AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER
When Mr. Canning awoke from his siesta it was nearly four o’clock, but
he did not rise immediately. After getting his eyes accustomed to the
light, he drew from one of his many pockets a prophetic almanac! Yes,
it is true, even detectives have their little weaknesses. It was for
the current year, and bore on the title-page the word “Raphael” in
large letters.
Turning to the month of February, he looked at the 21st day, and his
eyes grew interested as he noticed that it was “Full Moon.” He next
turned to the 4th of April and read “New Moon.” Again he turned to the
19th of April, and this time it was “Full Moon.” He then thought what
day of the month it was, and turning to it, read “3rd of May, New Moon.”
There was a momentary tightening of his thin lips, and, dropping the
almanac on his knees, he exclaimed under his breath, “Holy Moses!” He
looked up at the blue sky, and began to whistle a plaintive air. When
he had nearly finished, he made a false note, and stopped abruptly,
evidently annoyed. “I’m always going wrong just there,” he muttered.
Recommencing, he went through it again. Satisfied, he put the almanac
in his pocket, remarking to himself: “And but for this little hobby of
mine, I would not have known it was queer that I should start on this
particular job on the 3rd of May!”
He then mentally tabulated the following points:
(_a_) Rev. Henry Thornton disappeared 21st of February, when the moon
was at the full.
(_b_) Miss Elsie Hobson disappeared 4th of April, at the time of the
new moon.
(_c_) Rev. Philip Alletson had a strange experience 19th of April, when
the moon was at the full.
All the outstanding incidents in this case occurred at the time of the
new and full moon. Therefore, he argued, such incidents are likely to
occur again at the time of the new and full moon.
Now to-day, 3rd of May, it was new moon! He paused in his reflections,
and abstracting a large red handkerchief, blew his nose so loudly that
it startled into wakefulness old William Watkins, the pensioned-off
village policeman, who was just nodding off to sleep on a seat not many
yards away.
The glare that William gave him from beneath his shaggy eyebrows, as he
leaned in a choleric manner on his ash stick, was sufficient to slay a
dozen detectives if looks could kill, but fortunately Mr. Canning was
not conscious of it, for at that moment he was slowly returning the
handkerchief to his pocket. As he jammed it down as far as it would go,
he remarked to himself:
“No doubt, Herbert Canning, you will have a nice entertainment if you
visit the priory to-night. Yes, you had better go, there is no charge
for admission.”
Rising, he started off in the direction of Myrtle Cottage, and
remarked in a cheerful voice as he passed the old gentleman that it
was a pleasant afternoon. The adding of this insult to the already
administered injury, did not tend to pacify Mr. Watkins, who between
his chokes of indignation spluttered something which was certainly not
complimentary; but by that time the tall stranger had passed out of
earshot.
Arriving at his apartments, the detective requested Mrs. Brown to get
him a substantial meal by a quarter to six. Then, much to that lady’s
annoyance and surprise, he went and had a good wash in the kitchen, of
course, just when she wanted to use the sink, and dried himself on the
roller towel on the door!
“Lor’ bless the man!” she said to herself irritably, “as if he couldn’t
have done it upstairs, where I have put everything to his hand.” And if
it had not been that her lodger had paid her fifty per cent. more than
she usually obtained, and half of it in advance too, it is probable
that she would have questioned his “bringings-up.”
When Mr. Canning reached the ruins, it would have been difficult to
recognise Mrs. Brown’s lodger, for a black wig, moustache, and beard
disguised his features. It was just seven o’clock, and the light was
beginning to fade. Avoiding the door in the wall, he made a detour to
the south, and scaling the wall about two hundred yards further on,
dropped into that part of the grounds which must have been at one time
a garden. Crossing it to the west, he climbed the opposite wall, and
then, turning abruptly north, travelled along the outside of it until
he arrived at the east end of the chapel.
Having satisfied himself that no one was about, he stood for a time,
taking in details. To his mind, this was very necessary, as he expected
the place would play a prominent part in the case he had under
investigation.
The day had been exceptionally warm for the time of year, and now,
in the gathering twilight, as the air grew colder, a soft white mist
began to steal up from the ground. He watched it absently, his thoughts
being occupied settling little points in his plan of action. His train
of thought, however, was disturbed by his noticing that the mist
was particularly thick at the west end of the chapel, by the ruined
doorway. That in itself was not of much account, but as he looked, it
appeared to glow with a white luminous light. He closed his eyes for a
few seconds, in order to make sure that it was not an optical illusion,
and when he looked again it had gone. He smiled to himself—experience
had taught him that if one looks long enough at an object, a band
of light will appear around it. He had known people sitting for
clairvoyance delude themselves in that way, by thinking they could see
the astral lights.
The darkness was now rapidly gathering, causing the outlines of the
ruins to fast disappear, and as it closed around him, Mr. Canning
could not help feeling a little uncomfortable. Further, the peculiar
silence of the place made him sharply conscious; and once or twice
he smiled grimly, as the idea would come into his head that someone
was behind him. He had been in a graveyard at midnight, for a wager,
years ago, and he recalled the fact to mind that he did not feel at
all uncomfortable; and yet, standing here, he could not say the same.
There was a something which seemed to have got into his blood, and
was trying to undermine his courage. To a less self-reliant man, that
intimation would have been sufficient, he would have cleared out; but
Mr. Canning was there on business, and the more the feeling grew, the
more he mentally gripped himself with the determination of his rugged
personality. Whatever was there, it would have to fight him.
Just then his attention was again drawn to the mist at the other end
of the chapel, and this time he was bound to admit even to himself
that the luminous glow was a fact. Moreover, he was aware that it was
undergoing some sort of an evolution. Slowly, it began to expand,
and—he could hardly believe his own eyes—out of it the shadowy form of
a human being appeared.
It could not have taken more than half a minute, and he had only just
time to take a mental note of the vision, when it suddenly disappeared,
leaving a dull blackness.
He drew a deep breath, and his hand was wandering mechanically to his
hip-pocket for his revolver, when a deep voice whispered almost in his
ear:
“If you value your life, come with me!”
That he was startled goes without saying, but he gave no sign, except
that his teeth shut with a vicious snap. No detective likes to be
caught napping. He did not even turn round to see who had spoken
to him; instead, he coolly remarked, as if he were quite aware of
another’s presence:
“And the danger?”
“Will be apparent before very long,” answered the voice.
Canning now turned easily, to meet the tall figure of a Hindoo, whom
he could just see in the twilight; and his quick brain at once put him
down to be the body servant of the Master of Storton, in which surmise
he was right.
Agar Halfi looked at him with a faint glitter of interest in his eyes.
This was no ordinary man, who did not even jump when an unexpected
voice spoke in his ear. And what was he doing in the priory at that
time? Sunset!
On his part, Canning was thinking that he had not made a mistake, he
had expected the Hindoo. So far so good, but where was his master? If
only he had known, that was just what Agar Halfi wanted to know!
While these thoughts ran quickly through his mind, he was mechanically
taking stock of the Oriental, and he came to the conclusion that
he was not altogether what he appeared to be. There was something
about his presence not possessed by the average man, which commanded
respect, and as he came to this conclusion, Mr. Canning’s interest in
this mysterious affair began to grow. There was probably more in it
than appeared on the surface. Still, he could ponder over such things
another time, now he must act.
In a leisurely voice he asked:
“If I choose to stay, my friend, what——?”
“You will die,” was the abrupt answer.
The detective laughed easily, as he replied:
“I only have your word for that. Perhaps you will inform me what I have
to fear, and then——”
As if in direct reply to his question, a long, low, plaintive cry broke
on the still air, ending in a hideous, mocking laugh, half screech,
which made his blood turn cold.
Never before in all his years had he ever heard anything to equal it,
and he had vigorously to use his will in order to control himself.
During the silence which followed, he stared hard at his companion, who
did not seem to be in any way disturbed.
Agar Halfi ended the tension by remarking in a low voice:
“Come, there is no time to lose.”
The detective followed him automatically, as though he had not complete
command of himself, and silently and quickly the Hindoo made for the
door in the wall. They had barely got outside it, when once more that
unearthly cry smote their ears. They both stopped, as if compelled to
listen, and Canning felt it penetrate into every fibre of his body.
He must have stood thus for nearly half a minute, like one under a
spell, hardly breathing, and with his arms hanging limp at his sides.
Then with a great effort he mastered himself, and his natural fighting
instincts began to rise.
Simultaneously it struck him as very curious that the other man did not
seem to be affected, which at once led him to a conclusion. It was a
ruse! The Hindoo and his master wanted to get him out of the priory, he
was in their way.
He cursed under his breath at not having thought of it before, and
then, just as Agar Halfi was again moving, he exclaimed in a steely
voice:
“Stop!”
The Hindoo turned quickly, to find himself facing the muzzle of a
revolver, but beyond raising his eyebrows with a surprised expression,
he did not move.
“Tell me,” said the detective in a tranquil manner, “who is the owner
of that beastly voice?” and he shivered slightly as he thought of it.
Agar Halfi’s eyes glinted dangerously, as he answered contemptuously:
“Are you mad?”
“No, the madness, if any, is on your part. Once more, tell me who is in
that place?”
A startled look came into the Oriental’s eyes, as he replied:
“Look behind you!”
Canning laughed sardonically.
“Rubbish, my friend, I’m not to be caught with schoolboy tricks.”
“Look, I say,” persisted the other.
For reply, the detective strode up to the Hindoo, and, going behind
him, looked over his shoulder in the direction indicated. Then, for one
of the very few times in his life, he felt afraid.
Framed in the doorway in the wall were two eyes that gazed at him
malignantly. But such orbs; he had never seen anything like them
before, nor in all probability would again. In colour they were of
a pale reddish hue, and they glowered with the cruellest expression
imaginable.
Fascinated with fear, he returned that dreadful stare, with all the
loathing and hate in his body, and then, he knew not how or why, he
felt he was slowly being drawn toward the doorway against his will. He
fought with all his strength, but unavailingly. Three steps he took in
that direction, and then Agar Halfi’s arm barred the way.
“No further, on your life!” he said in a low stern voice.
Canning’s first impulse was one of fury at the Hindoo’s obstruction,
and he was just going to attempt to force his way past the impeding
arm, when his eyes met those of the other man, and under the influence
of that calm, steady gaze his rage died down, and he practically
returned to his normal state.
Simultaneously, those terrible eyes blazed luridly with hellish rage,
and once again that awful cry rang out, this time dying away in a
chuckle of baffled fury.
On an impulse, the detective raised his revolver, and fired—once,
twice, and as the smoke cleared away, he exclaimed in an unsteady voice:
“By heaven! if there is anything there flesh and blood, I’ve hit it;
I could not very well miss at this distance. Let’s go and see,” and
he started off to the doorway, followed by Agar Halfi, who remained
silent. But not a sign of anything could they find, and Canning looked
perplexed; he could not understand, and went over the ground again and
again with his electric torch. At last his companion remarked grimly:
“Come, you can do no good now. It is not flesh and blood that you have
been combating.”
For a moment the other stood in thought, and then, without a word he
followed the Hindoo down the drive, out into the road. Here Agar Halfi
stopped, and waving his arm in the direction of the village, said
curtly:
“My way is this.”
“And mine,” answered Canning deliberately, pointing in the opposite
direction, “is that.”
Without another word, the Hindoo turned on his heel and started off on
his way. For a moment the other man stared at him interestedly, and
then suddenly he went after the receding figure, and overtaking the man
before he had gone a hundred yards, said:
“I’ve forgotten something, my friend.”
Agar Halfi turned questioningly, and as they faced each other, the
detective continued:
“You probably saved my life just now,” and held out his hand.
A smile came over the Oriental’s dark face, as he grasped the other’s
fingers.
“It is nothing,” he answered quietly. “Some day you may save mine; who
knows?”
“Ah! one never knows,” replied Canning. “If ever I can—” But Agar Halfi
had disappeared in the darkness, and the rest of the sentence remained
unspoken.
For a time the detective stood thinking, and then with a sigh he
discarded his disguise, and carefully put the different articles into
his pockets. Then, whistling softly to himself, he slowly made his way
to Myrtle Cottage.