ALMOST A TRAGEDY!
Herbert Canning had arranged to be at the Vicarage at 6.30 +p.m.+ on
Friday, the day the attempt was to be made to restore Miss Hobson’s
memory. The matter was of personal interest to him, apart from his
professional obligation. He had dabbled in astrology, had some notion
of planetary influence, and indeed only lack of opportunity had kept
him from studying other occult things.
What knowledge he had gained in astrology had been acquired by
practical experiments, the theory of it, like that of anything else,
not being satisfactory to a matter-of-fact nature like his. He
preferred that sort of proof—certainly the most convincing—to any
reasoning that could be extracted from books.
It would be well if there were more people in the world of the same
turn of mind. As it is, most of us allow a few to do our thinking,
_i.e._ do not think at all, while most of the few only think, and never
experiment, which after all is the only sound way to acquire knowledge.
As the detective walked leisurely along, he was turning over in his
mind the following facts:
(1) Rev. Thornton disappeared 21st February, at the full moon.
(2) Miss Hobson disappeared 4th April, at the new moon.
(3) Rev. Alletson had strange experience 19th April, at the full
moon.
(4) Herbert Canning had strange experience 3rd May, at the new moon.
(5) To-day, an unusual experiment taking place, 16th May, at the
full moon.
Now that is queer, he thought. I should hardly think it could be
coincidence that the date of this affair should have been fixed by that
Hindoo gentleman when the moon is at the full! If there is anything in
my theory at all, something will happen to-night, the same as things
have happened before at these periods.
He analysed it for some time, as, being a practical man, he was very
anxious not to delude himself. He knew that his knowledge of astrology
was superficial, but what he had learned had been gained by practical
experience, and he was interested. Further, the tabulated facts would
be useful for study in his leisure moments.
During his long and varied experience, he had seen numerous so-called
occult manifestations, most of which, he had satisfied himself, were
mere trickery. But on one or two occasions he had witnessed things
which, analyse as he would, had appeared to him genuine, and he had not
allowed prejudice to condemn everything wholesale.
He was fully aware that it is usually those who are ignorant of a
subject who vilify and condemn it. Indeed he had read about a famous
astronomer who had attacked and tried to ridicule astrology. All
went well until a colleague, who had carefully studied astrology,
clearly demonstrated to the astronomer that he was making himself look
ridiculous.
What he had experienced at the priory ruins was a problem sufficient
to make the most sceptical think seriously. On the one hand, as Mr.
Shepperton had suggested, it probably was trickery. That, however, was
simply a statement, against which he could reasonably put the following:
Firstly, he was personally satisfied that no trickery could have caused
the sickly, paralysing fear that had gripped him.
Secondly, the footprints, if a fake, were the cleverest thing of the
kind he had seen.
Thirdly, it was difficult to point to any object in committing the
crimes. The only possible motive could be blood-lust, and if he were
any judge of character, neither the Master of Storton nor the Hindoo
were criminals of that type.
Fourthly, Miss Alletson’s evidence, if a fact, pointed to something
very grave indeed. Either the Master of Storton was a new type of
criminal, or else—what?
Mr. Canning shook his head, it was beyond his understanding at present.
Still, that last item constituted the only real evidence against Mr.
Brentwood. This he had intimated to Mr. Shepperton, who did not seem
over-pleased at the conclusion; but then, the detective had seen pretty
plainly from the beginning that that gentleman was suffering from bias,
no doubt caused by the shock he had received. They could have as many
suspicions as they pleased; the only thing that would trouble Mr.
Canning was evidence.
Just before he reached the Vicarage, he was passed by a motor-brougham,
which slowed up at the gate, and he at once concluded that the driver
was Mr. Brentwood. In this he was correct, and a few minutes later he
was being introduced to him by the Vicar.
The detective’s keen trained glance took in every detail of the other
man’s visible characteristics while he wished him good evening, and he
satisfied his first impression, that the Master of Storton was not of
the criminal type so far as he knew; but, like his Eastern servant, had
a strong personality, and would be a very difficult man with whom to
have trouble, being a type that would fight to the last.
What, however, mystified the detective more than anything else was,
that he could not help being drawn to the man, in the same way that he
had felt drawn to the Hindoo!
It was a very solemn and quiet party that drove off a few minutes
later. Constance and Elsie, with the Vicar and Shepperton, occupied the
brougham, while the detective sat beside Brentwood in front.
The latter drove in silence, his attention being taken up with his
work, and the detective, feeling retrospective, did not disturb him. It
was not until negotiating a sharp bend in the road that the Master of
Storton spoke:
“That is a nasty turn,” he remarked quietly.
“Yes, it seems rather sharp,” replied the other.
The ice being broken, Mr. Canning took what seemed like a plunge:
“Do you hope for a successful result to-night?”
Brentwood smiled a little at the bluntness of the question, as he
replied:
“If what we surmise is correct, that the trouble is purely one of the
mind, and is not in any way caused by physical disorder, I have not
much doubt about the issue.”
“And if there were any physical cause?”
“Oh, that would be quite another matter. The experiment in that case
would be useless.”
Further conversation was not possible, for by now they had reached the
Manor, but as the car stopped, the Master of Storton said:
“I shall probably have something to say before the experiment takes
place, which will no doubt be of particular interest to you all.”
The Tower study, which Agar Halfi had decided should be the scene of
his operations, was a revelation to Shepperton and Canning, when about
five minutes later the party was conducted there, and the Vicar was
busy answering questions which they put to him concerning it, for quite
a time.
As for Constance, as soon as she put her foot in the room she
experienced a feeling of dread, and almost put forth both her hands,
as if to ward something off. A slight giddiness overcame her, and try
as she would to shake it off, the idea dominated her mind that the
influence of some other presence pervaded the room, silent, mysterious,
evil.
She struggled bravely with herself, and as the thought came into her
mind of her responsibility to Elsie, who was practically in her
charge, she by an effort partly overcame her forebodings, and stepped
firmly into the study.
The east window was open, and, with a feeling of relief, she quietly
went to it and looked out, inhaling the fresh night air with
satisfaction. She tried to compose herself, repeating in her mind how
silly it was to be upset by her imagination, but her limbs trembled
beneath her, and gladly would she have fled, but for her sense of duty.
She gazed abstractedly at the rising moon, now appearing over the
hills, and noticed that it was tinged red, with the last rays of the
setting sun. It fascinated her fancy, and for a time her thoughts
wandered dreamily. All at once it occurred to her that the apparent
blood-redness of the moon was an ominous sign. Was there going to be a
tragedy at the experiment to-night? She instinctively clasped her hands
together, then the moon appeared to sway to and fro; she mechanically
grasped the casement, and by a supreme effort of will, saved herself
from fainting.
How long she stood gaining control over her physical organism she
did not know, but a gentle pressure on her arm caused her to start
slightly. Turning, she looked into the serious but kind face of her
brother, who said in a low tone:
“My dear Constance, are you all right? They may think you are
neglecting Elsie!”
“I’m so sorry, Philip, I’ve been dreaming,” she answered with a faint
smile, and then she at once went over to Miss Hobson.
The study had been carefully arranged for the occasion, and even
Alletson, who knew it well, was surprised. The north wall, which he
always remembered as being covered with a great hanging curtain, had
disappeared, and he realised that the study did not occupy the whole
space of the Tower. There was a further room on the north side, which
evidently was only divided from it by a folding wooden partition, which
the curtain usually screened. This had been thrown open, revealing the
other room, the floor of which was raised about a foot above the level
of the other. The curtain had been transferred to the further side, and
the place gave the appearance of a great room, with a raised platform
at one end.
Across the centre of the study was a long low table, and on the
opposite side of it to the platform were placed several chairs,
evidently for the onlookers. On the platform itself, placed across the
front eastern corner, was a long low couch like an ottoman, except that
the head was only raised about a foot above the body of it. Fitted
against it was a cylindrical-shaped cushion. On either side was a
brazier, supported on a metal stand of curious Eastern workmanship. In
the centre of the platform, near the edge, stood a small marble-topped
table, which had on it a large flask and a wine-glass. A thick Indian
carpet covered the floor, and the electric light from the brackets on
either wall, east and west, was subdued by violet shades.
Shepperton smiled a little sarcastically as he noted the arrangements,
and remarked to the detective in a low voice:
“A very pretty show, eh?”
Canning nodded, and replied a little curtly:
“If the result is as good as the show, Mr. Shepperton, you will not
have cause to complain.”
A stubborn expression came into the young solicitor’s eyes, and
gripping the other’s arm, he whispered:
“If I see anything that is not absolutely straight, I shall not
hesitate to shoot!”
The detective, beyond slightly shrugging his shoulders, did not reply
to this remark, but incidentally he happened to be always on the side
of Shepperton where he knew that gentleman was carrying a revolver, and
when they sat down for the experiment, he had not altered that position.
During the short silence which followed, the attention of all was
attracted by the entrance of their host, followed by Agar Halfi. They
looked in surprise at the Hindoo. He was dressed Orientally—a large
white muslin turban adorned his head, and a long flowing robe of the
same colour and material almost reached his feet. His natural dignity
seemed to be increased by his native dress, and indeed for a moment it
seemed as if he might have been some Eastern potentate being received
in a strange court, so noble did he look. But he himself at once
dispelled the thought, by the natural ease with which he conducted
himself.
Accompanied by the Master of Storton, he ascended the platform, and
stood with folded arms between the couch and the table in the centre.
Brentwood went to the other side, and in his cold measured way
addressed the others who were sitting in the study:
“To-night I feel it incumbent upon me to introduce to you my friend
and companion, Mr. Agar Halfi, in a new light. Hitherto you have known
him simply as a servant of my household. That in a sense is true, but
the position is one of his own making, and his reasons for it I do not
consider it necessary to discuss. Suffice it that in his own country
Mr. Agar Halfi is a doctor of medicine; more, he is a master of the
occult. I mention these facts, in order to settle any uneasiness that
might have been felt with regard to his ability to deal with Miss
Hobson’s case.
Mr. Agar Halfi has been my close friend for many years, and I have
absolute trust in his honour and integrity. If it is at all possible to
restore to Miss Hobson her memory, he will, I am certain, be able to
accomplish it. The worth of my words will, I trust, be proved later on
this evening.
Now on that point I would like to say a word or two before Mr. Agar
Halfi proceeds to experiment.
Miss Hobson’s disorder is understood, and rightly so, to be a case of
lost memory. Such a thing could arise from three causes: firstly, by
a physical injury to the brain; secondly, by a shock to the nervous
system; and thirdly, by a psychic obsession of the mind. The latter
cause I can best explain by mentioning that little understood state
of what is called trance. No doubt all of you have heard of people
being thrown into such a condition—sometimes for weeks and weeks—which
has baffled all medical skill. In most cases, the entranced persons
have been found to be perfectly healthy physically, have taken
food regularly, and have eventually regained normal consciousness,
apparently little the worse for their strange experience. The law which
governs this phenomenon is little understood in Western civilisation,
except in so far as it relates to hypnotism, but in the East it is not
only understood, but can be produced at will. In Miss Hobson’s case, we
have the testimony of Dr. Trestlewood that she is in ordinary physical
health, and that there is no external injury to the brain.
It is evident that she first suffered a shock to the nervous system,
followed almost immediately by a state of trance, similar to that into
which I was cast when in Afghanistan, the difference between the two
incidents being, that I recovered normal consciousness, whereas Miss
Hobson has not. In other words, the obsession in her case has not left
her, in my case it did——”
Here he faltered, and a bewildered look came over his handsome face,
as though some unknown presence had given him the lie direct; but
recovering himself almost immediately, he concluded:
“Mr. Agar Halfi will now attempt to remove that obsession by a method
known only in the East, and there by but a few. Please keep as quiet as
possible; it is essential that no disturbing element should irritate
the psychic conditions of the room during the experiment.”
Having thus spoken, Brentwood asked Constance if she would take Elsie
to Mr. Agar Halfi, and then sat down.
With a word of encouragement, Constance clasped Elsie by the hand, and
escorted her to the couch on the platform. As soon as she had seen her
comfortably seated, she turned to the Hindoo and whispered:
“Did you notice Mr. Brentwood falter when speaking?”
“Yes, and I feel that a crisis is at hand. But compose yourself, Miss
Alletson, and remember the advice given to you in your dream. I will
guard you!”
As he spoke, he looked steadily into her eyes, and Constance felt new
strength enter her soul.
“Thank you,” she answered simply, “I will remember,” and then she
quietly returned to her chair.
The Hindoo silently switched off all the lights in the study, leaving
only the shaded ones on the platform undisturbed. Then striking a
match, he applied it to each brazier, on either side of the couch.
Suddenly a thin straight column of green smoke began to ascend from
the one on the east side, shortly followed by a column of red smoke
from the other, filling the air with a faint aromatic perfume. Quietly
turning to the table in the centre, Agar Halfi opened the flask which
was upon it, and poured some of its contents into a wine-glass. This he
proffered to Miss Hobson, asking her in a gentle voice to drink it. She
took it mechanically, put it to her lips, and tasted it. Evidently it
was to her liking, for she immediately drank it up.
Taking the glass from her fingers, the Hindoo returned it to the table;
then going back to the couch, stood silently looking at his patient.
Suddenly she rose quickly, and extending her arms toward him, gave
a little cry of pleasure, but instantaneously, almost before the cry
had escaped her lips, her expression altered, the colour fled from her
face, and with a sigh she fell back on the couch; her head dropped
forward, her limbs relaxed, her hands appeared listless, and it was
apparent that she had lost consciousness.
Very gently the Hindoo placed her full length on the couch, her head
resting on the cushion at its head, and she seemed to be just in a
peaceful sleep. He looked at her intently; gradually the colour left
her lips, then her cheeks, the regular heave of her bosom became slower
and slower, until it apparently ceased; her features grew set, like
wax, and at last she was to all appearances, dead!
Unnerved, Shepperton drew in a sharp breath, and would have started up
from his chair, had not a grip on his arm, which hurt, held him down,
while the low clear voice of the detective whispered quickly in his ear:
“Silence, man; would you kill her?”
Satisfied, Agar Halfi stepped back, and stood with folded arms staring
rigidly just behind the head of the couch, which, owing to the position
of the shades on the lights, was in deep shadow. All eyes followed his
gaze, and as they looked, a faint vaporous mist appeared, as though
drawn from the body of the prostrate girl, and collecting just behind
her head, hung about two feet above the third brazier, flickering
feebly with a dull grey light.
Apparently content, the experimenter turned his attention to the other
two vessels, from which were now ascending two steady flames of red
and green fire. Lifting the brazier on his left from the stand, he
emptied its contents into the empty one at the head of the couch,
then did the same thing with the other. Immediately there issued a
dense white mist, soon followed by a tall column of white fire, which,
glowing with a soft bright light, shot up into the air, and seemed to
completely devour the dull mist suspended above it.
This continued for about a minute, then gradually a change came over
the scene. The fire, which had completely left the brazier, now
appeared to become absorbed by the mist, which still hung over the
silver vessel, and was glowing brilliantly in the surrounding shade.
With quick, deft hands, the Hindoo drew away the brazier from under the
mist, and silently going to the foot of the couch, stretched forth his
arms over Elsie’s still form, as though trying to reach the fire at
the other end of the couch with his fingertips. For fully five minutes
he stood thus, while the others looked on in wondering apprehension.
Gradually the bright light above Miss Hobson’s head began to stream
down toward the Hindoo’s hands, and slowly he stepped back little
by little, as though drawing the fire with him, until it completely
enveloped the whole of the couch. It remained like this for some time,
then it grew less, and less, until it had entirely disappeared!
Not until the white fire had completely vanished, did Agar Halfi move,
then going to the left side of the couch, he took the girl’s listless
hands in his own, and stood gazing at her face with steady, flashing
eyes. This he continued to do for some minutes, and at last a faint
shade of colour tinged her cheeks; then gradually the rise and fall
of her breast denoted that she was breathing, and in a short time she
again appeared to be in an ordinary peaceful sleep.
Something like a sigh of relief went up from the others, when they
saw that the patient had assumed a more life-like expression. Turning
toward them, Agar Halfi said calmly:
“I have finished. It now only remains for me to awaken Miss Hobson, and
then we shall know whether or not the experiment has been successful.
It would be as well if Miss Alletson will come and sit by her, so that
when she regains consciousness she may have somebody near whom she
knows.”
Constance looked at Arthur Shepperton hesitatingly—
“Yes, please go,” he said.
With quick steps, she went and sat on the side of the couch, and took
the unconscious girl’s hand in her own. Agar Halfi went to the other
side of the couch, and looked steadily into Elsie’s face for about a
minute; then he turned to Constance, and saying quickly:
“In ten seconds she will awaken,” went and stood by the curtain which
hung on the north wall.
Elsie opened her eyes with a blank expression; then feeling that
someone had hold of her hand, turned her head to look. For a moment she
gazed as though surprised, and during that brief space of suspense,
Constance’s heart almost ceased to beat.
“Where am I, Miss Alletson?”
As she spoke, Constance felt her heart jump, then with an effort she
controlled her feelings, though a look of joy came over her face.
“You have been very ill, Miss Hobson; don’t you remember?”
“Well, I have some idea about it, but where am I?”
“Do you feel all right?”
“Oh yes.” Saying which, she sat up and looked around. The next moment
she rose quickly, and exclaiming, “Arthur!” went over to her lover, who
had risen to meet her.
There was a lump in his throat, and his eyes were wet, as he took her
hand. In a voice strange with emotion he said:
“Then you know me, Elsie?”
“Know you? Of course I do, dear,” and she looked at him, surprised.
“But where are we, Arthur? I’m bewildered; what has happened?”
It was as much as he could do to answer coherently, so great was his
joy. “We are at the Manor, Elsie; you lost your memory, and it has been
restored to you. Come, let me introduce you to the gentleman who has so
successfully carried through the experiment. Mr. Agar Halfi,” he cried
warmly, “please come and be thanked by your patient, and me, indeed by
us all.”
Thus addressed, the Hindoo advanced slowly from where he was standing,
and Constance formally introduced him to Elsie Hobson, who, after
looking at him wonderingly, thanked him quietly.
“It is all so strange,” she said, “I hardly know what to make of it!”
“That will soon be all right, Miss Hobson,” replied the Vicar kindly,
“and now, let me introduce you to Mr. Brentwood, our host. I don’t
think you have met him before.”
A strange silence fell on them all, as Alletson spoke. Each felt that
a critical moment had arrived, and in particular, Constance had a
sensation of sickness, similar to that which sometimes forewarns one of
danger. Would or would she not say, “That man is the culprit!”
“Mr. Brentwood, please.”
The Master of Storton, who, since the time he had sat down after
speaking, had not moved from his chair, rose when the Vicar called his
name, and advanced to them along the platform, while they moved forward
to meet him.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hobson,” he said
courteously, “and doubly pleased to know that you are now quite
recovered.”
He spoke quite collectedly, without any trace whatever of conscious
guilt, and certainly Canning—whose eyes never left his face—was
satisfied that if the Master of Storton was not an innocent man, he had
never seen one before.
Elsie’s face flushed with pleasure, as she returned her thanks, and she
smiled up into his face. But as her eyes met his, the smile died. She
took two or three short, sharp breaths, a look of terror crossed her
face, and then, with a shriek, she turned and fled blindly into the
arms of the detective, who was standing about two yards away.
“Save me!” she moaned. “Save me!”
They all rushed to her, wonder-stricken; then their attention was
arrested by a cry of rage from Arthur Shepperton, who was looking
fixedly at the platform. Following his eyes, they stood spellbound at
what they saw.
Standing with clenched hands, a look of intense agony on his face, was
the Master of Storton, partially enveloped in a green mist, while his
eyes scintillated with a fierce, cruel look. So great was the change in
his features, that it was almost impossible to recognise the usually
calm, handsome face, which looked diabolical, with the short dark hair
standing up on end.
Gradually the mist completely enveloped his figure, and out of the
vapourish folds, two awful eyes began to glow, with a terrible,
malignant gleam, that has never been seen in human gaze. Instinctively
Canning, who knew at once that what he now beheld was the same as
the manifestation in the priory, placed himself in front of the
half-fainting girl, who had rushed into his arms; but beyond that he
could not stir, indeed a terrible silence filled the room. So powerful
was that hellish influence, that all of them stood horror-stricken,
unable to move.
Constance Alletson knew now what it was that had upset her. That which
she had seen in Mr. Brentwood’s eyes during the experiment at the Manor
was the evil now manifesting before them, the mysterious horror which
had killed Mr. Thornton, and very nearly killed Elsie Hobson. She gazed
in a fascinated manner, she felt weirdly calm, and then all at once she
became aware that those dreadful orbs were looking at her alone. She
felt sick, and a feeling of intense loathing passed through her. Then
something seemed to call, attract her; what it was she could not tell,
but it appealed to something deep down in her nature, in a way which
she had never understood before. All she could realise was that it was
evil, and much as she knew she hated it, she felt she was held by its
power. She moved forward one step, then another, and with helpless
horror, those other spectators of this strange scene saw that she was
slowly being drawn toward the awful thing on the platform.
Nearer and nearer she drew, and it seemed as if another tragedy was to
be enacted, when all at once the silence was broken by a deep growl,
and there emerged from underneath the long table fixed across the
room, right between the helpless woman and the horror on the platform,
Brentwood’s dog, Hector!
At first he stood looking, whimpering as with terror, and he backed
away right up against Constance’s dress, and stood shivering as with
an ague. Whether it was the touch of the woman, or what, it is not
possible to say; anyhow, the dog’s attitude suddenly changed; his hair
bristled, his eyes flamed, and with a deep bay he gave one mighty
spring, straight at those cruel, evil eyes.
There followed a horrible chuckling screech, which ceased
instantaneously, as though cut off by a sharp human cry. Constance
heard it, as one in a dream; it sounded to her as if someone had been
hurt. Then all at once she became fully conscious. With a sharp breath,
she clutched her breast as she felt a pain at her heart, just as if she
had been stabbed, only a thousand times more poignant. That voice she
knew, it was Mr. Brentwood’s, and heedless of all else, she started
to run forward, but stumbled against the raised floor, and fell. She
was on her feet in a moment, and as she rose she saw Agar Halfi leap
on to the platform. The next moment there was a quick blinding glare,
which lighted up the room, followed by a crackling sound; the green
mist seemed to spread everywhere, then gradually the air cleared,
and Constance saw dimly the figure of the Hindoo kneeling over the
prostrate body of the Master of Storton, who lay white and still, his
neck and left shoulder covered with blood, which slowly dripped down
on the carpet. Beside him crouched the dog, shivering and whining, and
licking his master’s hand, as though in grief at what he had done.
Instantly she was there, and as she approached she heard Agar Halfi
exclaim in a stricken voice:
“My master, my beloved friend, speak to me! Oh! I fear I have
annihilated him also!”
“No, not that!” The Hindoo looked up mechanically, to meet Constance’s
eyes, filled with a new fear, her face very pale and drawn. “Do not
say—he cannot be dead!”
But no hope was to be read from the Hindoo’s stony countenance.
Regardless who saw her, Constance went down on her knees, and clasped
the limp fingers of the stricken man.
“Dead! Dead!” she moaned brokenly. What did anything matter now that
his life had gone? Too late he knew, murderer or anything else, that
she loved him, and in her newly created grief she madly asked that she
could die also.
The next moment she stared, wonder-stricken. His eyes had opened, and
he was looking at her in a strange bewildered way.
“No, not yet,” he said slowly, then fainted right away. Agar Halfi gave
an exclamation of joy, and leaping to his feet said:
“He lives, and there is hope!”
A firm grasp on her arm brought Constance to her senses, and the next
minute her brother raised her from the ground.
“Come,” he said in a hard voice. He felt keenly what his sister had
revealed to them all. “Come, Constance, while we remove Mr. Brentwood
to his chamber.”
Very carefully they carried the unconscious man to his bedroom beneath
the study. There, the Hindoo summoned Mrs. Breton, and after telling
her not to inform the rest of the servants, explained that the master
had had a serious accident, and bid her obtain water and bandages.
It took but a few minutes to fetch what was necessary, and having
consigned Constance and Elsie—the latter having fairly recovered from
her last shock—to the housekeeper’s care, Agar Halfi, with the aid
of the other men, cut away Brentwood’s upper garments and carefully
dressed the wounded shoulder, which he found to be a severe fracture,
caused by the dog’s formidable jaws.
When he had almost finished, he stopped suddenly and exclaimed in a low
voice of surprise, “Look!” at the same time pointing to the unconscious
man’s exposed throat.
They all drew nearer, wondering, then almost with one voice they
exclaimed:
“The scar!”... It had turned blood-red!