THE CASTLE GUARDS
1
I reclosed the shutters, glanced at my disordered bed and then at
Marusa who was standing by the writing table watching me.
Her fur wrap in which she had been muffled she had cast upon a chair,
and I saw that she still wore her Arab costume, except that the veil
was discarded. I thought of the gleaming figure with outstretched
wings which had arisen from the Felsenweir tomb. Dark mediæval
memories from works consulted prior to my visit to the Black Forest
gave up ghostly reflections.
But, looking into those frank blue eyes, the past was forgotten. I
leaped back into an eager present. My heart sang.
Whatever she was, whoever she was, Marusa in some part returned my
interest. She was not indifferent. She had found it worth while to
seek me out in the small hours of the night and to come to my room.
A sense of possession at once delicious and dangerous claimed me;
then:
“I can’t possibly stay long,” she began, and her English schoolgirl
accent added another note to the chord, the insoluble chord, struck by
her unexpected arrival. “I wouldn’t have come--I wouldn’t have dared…
but--” she hesitated--“I was told to-night…”
She ceased, bit her lip in agitation, and glanced aside.
“Yes!” I urged. “What were you told?”
“I was told you were in danger, and I thought that if I could save
you--I ought to come.”
She leaned back against the table, resting her sun-browned hands upon
its edge.
I regretted, and the regret was unfamiliar, that my mode of life had
led me along paths where the wiles of women had not come my way.
Resolutely rejecting a number of memories from my recent studies,
memories of Bohemian and of Polish vampires who inhabited young and
lovely bodies, I endeavoured to consider Marusa as what she claimed to
be--an English-educated girl of mixed parentage.
“I am very grateful. But I don’t understand. You say you were told
that I was in danger. Who told you?”
She watched me for a moment, and I would have staked all I owned on
her honesty. Then she lowered her eyes.
“Please don’t ask me questions,” she pleaded. “If you knew what I
risked to get here, you’d know that what I’ve come to tell you is
serious. I mean--” she laughed in embarrassment--“it’s obvious,
without the risk I spoke about.”
“I won’t ask any questions. Please sit down in the armchair until I
get my dressing gown. If you’d like a cigarette there are some on the
table.”
“Thanks!”
As I made myself rather more respectable, I saw her take a cigarette
from the box and light it with a composure which I admired. I knew
myself to be no psychologist but her behaviour definitely set my
course.
“Do you mind if I smoke a pipe?” I asked.
“No, of course not. But really, I must hurry.”
She watched me filling my pipe, and:
“The truth about what’s happening here,” she went on, “must seem as
incredible to you as it seems to me, and I’m taking frightful chances
by talking to you about it at all. But there’s only one thing that
really matters. You must leave Baden-Baden at once! I don’t mean by
train in the morning--I mean _now_.”
“What!” I paused in the act of lighting a match.
“Truly it is so! You can easily have your things sent along later; but
really”--she stood up and faced me--“I mean what I say. Your French
friend has a car. He would be wise to drive you. The other one, the
American, I’m told has gone.”
Marusa’s last remark interested me keenly. It would appear that
Lonergan’s theory was right. Whatever the Voice might know, others had
been deceived by his change of identity.
“I hate to think that you’re mixed up in this business.”
Marusa made a little gesture of impatience.
“I’m running the most appalling risks”--she laughed unnaturally--“in
telling you even as much as I’ve told you already. Oh! it’s wildly
absurd. How absurd, I haven’t time to explain. Since I came here to
the Black Forest my life’s been just a sort of nightmare. My being
here to-night and talking to you is all part of it. But I want you to
make me a promise, before I say any more.”
I walked across and grasped her slender strong hands.
“What is it you want me to promise?” I asked.
“That you will never tell anyone I came here to-night, and never use
anything I tell you except to save yourself.”
“I promise.”
Our glances met and my grip on the sun-browned fingers tightened.
“Please!” Marusa whispered. “I like you awfully, but it wouldn’t be
fair, would it? Let me say what I came to say--then, I must go. I had
to come, but I couldn’t have come if I hadn’t known I could trust
you.”…
2
I stood by the open window listening to Marusa’s footsteps on a gravel
path.
When silence fell with no sound of a challenge I returned to my
apartment and lowered the shutter again.
Where had she come from? I strongly suspected, from Felsenweir. How
would she return? I had no idea. I had asked her and she had evaded my
question. In short, as I realized now, I knew very little more about
Marusa than I had known before.
One thing I knew, however; and despite the barriers between us it was
good to know--that she cared enough to risk everything.
I was in love. My respect of Marusa’s wishes, the reverence which
checked my impulse to claim the right which her blue eyes admitted,
told me that I not only desired but really loved.
Sitting down at my writing table, I began to make notes.
We were opposed, it would appear, to a creature who concealed his
identity under the extraordinary pseudonym of Anubis. He was the chief
of a secret cult or religion--Marusa was not particularly clear on the
point. Their creed apparently included a belief in a great catastrophe
shortly to end the world. This in itself was not new. There are many
such cults.
None but subjects of Anubis would outlive the cataclysm destined to
destroy humanity. Those, admitted to the secrets of the order, who
betrayed them, died.
I might have been disposed to doubt the truth of the latter statement
had I not personally witnessed an example of the power of the dread
being referred to by Marusa as the Master.
Anubis, I was told, had power over both hemispheres. My questions
regarding the Voice and the giant bats she had declined to answer. Nor
would she speak of Mme. Yburg. Over and over again I questioned the
ethics of my behaviour. Marusa had trusted me. That was the keystone
of the interview.
Nevertheless, I realized to the full what Lonergan and Gaston Max
would have said. Admittedly she was a member of the organization
against which we were pitted, and plainly my duty was to have detained
her.
This organization, according to Max’s theory, was already responsible
for many deaths in the Pyrenees. I had therefore compromised with an
enemy whose hands were red with innocent blood. Yet what could I do?
Now, every sound was a menace.
My watch, lying close beside the blotting pad on the table, I was
frankly afraid to touch. If, as Gaston Max believed, it was the medium
through which the Voice spoke--might it not be a medium through which
the Voice struck?
How much I had failed to learn that I might have learned! Yet who can
blame me? That Anubis could kill from afar silently, leaving no clue,
I knew from experience.
Marusa had assured me that she incurred this danger by visiting me. I
had let her go with a hundred things unsaid--a score of questions
unasked. How much she knew I could only guess. Possibly she could have
unravelled all those mysteries which had brought myself, Lonergan, and
Gaston Max to the Black Forest.
Yet now, with some few facts added to my knowledge which I was not at
liberty to share with them, I sat alone listening for any sound rising
above the rippling of the Oos… not knowing what I expected to hear.
Death might be stalking me now! The silence became terrible. I thrust
the notes into a drawer and stood up.
I determined to call Max’s room. Sleep was out of the
question--solitude insupportable. Menace of poisoned arrows in the
jungles of Brazil was as nothing to this fear of the invisible. I
crossed to the telephone. I had almost reached it--in fact my hand was
outstretched to the receiver--when for the second time that night came
a loud rap on my window shutters!
I turned, my heart thumping madly.
_Rap! Rap!_
“Woodville! Woodville! Are you awake?”
It was Gaston Max!
I rushed across.
“Quiet as possible! But, open quickly!”
I opened.
Max leaped into the room. He wore a dark overcoat, muffler, and a soft
black hat. Obviously he had dressed in haste, and his expression was
rather wild.
“Quick! Get some clothes on! Anything!”
His manner drove me. I began to dress. His next remark was in the
nature of a bombshell.
“Lonergan has disappeared!”
“What!”
“I fell asleep, you see, and, it would appear, so did he. Something
awakened me five minutes ago.”
“What was it?”
“Unless I dreamed, it was a voice calling me by name.”
“The Voice?”
“I don’t think so. This is not my recollection. I sat up with a start
and put on the lamp. Naturally, first I looked in the direction of the
other bed.… It was empty! Lonergan had vanished! But the window
opening on to the balcony was ajar. I ran out and looked. Nothing! I
ran back and tried the room door. It was locked. I returned again to
the balcony--from which, as my presence here shows, it is not
difficult to climb down. By means of my pocket torch I searched
about--and presently I found this!”
From his pocket he took a slip of paper and laid it on the writing
table. He snapped up the lamp.
“Are you familiar with Lonergan’s writing?”
I stared down at the message. It was dreadfully simple:
_Felsenweir. Follow--for God’s sake--_
“Yes, this was written by Lonergan!… If he could write, why not
speak--cry out--wake you?”
Max met my glance with one no doubt as blank as my own.
“I simply have not one idea on this subject! I did not wish to arouse
the night porter and so I climbed down from my window to the garden.
It was, I think, the route taken by our friend.”
“You propose”--fastening my shoes and grabbing a hat--“to make for
Felsenweir? What we can do unless we overtake him on the road isn’t
clear to me.”
“Nor to me!”
“But if you don’t intend to rouse the hotel, how are we going to get
there?”
“Name of a very small dog! I am always prepared for sudden
emergencies! My car is not in the hotel. No, no! I use a private
garage. I have the key.”
I nodded. A sort of apathy was beginning to claim me. Wonders were
wonders no longer. Resembling an athlete in training--I wore flannel
trousers and a pull-over--I extinguished all lights and followed Max
out on to the balcony. We lowered the shutter as far as possible.
Quietly we descended the steps.
That gate which gave on to the bridge I knew was locked. But to wade
the shallow stream was a simple matter, provided the night watchman
didn’t see us. We crossed at a shady spot, climbed the opposite bank,
and came out on the public footpath.
“Now,” said Max, “we must hurry. My garage is in Maria-Victoria
Strasse.”
3
Clear of the hotel grounds, we took a short cut back over the public
bridge and hurried through deserted streets. Once, Max stopped dead,
grabbing my arm.
We stood for a moment listening intently. Not a sound could I detect
to suggest that we were followed. We passed on.
The garage was a small one belonging to an empty house. Max unlocked
the door and swept the interior with his torch, peering all about
suspiciously. There was no evidence of an intruder and we ran the
Hispano out, relocking the garage.
“We are two fools, I think,” Max declared as we headed for the hills.
“Helpless as insects. Felsenweir we cannot, we _dare_ not, penetrate.
Our only chance is to overtake him on the road--if he is on the road.
I have serious doubts, my friend.”
“I share them! But we can’t ignore his appeal. We can do no less than
try to overtake him.”
After this, we proceeded in silence. Indeed, there was nothing to say.
Mile after mile of empty road we traversed at high speed, always
climbing nearer to those haunted woods.
At last came the hairpin bend which I remembered. Max checked to
negotiate it, and:
“Not a sign, so far!” he said. “And here is Felsenweir.”
We had reached the base of that frowning peak upon which the castle
stood. We stopped. Max cut off the lights.
Resembling a speckled ribbon, under dim starlight the highway
stretched empty before us to where it disappeared at that bend which
concealed the main entrance. From here the military road spoken of by
Lonergan wound its tortuous way up around the mighty crag.
We sat there, staring and listening. There was no sound: nothing
stirred.
“I fear we risk our lives in vain,” Max said sadly. “But we must
reconnoitre. It would be craven to return, yet.”
We alighted. I held the Colt repeater. My frame of mind was one which
I find myself unable now to describe. I was conscious of a sort of
buzzing in my ears; but, as I have since realized, this may have been
due not to nervous excitement, but to an actual atmospheric condition
surrounding the woods of Felsenweir.
“I shall go forward twenty paces,” said Max, in a low voice. “Follow
me slowly, so that you keep me in view. But never lose sight of the
car. If you see anything or anyone, shout. I shall do the same. If you
are attacked--shoot.”
In this order we commenced our second reconnaissance of Felsenweir.
I had never in my life experienced a tension similar to that which
held me as I watched Gaston Max march slowly forward. I stood beside
the car counting his paces.… When, looking all about as he advanced,
these paces totalled twenty, he checked. Turning, he raised his hand.
He moved forward again. And _I_ set out, keeping him in sight. On he
went toward the hidden gate. On I went, twenty paces behind him. The
gate reached, he checked. Turning, he gestured--indicating that I
should look back to assure myself I could still see the car.
I twisted about and stared through the dusk.
The Hispano was still visible, its metalwork gleaming dully.
I saw that Max was advancing again. I followed. In this way I reached
the scene of our recent miraculous escape. Ahead of me Max was
approaching that dim crescent which concealed the gates.
The night was deathly still. No sound was audible--if I except the
queer buzzing in my ears.
Again Max signalled me to look back. I did so. The car remained
discernible. I waved my hand, indicating that he should go on. He
signalled that I should draw up closer, then went ahead slowly, and I
hastened my steps in order that I might not lose sight of him.…
He had rounded the bend and for a moment become invisible before I
reached that point heavily overshadowed by trees which marked one horn
of the crescent.
A dim stretch of road, its form resembling a new moon, stretched
before me.
Not a soul was in sight!
I stood stock still. I was unwilling to believe the evidence of my
eyes. I could hear no sound--see no living thing. Whereupon,
precaution forgotten:
“Max!” I cried. “_Max!_”
My voice was tossed back to me mockingly from the Felsenweir slopes;
but no answer came!
What I should have done had I been entirely master of myself I cannot
say: I know that a sense of horror settled on me like a damp cloak.
But what I did do was to run forward wildly in the direction of a gap
in the trees which I knew must mark the gates.
I reached it. What I saw was this:
A towering ancient iron gateway, reinforced with barbed wire, and
flanked by miniature stone towers. Beyond, a rising ill-kept road,
ploughed up as by passage of heavy vehicles.…
Not a soul was in sight.
Through trumpeted hands I shouted:
“_Max!_”
Again the word was buffeted back in mockery. That throbbing in my ears
grew more intense.
4
I turned and doubled on my tracks. Round the horn of the crescent I
raced to where star-lighted road stretched straightly.
Then I pulled up with a jerk.
I could see the car.
But between me and my goal, lurching down upon me with long ungainly
strides, was a giant figure of gleaming black!…
Every man’s courage has a breaking point. I am not ashamed to confess
that mine came now. Raising the Colt, I fired again and
again--wildly--at that advancing horror.
If I hit or if I missed I shall never know. I emptied the magazine.
But its ungainly stride, heavy with the heaviness of the inevitable,
never ceased, never changed. The Thing bore down upon me like a black
Fate.
“Merciful God!” I cried--and knew that I was frightened as a child.
I turned. I began to run.
Now, my knowledge of maps, upon which Lonergan had congratulated me,
came to my aid. Straight on toward the ominous gates I ran, but,
running, wondered if I should pass them alive!… Max!
On I raced. And I passed the gates unchallenged. There was no road and
no path marked in the map for five hundred yards or more. I must skirt
those deathly woods. I concentrated on the map, visualizing it as I
ran.
Yes! I could see the footpath, the path which led to safety--or at
least away from Felsenweir, with its black guardian horrors.
It descended steeply past a ruined church--and, came a new pang of
horror, actually led to that bleak, sparsely wooded expanse which
marked the site of the former village of Felsenweir--scene of Countess
Adelheid’s horrible visitations!
No matter. It was a short cut to the highroad. I recalled that not a
mile beyond were two or three scattered dwellings, the nearest so far
as I was aware to the dreaded castle area.
Hope of assistance before this point, I had none. I well knew there
was not a soul for miles around who would have approached the ruins of
the ancient hold at night for anything short of a king’s ransom.
I was none too fit, and my heart seemed to be bursting; but I carried
on until--at last! at last!--I glimpsed the beginning of the path, a
white finger pointing to safety.
Here I had to pull up to recover my breath. Panting, I stood and
looked back.
What I expected to see was the armoured figure. For this I was in part
prepared. For that which I did see I was not prepared.…
A perfectly naked man of gigantic build, but so emaciated that he
might have been an unwrapped mummy--his skin of a dull, lustreless
yellow--was rapidly overtaking me!
I caught the gleam of sunken eyes, of a face resembling a death’s
head. I saw fang-like teeth!
The Thing--I could not otherwise identify it--carried something--a
scarf, a cloak, flung over one shoulder.… With gigantic strides and a
wild animal agility it sped toward me.
I think I shrieked. Certainly I tried to do so. Then I turned, and
literally hurled myself down the steep slope!
At times, I could not see my way. Yet I never hesitated.
_Pat--pat--pat!_
The bare feet were ever behind me and ever nearer! My breath coming in
sobs, I burst at last through a fringe of trees. Before me lay the
desolation which had been Felsenweir Village.
So much I saw. I collapsed. Mighty hands grasped me.…