi, why don’t you go back to India and found a school of your
own? You know very well that you have control of a force which, so far
as you are aware, no one else but myself possesses, and yet you are
content to stay here, masquerading as the chauffeur of a well-to-do
Englishman.”
“If you wish your servant to depart, he will do so, Sahib, but
otherwise he is satisfied to stay here for the present.”
“Don’t misunderstand me,” returned Brentwood quickly. “So long as you
want to stay with me, you know you can; I am honoured by your presence,
and I do not wish to inquire into your reasons for so doing. But life
is short, at least on this plane, and I sometimes feel that you are
wasting valuable time.”
“There are certain things which I have got to do,” he answered slowly.
“When they are accomplished, perhaps I shall go back to my own country.
But for the time, Sahib, I will stay with you.”
“That is entirely for you to decide,” replied Brentwood. “You know my
mind on the matter.”
“For one thing,” went on Agar Halfi, “you are my friend, and I wish to
be near you. A man is not dishonoured because he serves those he loves.
Far better to be a man’s lacquey than eat the bread of idleness in his
house.”
The Master of Storton’s face softened as his companion spoke, and there
was a warm ring in his voice as he said:
“Your high devotion belittles me; it is greater than any white man’s
that I know. Though you are the only one, I am rich in friends.”
There was an awkward pause, neither man having anything to say. At
length Brentwood broke the silence by asking abruptly, “What do you
make of this?” whereupon he produced a letter, and handed it to the
Hindoo.
Agar Halfi read it with an expressionless face.
“+The Vicarage,
Worlstoke, Somerset+,
_May 19—_.
“+Dear Brentwood+,—You will no doubt be surprised to hear that
Hector arrived here to-night about 7 o’clock, and, in spite of all
efforts to the contrary, will not leave my sister! No doubt you
will be relieved to hear where he is, and perhaps you will send for
him in the morning.
“Yours sincerely,
“+Philip Alletson+.”
“I will fetch him, Sahib.”
“Yes, but what do you think about it?”
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“One thing,” continued Brentwood—“I noticed that he seemed to take a
great fancy to Miss Alletson the first time they met; but beyond that I
fail to understand the animal’s action.”
“Dogs are particularly susceptible to mental and psychic influences,”
returned the Oriental, “and probably something in the lady attracts the
dog to her. It is doubtful if it could have any bearing on the mystery.”
“Perhaps not, but still it will be as well to note what takes place
in the future. You see more of the dog than I do, so perhaps you will
watch him.”
“Very good, Sahib, and now I will go and fetch him.” Saying which, he
saluted in soldier fashion, and, turning on his heel, went through the
doorway.
The Master of Storton followed him with his eyes as he went out, and
there was a strange smile on his face as he remarked half aloud:
“Probably the most highly developed mind I have ever met, and
undoubtedly the truest man.”
As Agar Halfi strode along the road to the Vicarage, his mind was
full of ominous forebodings. He felt depressed, and his Oriental
intelligence, which interpreted things in a different way to a
European’s, warned him that trouble was not far away. He had read it
in the stars, could detect it in the aura around him, and, indeed, he
knew from his master’s horoscope that a dangerous period was at hand.
Probably it was for that reason he was not going back to India just
yet. In any case, he did not mean to leave his beloved friend at a time
when trouble was looming.
It was not for nothing that the evil death which he had once faced in
Afghanistan had come to the neighbourhood of Storton. In some way he
gathered that it must have some connection with what happened to them
five years ago, and until the mystery was cleared up he would remain.
But how were they going to encounter it with success? Ah, that was
another matter, for, deeply as he was learned in mystic law, he felt
that he was powerless to overcome this horror at present.
If it had been a vampire, a werewolf, or any other evil thing that
emanated from the malignant rays of the planet Saturn, he could have
dealt with it, for his knowledge held the key to the forces which
sprung from that great sphere to plague humanity. If it had been an
elemental, or any evil from the astral plane, governed by the planet
Uranus, he might have hoped to cope with it; but the fire charm he
had wrought that night, five years ago, had not availed, except to
ward off death. And such a charm as he had fashioned was, as he knew,
sufficient to neutralise any astral evil.
Deep down in his mind, he was conscious that this weird thing was a
psychic manifestation, under the rule of the adverse rays of Neptune,
the forces from which star were now slowly beginning to become active
in the affairs of humanity. Little was known of the power of its rays,
except that the results were evil, and, although the occultists were
studying it closely, so slow was its progress through the heavens,
that years must elapse before its effects could be understood to any
apparent degree, let alone mastered.
For that matter, it was doubtful if there were a dozen men who held
the key to the planet Uranus and the astral plane! So what could he,
a simple seeker after truth in the mystic arcana, hope to accomplish
against the forces of the unknown psychic plane? It were doubtful if
the powers of a Mahatma would avail.
And yet, as he walked quickly along, this strange man resolved that he
would combat this dread thing, though he knew it would be at the risk
of his life. And the unselfish reason that caused this resolution was—
Well, that is Agar Halfi’s secret for the present.
In the meantime, he had reached the Vicarage. To his enquiry for the
Vicar, Martha said that the master was out, but that Miss Alletson
would be pleased to see him. The maid showed him into the drawing-room,
and her eyes never left his face once. Besides the fact that the Hindoo
was a curiosity to be stared at, the presence of this dark-skinned man
fascinated Martha, and for a space she stood looking at him as though
glued to the carpet, probably wondering whether he was an ogre, who
would eat her. All sorts of fearful things flitted through her rustic
mind. Visions of knives, pistols, and implements of torture. Meanwhile,
Agar Halfi, who had taken a seat, turned his eye toward her, as she
stood in the doorway. That settled Martha; suppressing a shriek, she
turned and fled. And, as she confided to her best friend the next time
she saw her, “he must be a dreadful man, his eyes looked through and
through me, and I’m sure he knew all that I was thinking about.”
Constance entered the room just after, and greeted her visitor with a
pleasant smile, though her pale cheeks and hollow eyes bore evidence of
the strain she had experienced the previous evening.
On her heels followed Hector, who no sooner saw the Hindoo than he
stood stock-still and looked at him dejectedly, as though uncertain
what to do, while his tail traversed a descending arc.
Agar Halfi considered him for a moment grimly, then in his deep voice
he exclaimed, “Come here!”
With a spiritless look, the dog went over to him and lay down.
Constance could not help laughing as she remembered her brother’s
futile efforts to turn him out the night before, and compared them with
the simple victory that Agar Halfi had achieved.
“Until you came, he simply would not leave me, and last night he lay on
the mat outside my bedroom door.”
“And what do you think about his behaviour?” asked the Hindoo in his
grave way.
Constance, who had dropped into a chair, was talking quite easily to
her visitor, whom she naturally treated as her equal. Further, she
felt quite comfortable, and sub-consciously noticed that there was not
present any of that instinctive reserve which intuitively a woman is
aware of when talking to a man who is practically a stranger.
A smile parted her lips, showing her excellent teeth, as she replied:
“That is the very question I was going to put to you. Still, as you
have anticipated my inquiry, it is only fair that I should answer
first. Frankly, I cannot dismiss the matter from my mind as a mere
trifle. There must be some reason for the dog’s conduct. When first we
met, he seemed to take an extraordinary liking to me, but I can hardly
think that that would be the cause.”
“It rather points to it, Miss Alletson.”
“Can you suggest any other reason?”
“No,” he replied, “I cannot, yet I do not think that what you have
intimated will explain the dog’s strange behaviour.”
“Is not that what is called ‘woman’s logic’?” she queried, with a
sparkle in her eyes.
Agar Halfi looked steadily at her as he answered:
“I submit to the rebuke contained in your remark, Miss Alletson—we men
deserve it. But, if I may say so without arrogance, I would answer that
I know emphatically there is another reason for the animal coming to
you, but what it is I am at present quite ignorant. Some day I may be
able to tell you.”
She looked at him in genuine surprise.
“Do you know, that what we called an educated white man would blush to
make such a statement, Mr. Agar Halfi? He would at once think it an
insult to his reason.”
“And yet you don’t think so!” interjected the Hindoo.
“How do you know that?” she asked sharply.
“Simply because the faculty of intuition by which I was enabled to make
the statement is one which is well developed in most women, but in
few men. The general life of a woman tends to its growth, whereas men
depend almost solely upon reason, and thereby lose much that they might
otherwise know.
It is usually by the combination of these two faculties that genius is
produced; and the rareness of genius is probably caused by the fact
that reason and intuition cannot dwell together in what is called
the average mind, as they appear to contradict each other, though in
reality they are true affinities.”
“I have never heard anyone speak as you have spoken, Mr. Agar Halfi,
though in a dim sort of way I have had similar ideas; but until your
lucid explanation it has not been clear to me. Yes, I think I entirely
agree with what you say. Now, why don’t women develop the faculty of
reason?”
“They are doing so slowly, in the same way that men are developing the
faculty of intuition. The difference is that in the former case, the
lack of growth is due to centuries of suppression, and not until men
realise that they must give women their freedom will the growth of
reason fully develop. But before that time comes, women will no doubt
have wrested themselves free from their chains by their own efforts.
On the other hand, the growth of intuition in men is to some extent
retarded by the fact that they do not think women capable of teaching
them anything worth knowing, and yet it is only by the freedom of women
from men’s yoke that men can reach their own full development. They
have clung too much to the physical, and practically ignored all else.”
Constance sat in silent wonder, listening to this strange man discourse
on topics in a manner which she thought would put to shame many
of the so-called educated units of her own country, and she could
not understand how it was that he should be merely a servant in an
Englishman’s household. Still, that was not her business, and, after
all, what did it matter whether a man was a servant or a master,
so long as he was a man? But that mystified her; a man with such a
personality and of such intelligence, should not need to be a servant.
She did not understand that economic conditions of life brought about
queer results.
While she sat thinking, the Hindoo was studying her face. At last he
remarked:
“You are not in the best of health, Miss Alletson; have you had a
shock?”
She started slightly as he correctly diagnosed the cause of her
indisposition.
“Well,” she answered, a little confused, “I was rather upset last
night, but I feel better now—” She almost added, “since you came in,”
but checked herself in time.
As if he understood, Agar Halfi replied simply:
“You will feel better this afternoon!”
“I expect I shall naturally,” she answered, with a suspicion of a smile.
“I do not mean that, lady. I say that practically all traces of your
indisposition will have vanished before three o’clock.”
“Indeed!” she queried.
But the Hindoo did not satisfy her by responding to her question.
Suddenly, she did not know why, and had not had the least intention
of doing so, she found herself relating to her visitor a dream she
experienced the previous evening.
“I do not know at all how it came about, Mr. Agar Halfi, but suddenly
I seemed to stand in a wild rocky region in a strange land, and there
before me, standing with outstretched hands, was a man of your own
country. His dress was similar to that of a priest, and he looked at
me with a stern expression of warning. In his left hand he held the
number 15, and in his right hand a cross. I suppose he meant to convey
something to me, but I do not understand symbols. Do you know anything
about them? Somehow I feel that you do.”
While she spoke, the Hindoo’s countenance grew graver, and she noted
with alarm that he seemed perturbed.
“Why did you tell me this?” he asked in an unnatural voice.
“Really,” she replied, a little distressed, “I could not say; it seemed
to come from me involuntarily. Is it anything serious?”
“Yes, it is serious, Miss Alletson, but please do not be disturbed at
what I am going to say. I will interpret your dream. A fortnight before
the disappearance of Mr. Thornton, your brother’s predecessor, I had a
very similar dream, the only difference being that instead of the man
holding in his left hand the number 15, he held a chart of the heavens,
and in his right hand the number 13 instead of the cross.”
She looked at him incredulously.
“Can it be possible?”
He smiled, and answered:
“I will describe the man. He was tall and gaunt with a long grey beard,
and his garments hung loosely over him, leaving his arms almost bare.”
“That is almost exactly the same,” she said excitedly. “Now what can
these dreams mean?”
“I will interpret them,” he answered slowly.
“The vision was of a holy man, who went forth to exorcise, and was
killed by an evil similar to that which is now present in this
district.”
Constance felt a cold shiver pass over her.
“Now in my dream,” continued the Hindoo, “the chart he held in his left
hand meant the horoscope of Fate, that which is to be. The number 13 in
his right hand is the symbol of death. Roughly speaking, Mr. Thornton
was killed thirteen days after I had that vision. In your dream the
number 15 in his left hand is the symbol of the devil, or evil. The
cross in the right hand means that the evil can be overcome by that
means.”
Constance trembled in spite of her brave efforts not to do so, and her
lips were dry and white as she said almost in a whisper, “I always wear
a gold cross,” and she held it up in her fingers for him to see. It was
fastened by a chain of the same material, which hung round her neck.
“Never let it leave your body,” he said warningly. “It is more potent
than many people think.”
“And so these two dreams appear to be connected with the tragedy?”
“Yes, there does not seem to be much doubt about that,” he returned.
“Don’t you think we ought to meet and talk things over?” she asked.
“I will put it to the Sahib when I return, Miss Alletson.”
“Quite so,” she retorted; “but I want your own opinion as well.”
“I do not know, Miss Alletson,” he said gravely. “I am not certain how
things will turn out. Really, I must be going; I did not know it was so
late.”
Constance looked at the clock and exclaimed: “Oh! how time flies.
Philip will be in to lunch any minute now. Won’t you stay and have some
with us?”
“I feel honoured by your request, Miss Alletson, but unfortunately it
is quite impossible for me to stay.”
“Well, another time I shall not take a refusal, Mr. Agar Halfi,” she
said with a bright laugh.
Calling Hector to him, the Hindoo took his departure, with apologies
for keeping his hostess such a long period.
“Oh, that is just my fault,” she answered. “I was so absorbed in what
we were talking about, that I forgot the time.”
Agar Halfi had barely gone five minutes before Philip walked in, and
his first words to Constance were:
“Why, you look ever so much better than you did when I went out this
morning.”
“Yes,” she retorted. “If a flushed face through hurrying, and eyes
made bright with excitement go for anything. But seriously, Philip, I
do feel much better, and strangely the change came when Mr. Agar Halfi
called for Hector.”
“Oh! Then that animal has gone at last?”
“Yes; but come and have lunch, I am sure you must be hungry, and I have
a lot to tell you.”
While they ate she related what had happened during the morning, and
she seemed so very interested, that Philip wondered for a moment
whether the Hindoo could possibly have influenced her. But he discarded
the idea almost immediately, he knew his sister too well.
“It is rather strange that Brentwood should not have mentioned the
coincidence of the footprints before this,” he remarked coldly, when
she had finished. “It is a week since we found poor Thornton’s body.”
“That is what I cannot understand,” she answered.
“It looks rather as if he did not intend to tell us, and perhaps—very
probably, his man has made a _faux pas_ in mentioning the matter?”
“Do you really think, Philip, that Mr. Brentwood is guilty in any way?”
Philip looked at her steadily as he replied:
“Honestly, I don’t. I cannot think such a man would be capable of such
a crime. What is your opinion—the same as mine?”
“No!” Alletson stared, while Constance resolutely looked at the
tablecloth.
“What!” he exclaimed.
She lifted some crumbs from the cloth on to her plate with a knife,
then raising her eyes and looking straight at her brother, she answered
firmly:
“I fully believe that he is guilty!”
“You believe——!”
“Yes, Philip, and I will tell you why.”
She then related in detail what occurred during the experiment at the
Manor. Her brother listened rather impatiently. He was hurt to think
that his sister should have withheld anything from him.
“And is that what you were going to tell Mr. Shepperton and me last
night?”
“Yes, Philip, but I could not. Some power compelled me to keep silent.
I knew that something strange and uncanny was in the room, close by me,
and I could not command my voice.”
“But how does this make Brentwood guilty, Constance?”
“Can’t you see, Philip? Don’t you understand? That feeling of horror I
suffered and that dreadful something I felt at first compelled to find
behind the man’s eyes, and which afterwards I knew was seeking me, is
this evil which has killed Mr. Thornton, and no doubt Elsie Hobson. To
be blunt, it is Mr. Brentwood, it is _he_ who is the evil.”
She spoke with such vehemence that her brother sat staring at her
dumbfounded for fully a minute after she had finished. Then as it
dawned upon him what she meant, he gave vent to a short bitter laugh.
To think that she, his sister, should appear to be so fully convinced
of his friend’s guilt, when in his own mind he had no doubt about his
innocence, was irony.
Suddenly he looked at her intently, and said in a low voice:
“And last night when you went to the window?”
“Yes, I was looking toward the ruins!”
“And—and when you put your hands to your ears?”
Her voice trembled as she answered:
“It was to shut out that awful alluring call, which seemed to be for me
alone.”
The Vicar felt a shiver pass down his back, as he called to mind his
own experience.
“And the dog?”
Constance shook her head. “I don’t understand that at all.”
For some time neither spoke a word. What they had been discussing
seemed even there, in that cheerful room in broad daylight, to have the
power to cast a shadow over their spirits.
At length Philip asked gently:
“Why did you not tell me at the time what you suffered during that
experiment?”
“Well, Philip, partly because I did not want to hurt you in any way,
unless I was quite sure that there was something wrong, and indeed I
would not, even in my mind, think ill of any one without sufficient
cause. But now I feel no doubt of it.”
He nodded spiritlessly, in agreement with what she had said, then
remarked:
“And partly what else?”
She turned her head away, and commenced toying with her fingers, and he
saw that she was trembling just a little.
“Really, Philip, I’m afraid I don’t know. But there _was_ something
else, which I cannot understand.”
He looked at her uneasily, not knowing what to think. Her attitude was
so unlike her real self; she was usually so frank and brave. Now she
seemed all to pieces, and unnerved.
“Surely it was not because you were afraid to speak, my dear girl?” he
asked kindly.
“Oh no,” she returned quickly; “you know I’m not like that.”
“Then was it—” he stopped abruptly, for, with what sounded very much
like a sob, Constance had risen swiftly and left the room.
The Vicar fell back in his chair perplexed, amazed, and for the second
time that week he forgot himself, and exclaimed:
“Good Lord!”