“THE WRITING ON THE WALL”
It need hardly be said that the joy of Mrs. and Mr. Hobson, at having
their daughter restored to them, was unbounded. At one time they had
never expected to see her again, and their delight at her discovery
had been almost dashed away when they found that she did not recognise
them. But now all was well once more in their household.
As for Arthur Shepperton, he lost the careworn appearance that had
characterised him for the last month, and again became the cheerful,
energetic young man that everybody had known, before the shadow of
tragedy had fallen upon him.
But one of the actors in this weird drama had not any cause for joy.
The day following that terrible experience at Storton Manor, Constance
Alletson stood at the garden gate, gazing despondently before her. Now
that she had had time to think, she realised with deep dismay what she
had done.
Never in her wildest dreams had she thought a time would come when she
would expose to others that which, at all costs, should have remained
locked in her soul’s safe keeping. To have done that was unfortunate
enough; but it was not her only fear; what if _he_ had understood? She
hoped and prayed that the Master of Storton had not divined her secret,
as she fully knew the others had done, and the fact that he had been
barely conscious at the time brought some relief to her tortured mind.
This, then, she reflected, was the secret of her existence which in
her dream the spirit of the priest foretold should be revealed to her.
This: that life, which hitherto had been pleasant enough if not exactly
joyous, was now bereft of every vestige of colour. Indeed, so hopeless
did the outlook appear that she almost despaired of being able to face
it.
She suffered, as many others have done, the torture of hopeless
affection, and understood only too well the terrible truth of those
world-known lines:
“Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.”
True, she had not lost in a strict sense, but to know that her whole
self was consumed in one other, and that that other had never shown her
a single favour, worse, that he was looked upon and known as a cold,
selfish individual, was as good as to have lost.
Only too well she now realised the dominating power of the eternal
flame. Its awakening had brought a crowd of dim recollections to her
mind. It was not new, this love, it had only slumbered unconsciously in
her heart since some long-forgotten age.
And it was no girl’s fancy that possessed her, no fleeting passion of
the flesh. It was the all-powerful, self-sacrificing love of a mature
woman, who knew her own heart well enough to understand that it meant
everything, her very life.
Oh, the agonising sweetness of it all! Despairingly she realised that
either she must live the rest of her life with that one man, or
else—ah, go right away, and mercilessly crush down her nature; she
would have to take the veil. No, there was another alternative—she
could die! She shuddered as she thought of it. She felt conscious that
she had no right to take her own life; and yet, she reflected, why not?
If life were to become a pain, could she be expected to endure it?
With a sigh, she turned, and walking slowly into the house, threw
herself on to a couch. Burying her face in her arms, she tried to
forget, and worn out with many an hour’s weary vigil, she fell into
a restful sleep. Sleeping, she dreamed that a pair of cold brown
eyes looked into her own, searching her very soul; and looking, they
changed, gradually growing warm, then tender. As she gazed into their
mysterious depths, she seemed to read the secret of the soul behind
them. Surely eternal love shone there? Her own spirit responded to
the call, and she was aware of an ecstasy such as she had never known
before.
Before leaving the Manor on the night of the experiment, Mr. Alletson
had arranged that they should all meet at the Vicarage the following
Monday, to further discuss the position of affairs.
To this meeting Constance had looked forward with a certain amount
of dread. She did not wish to meet anyone; naturally she shrank from
coming in contact with people who understood the position in which she
was placed. But she was not a weakling, and, somewhat to her brother’s
surprise, she had decided to be present; indeed, she had resolved to
face the matter out to the bitter end.
To her relief, Philip had not so much as spoken a word upon the subject
of her distress. On the other hand she was conscious of his deep
sympathy, and though she hardly realised it at the time, she knew later
that she would probably have sunk under the weight of her despair, but
for her brother’s unspoken support.
It was a very serious and solemn party that gathered at the Vicarage on
the Monday afternoon. The Vicar sat at the head of the table; on his
right hand, was the Hindoo mystic; on his left the detective; while
further down on either side sat Miss Hobson and Arthur Shepperton,
Constance faced her brother at the foot of the table.
When they were all seated, Mr. Alletson said:
“As you all know, we are gathered here this afternoon to see if we can
in some satisfactory way clear up this mystery. To that end, I am going
to express the wish that everyone will be quite frank in what they say,
and withhold nothing that they know, so that the whole position up to
the present may be made clear to us all. Unless you wish to adopt some
other form of procedure, I propose first of all to ask Mr. Agar Halfi
to state what he knows about this evil thing.”
When he was in deadly earnest, the Vicar had a certain impressive way
of speaking, and the nod of approval which Shepperton gave, caused a
glint of amusement to enter the detective’s eyes. The day after the
scene at Storton Manor, it had taken him fully three hours to prevent
his client from having Brentwood arrested, and even when they sat down
to the table for this meeting, Canning had not been sure what attitude
Shepperton would take.
There was no dissension to Alletson’s proposal, so the Hindoo began:
“I am going to plainly state all that I know concerning this mystery
which has caused us all so much trouble. When I have done, I trust
it will in some way prove that my friend Mr. Brentwood, instead of
being the guilty party in this unfortunate tragedy, has been a more
unfortunate victim of it than anyone present.
Mr. Brentwood and I first came in contact with it in this manner: Some
five years ago, when acting as his lieutenant, while he was travelling
in Eastern countries collecting facts in support of certain theories
he had in connection with psychic phenomena, after a successful
expedition, we encountered this mysterious thing, in Afghanistan,
just before crossing the Persian border, on the way to England.
What happened there you already know, and the proofs of it are in
Mr. Brentwood’s official diary, which is on the table, and which, I
understand from Mr. Alletson, you have all examined. To all intents
and purposes, with the exception of the white scar on his throat,
the Master of Storton, after lying in a trance for nearly six weeks,
suddenly recovered. Shortly after that, he came and settled down here.
For about twelve months nothing out of the ordinary happened, then,
quite without warning, he had a queer experience one morning at dawn.
He related it to me sometime after breakfast on the same day. He told
me that he woke up all at once, wide awake, as if from sleep; but when
trying to switch on the electric light by his bed, he discovered
it was not there, in fact, that there was not a bed. Then he felt a
floating sensation, next one of compression, and finally he found
himself in his night attire, staring out of the east window of his
study.
Subsequently he suffered these strange experiences at different
intervals. We were of course interested, but could make nothing of
them, try as we would. We never dreamed that they could have any
connection with the Afghan manifestation.
One day, following one of these episodes, came the startling news of
the disappearance of Mr. Thornton, followed a fortnight later by that
of Miss Hobson. Next, Mr. Alletson had an uncomfortable experience at
the priory. He approached Mr. Brentwood over the matter, after giving
it serious consideration, and they decided to privately investigate the
matter.
The first item of importance occurred when, in an attempt to obtain a
clue by means of a psychic experiment carried out at the Manor, Miss
Alletson—the medium of that experiment—received a most disconcerting
shock. In her own words, she suffered the mental horror of being
attacked by some influence which without doubt appeared to be part of,
or in some way connected with, the Master of Storton. I believe you are
all acquainted with the details of what Miss Alletson went through. Mr.
Brentwood, the operator at that experiment, was fully cognisant of what
occurred, and subsequently he came to consult me about it. In order to
test the thing, he hypnotised the dog Hector, with the result that the
animal showed the same symptoms as Miss Alletson, indeed, just when the
hypnotic sleep was manifest, the dog broke from its master’s control,
and it was only by acute presence of mind that Mr. Brentwood prevented
the animal from attacking him.
Mr. Brentwood next experimented on me, but I did not exhibit any
unusual sensations, which I put down to the fact that I was, and am
now, impervious to the evil, owing to the control I have over a certain
force, which—curiously enough—the master of Storton and I discovered
almost at the same time. After that, I hypnotised the dog quite
successfully.
Not many days later, Mr. Shepperton found Miss Hobson’s glove in the
ruins, and, with the aid of Hector, an unsuccessful attempt was made to
trace her thereby. But something else happened during that attempt—in
a vault in the ruins, the body of Mr. Thornton was discovered, with
a wound on his throat which corresponded exactly to Mr. Brentwood’s
scar, while beside the body were footprints similar to those which I
photographed in Afghanistan, after the terrible experience through
which Mr. Brentwood and I passed.
What we learned from that discovery set me thinking. I knew now that
the evil which had killed Mr. Thornton was the same as that which
attacked Mr. Brentwood in Afghanistan. Further, I found that there was
a similarity between the sensations Mr. Alletson suffered when he had
his strange experience, and those which Miss Alletson had when acting
as the medium of the experiment at Storton Manor. It did not take me
long to reason from this, that Mr. Brentwood was either directly or
indirectly concerned. That he was directly involved, I never for one
moment believed. This conclusion I formed immediately, upon my personal
knowledge of him. But I was quite satisfied that he was indirectly
concerned, so I decided to watch him closely.
The next step in this strange drama was an experience I myself had at
the priory, in conjunction with a stranger who happened to be there at
the same time.
There was a manifestation at dusk, in the form of a green mist, which
seemed to evolve into human shape. Shortly after, there was a dreadful
cry, similar to that which you all heard the other night at the Manor,
followed by the appearance of those cruel eyes.
When I got back to Storton Manor I was suspicious, and went in search
of Mr. Brentwood. Mrs. Breton, the housekeeper, said he had gone out,
and had left word that he would not be back until late. Now I have the
Master of Storton’s full confidence, so taking duplicate keys, I went
to his bedroom at midnight. The bed was empty, but it showed signs
of having been used, consequently I could only surmise that he had
gone out. After carefully searching the study, I took the precaution
to bolt up every entrance into the house, with the exception of the
private way—only used by him and myself—and by which I knew he would
most probably return. Across this entrance I carefully tacked a piece
of black thread, so that if the door were opened the thread would most
certainly be snapped. Then I went back to my own place.
About dawn the next morning I was awakened by a fierce growl from
the dog Hector, who was staring fixedly at the window, apparently at
nothing. I went out to look round, and was at once attracted by a
portion of the morning mist, which had a faint green tinge. Instantly
interested by the colour, I followed it, and to my surprise it went
through the open east window of the tower study. In a few minutes it
had cleared away, and then I saw the figure of Mr. Brentwood standing
in his night attire, exactly in the attitude he had described to me so
often, when he suffered his strange experiences.
I immediately went to the private door, and found the thread intact.
This proved to me that Mr. Brentwood had not entered the house since
he went out about six-thirty the previous evening. But judge of my
surprise, when I found that he was not only in the house, but asleep,
in bed!
I knew then, that in some way, he was obsessed by this strange evil,
but exactly how, it was difficult to say. As I expected, he came that
morning after breakfast and told me that he had had another strange
experience. I did not say much then—I had determined to follow out my
own line of action, independent of everyone.
After this, there came the surprising discovery of Miss Hobson. When
we heard that she had lost her memory, Mr. Brentwood at once offered
to try and restore it. That he could have done so I have no doubt, and
it helped to prove to me that he was unconscious of his obsession. It
would be very unlikely that a criminal would dare to offer to restore
one of his victims, knowing that if he succeeded his victim might
recognise and denounce him. But there were difficulties in the way.
These Mr. Alletson explained to him, so eventually it was agreed that I
should make the attempt. What happened at the experiment you all know,
and I don’t think it requires any other proof to satisfy any one of us
that Mr. Brentwood has been, and I believe is now, obsessed by one of
the strangest evils that has ever been known in modern times.”
The Hindoo paused, then went on slowly:
“There is only one incident in the whole matter with which I am not
conversant; I refer to Miss Hobson’s experience. Perhaps she will
relate to us exactly what took place?”
Elsie blushed as all eyes turned to her, and looked questioningly
at her lover. Arthur Shepperton nodded encouragingly, so she began,
nervously at first, but gaining confidence as she proceeded:
“It all happened so suddenly, that I have not much to say. I had been
on a visit to my aunt’s at Melton Storton; and when returning home
at dusk, I stopped just to have a look at the priory ruins in the
sunset. Nobody was about, and I think I must have stayed about five
minutes. As I turned to go, my attention was arrested by an awful cry
which came from the direction of the priory. It so horrified me that
I could not move, and I felt sick and cold. I must have stood like
that for some time, and then again that call came to me. I listened
as one hypnotised, and how it happened I do not know; but I began to
walk towards the ruins, as though compelled to do so. I went up the
drive, through the doorway in the wall. As I approached the ruined
chapel, I came to a dead halt, and my heart gave a great leap. Those
terrible eyes, which we all saw at the Manor, were looking at me. They
drew nearer and nearer, while I stood as though petrified. As they
approached, I thought I saw a great big bird behind them; but really I
was so terrified that I could not take particular notice. I gave a wild
shriek, and my hand went to my heart; in doing so, it clutched the gold
cross that I always wear.
I remembered nothing more until I was lying on the couch in the room
at the Manor, with Miss Alletson sitting beside me. All that remains
for me to say is, that when Mr. Brentwood came to congratulate me on
my recovery, the moment I looked into his eyes, I experienced the same
dreadful feeling that upset me at the priory. I instinctively felt that
there was some terrible evil at the back of the Master of Storton’s
mind. That is what made me shriek.”
There was a long silence after Elsie had spoken, which was eventually
broken by the Vicar saying quietly:
“Mr. Agar Halfi has put the facts of the case before us so clearly
and so frankly, that I think we owe him our thanks for the trouble he
has taken. I say this, because I feel that the evidence before us is
sufficient to prove that Mr. Brentwood is a victim, and not the cause
of the evil. What do you think, Mr. Shepperton?”
Thus addressed, the young solicitor shook his head, with a queer sort
of smile, then said:
“I do not feel in a very comfortable position. To be quite plain, I
feel small, and mean!”
They all looked at him with some surprise, excepting Agar Halfi, who
seemed to understand.
“Here am I,” he continued, “in the happy position of having had
restored to me the lady who is to be my wife, through the efforts of
friends who have unselfishly worked on my behalf; and two of them I
have actually suspected of being the perpetrators of the crime. That I
have had cause to suspect them may be the case; but after what Mr. Agar
Halfi has done, and after what I have heard to-day, I can only hope
that he and Mr. Brentwood will not bear any ill-feeling toward me for
the position I took up.”
The Hindoo’s reply was quick and generous:
“On that point, Mr. Shepperton, you may take it that neither Mr.
Brentwood nor I have any ill-feeling toward you; we both understand the
position. You and Miss Alletson had cause to suspect us, and indeed
at one time I myself very nearly suspected the Master of Storton, so
strong did the evidence seem against him.”
“I am indeed glad to know that,” responded Shepperton, “because both
Miss Hobson and I realise that but for you she would not be sitting
here to-day. And now there is one thing I must tell you, Mr. Agar
Halfi. Mr. Canning here is a private detective, whom I called in to
investigate. Almost from the beginning, however, he has not agreed with
my idea of things. But enough; I will let him speak for himself.”
They all looked at the detective, who, rousing himself from the
sprawling attitude he had naturally slipped into, looked keenly at the
Hindoo, and said:
“Mr. Agar Halfi will no doubt be interested to learn that I can confirm
his remarks about his experience at the priory, as it happens that I
was the stranger he met there.”
Agar Halfi looked at him closely, then slowly shook his head. Canning
smiled, then proceeded:
“Of course you would hardly recognise me, as I was disguised. Let me
now thank you for saving my life! You hardly gave me an opportunity to
do so at the time.”
The Hindoo looked surprised and confused, while the rest of the
company, who knew the details of the detective’s experience, enjoyed
the situation.
At length he remarked:
“Then you do not think that it was trickery?”
“I did not at the time,” replied the detective, “but I wanted to test
it as far as I possibly could, though in doing so I ran a very grave
risk, as I realised afterward, when you had gone. That will explain the
attitude I took up in the ruins. Almost from the first I have felt that
the case was not a commonplace one, and that it was outside the sphere
of the ordinary detective. In any case, I have not seen any real reason
to suspect the Master of Storton as being the criminal. Indeed the only
bit of evidence worth consideration has been that of Miss Alletson.”
All eyes instinctively turned to Constance, who all through the meeting
had not spoken a word.
“May I ask, Miss Alletson, what your opinion is now, regarding what
you experienced?” asked Canning.
Constance, whose cheek was resting on her hand, raised her head as she
replied:
“Simply that I hold the same view, except that I now know Mr. Brentwood
is innocent, and was innocent of the obsession under which he is
suffering. I have no doubt about what I suffered at that experiment,”
she concluded, with a slight smile.
“What about the future, Mr. Agar Halfi?” asked the Vicar.
“I can only wait and watch developments, until Mr. Brentwood is
sufficiently recovered to enable him to deal with things. So far, he is
progressing as satisfactorily as can be expected—I should say that he
will be convalescent in twelve to fourteen days.”
The meeting now practically broke up, though for some time afterwards
they sat talking over various matters. At last, however, Agar Halfi
said that he must get back to the Manor to see how Mr. Brentwood was;
he already felt he had left him too long.
He had come over in the car, and as he stepped into it, he picked up
an envelope lying on the seat, addressed to himself in an unknown
handwriting. He glanced at it casually, then put it in his pocket.
Not until he had seen the Master of Storton, and satisfied himself
that all was right, did he think of the strange note. Taking it out
of his pocket, he opened the envelope, and discovered a half sheet of
note-paper. Upon it, in a woman’s handwriting, were the words:
“Watch, and do not sleep, for the end is near.”