STAGE THREE
The weeks sped by. Gladys Martin went on the Stage, and thanks to
beauty and influence, rather than to talent--though in the latter
respect she was certainly not wanting--she became an immediate
success. Her photos, some taken alone, and some with Bromley Burnham,
occupied a conspicuous place in all the weekly illustrateds, and in
innumerable shop windows. People talked of her as they do of all
actresses. Some said her father was a broken-down peer; some, a needy
parson, and some, a policeman! Some said the Duke of Warminster was
madly in love with her; others that Seaton Smyth, the notorious
Cabinet Minister, was pining for a divorce on her behalf, and others,
that she was seldom seen off the stage--she was entertaining the King
of the Belgians.
"I've met her," Lilian Rosenberg said to Shiel, as they stopped one
evening to gaze at Gladys's portraits outside the Imperial Theatre.
"She came to our place to have a dream interpreted, and I thought
nothing of her. I don't admire her the least bit in the world, do
you?"
"I do," Shiel replied, rather sharply.
"Why, you sound quite angry," Lilian Rosenberg laughed. "One would
think you knew her. I wonder if Bromley Burnham is very much in love
with her! He looks as if he were in these photographs! Do you think it
possible for a man and woman to make love to each other every night on
the stage, like they do, without one or other of them being affected?"
"I really couldn't say," Shiel replied. "I'm no authority on such
matters--they don't interest me in the least."
But this was an untruth--they did interest him--and very much, too. He
seldom, indeed, thought of anything else. Had Gladys fallen in love
with Bromley Burnham? Could she resist the fascinations of so handsome
a man? He did not, of course, pay any heed to the gossip that coupled
her name with dukes and other notorieties. He knew Gladys too well for
that, but when he saw her thus photographed, clasped in the arms of
Bromley Burnham, he had grave apprehensions. He longed to see her--to
ask her if she were still free; but his every attempt failed. She
always avoided him, and there was no other alternative save to further
his scheme--his scheme for crushing the Sorcery Company--and to hope
for the best.
And in these dark days of his life, when he was tormented by the
yellow demon of jealousy, and at the same time endured hunger, Lilian
Rosenberg was his solacing angel. Utterly regardless of
appearances--she did not exaggerate when she said, "I am not
conventional; I don't care twopence for Mrs. Grundy." She visited him
in his garret, and she seldom went empty-handed.
"I don't want your things," he rudely expostulated, when she loaded
his table with cold chicken, jellies and potted meats. "I'm not
starving."
"Yes, you are," she said, "and you've got to eat all I bring you." And
she made him eat. She made him, too, go for walks with her, and she
insisted that he should go with her on Saturday afternoons for long
rambles in the country, knowing all the time that Kelson was eating
his heart out for love of her, and prophesying all kinds of terrible
happenings to himself, unless she returned his affections.
Up to this point, at all events, Shiel did not allow his friendship
with Lilian to blind him to the fact that he was cultivating her
acquaintance with a set object. He frequently sounded her to see how
much she knew of the inner workings of the Firm, and he satisfied
himself that she knew very little.
"They never discuss their powers in my presence," she told him, "but I
see them do very queer things, Mr. Kelson seldom walks to his room, he
flies. He takes a little jump into the air, moves his arms and legs as
if he were swimming, and flies upstairs and along the corridor. And
what do you think happened the other day? Some men were carrying into
the building a huge, oak chest and several large pictures that Mr.
Hamar had bought at a sale, when Mr. Kelson arrived on the scene.
"'There is no need to lift these things,' he said to the men, 'put
them down.' He then made some rapid signs in the air and muttered
something; whereupon the chest and pictures rose in the air, and
followed him into the building, and up the stairs to their respective
quarters."
"The men must have been surprised," Shiel said.
"Surprised!" Lilian Rosenberg ejaculated. "They were simply bowled
over, and looked at one another with such idiotic expressions in their
bulging eyes and gaping mouths, that I nearly died with laughter."
"And you've no idea how Kelson did that trick?"
"None, excepting, of course, that the signs he made, and what he said,
must have had something to do with it."
It was on the tip of Shiel's tongue to ask her, if she would try and
find out for him, but he checked himself. Even at this juncture of
their friendship he dare not appear too curious. He must wait.
To go back to Hamar. He had seen Gladys act; he had become more
infatuated with her than ever; and his passion was stimulated by the
knowledge that she was universally admired, and that half the men in
London were dying to be introduced to her.
"Money will do anything," one of Hamar's friends--they were all
Jews--remarked to him. "Offer the manager of the Imperial a hundred
pounds and he'll do anything you like with regard to the girl. Every
manager can be bought and every actress, too."
The suggestion was a welcome one, and Hamar acted on it. But whether
or not the exception proves the rule, he was immeasurably disconcerted
to find that with regard to money and managers, his friend had
deceived him. Far from being pleased at the offer of a bribe, the
manager of the Imperial, an old Harrovian, raised his foot, and Hamar,
who invariably paled at the prospect of violence, hurriedly withdrew.
On the eve of the initiation into Stage Three, the trio were very much
perturbed.
"I hope to goodness nothing will appear to me," Kelson said. "My heart
isn't strong enough to stand the shock of seeing striped figures. They
should come to you, Curtis--a few jumps wouldn't do you any
harm--you're fat enough."
Agreeing each to sleep with a light in his room, they separated, and
at about two o'clock Curtis, who had been suffering of late from his
liver--the effect, so the doctor told him, of living a little too
well--and could not sleep, heard a knock at his door. To his
astonishment it was Kelson--Kelson, in his pyjamas.
"Hulloa!" Curtis exclaimed. "What on earth brings you here, and
however did you come?"
"The usual way!" Kelson said, in what struck Curtis as rather unusual
tones. "I flew here to tell you that we are now in stage three. Give
me paper and ink. I want to write down the instructions I have
received."
Curtis conducted him into his sitting-room, switched on the lights
and, giving him what he wanted, poured out a couple of tumblers of
soda-and-milk.
"This will lower my temperature," he said to himself. "I shall know if
I'm dreaming."
He then sat by Kelson's side and observed what he wrote.
"The properties of walking on the water, and of breathing under the
water are conferred on you during the forthcoming stage. You must
refrain from red flesh and alcohol, but may eat poultry, fish, fruit,
and vegetables in abundance."
"The devil I may!" Curtis said, in a fury. "How very kind! I would
rather have roast beef than all the poulets and kippers in
Christendom."
Without noticing this interruption, Kelson went on writing.
"You must also concentrate for one hour every morning. Grade two in
the scale of concentration, though sufficient for projection through
ether, will not enable you to offer sufficient resistance to the
pressure of water. You must reach grade three in the scale of
concentration, before you can either walk on, or breathe under, the
water. From six to seven a.m. you must fix your eyes on a glass of
fresh spring water, and concentrate your very hardest on amalgamating
with it, on passing your immaterial ego into it. At night, before
going to bed, you must drink a mixture composed of two drachms of
Vindroo Sookum, one drachm of Harnoon Oobey, and one ounce of
distilled water. Vindroo Sookum and Harnoon Oobey are a species of
seaweed; the former of a pale salmon colour, the latter of a deep
blue. They were formerly shrubs growing in the wood of Endlemoker in
Atlantis, and are now to be found at a depth of two hundred fathoms,
twenty miles to the north-east of Achill Island. These weeds must be
well rinsed first; and when the prescribed amount of each has been
carefully cut off and weighed, it must be boiled in the distilled
water, and the compound, thus formed, allowed to cool before being
drunk. This mixture renders the lungs immune to the action of fluid,
and will enable you to breathe as easily in water as in air. There is
still, however, the action of gravity to be considered, and this must
be counteracted by sound. Before experimenting, these Atlantean words
must be repeated aloud in the following order: Karma--nardka--rapto--
nooman--K--arma--oola--piskooskte.'"
"It's all very well to write all these directions," Curtis said, "but
how am I to obtain the weeds? I can't go and fish for them."
"You must engage the services of Mr. John Waley, formerly employed by
the Brazilian Government in repairing marine cables. He will do all
you want for the sum of £200."
Kelson left off writing, and, wishing Curtis good-night, walked out of
the room.
"You'll be deuced cold without an overcoat," Curtis called out after
him. "Won't you have mine?"
But there was no reply, and though Curtis strained his ears to listen,
he could catch no sound of a vehicle.
Kelson left Curtis at twenty minutes past two. At half-past two,
Hamar, who had been sound asleep, was awakened by a loud rap.
"Kelson!" he gasped. "How on earth did you get here? Are you a
projection?"
"Don't worry me with questions," Kelson replied. "I have come to give
you instructions. A paper and ink, quick."
Hamar obeyed with alacrity.
"On you," Kelson wrote, "is conferred the property of invisibility--a
property common in Atlantis, and still possessed by the Fakirs of
Hindoostan, the natives of Easter Island and certain tribes in New
Guinea. You must reach grade three in the scale of concentration, by
concentrating, from five to six o'clock, every morning, on
amalgamating yourself with the ether. You must sit, with your head
thrown back, gazing up into space--allowing nothing to distract your
mind. Wholly and solely, your thoughts must be fixed on the ether.
This property of invisibility can only be successfully practised, when
the third grade in the scale of concentration has been reached. Carry
out these instructions, and, in a week's time, you will then be able
to experiment--to become invisible at will. But before experimenting it
will always be necessary to repeat the words 'Bakra--naka--taksomana,'
and to swallow a pill, composed of two drachms of Derhens Voskry, one
drachm of Karka Voli and one drachm of saffron. Derhens Voskry and
Karka Voli are a crimson and white species of seaweed, that grows on
the hundred-fathom level, thirty miles west-southwest of the Aran
Islands, Galway Bay. Mr. John Waley, employed by the Brazilian
Government for repairing cables, will procure these ingredients for
you. To become visible, you've only to repeat the words,
'Bakra--naka--taksomana,' backwards."
"But how about my clothes?" Hamar asked. "Will they disappear too?"
"Everything!" Kelson answered. "Hat, boots, tie and breeches. All you
have on! Good-night!" And walking out of the room, he leaped into the
air, and flew downstairs. But though Hamar listened attentively, he
could not hear him leave the building--there was no sound of any door.
When they met the following mid-day in Cockspur Street, Kelson
remembered nothing of his visits.
"All I know is," he said, "that the moment I got into bed, I fell
asleep, and suddenly found myself standing in a kind of brown desert,
talking to a tall man with most peculiar features and eyes, and a
dazzling, white skin. He informed me he had been an animal-trainer in
the State of Ballyynkan, Atlantis, and was ordered to give me
instructions as to the taming of the present day wild beast.
"'You must obtain a stone called the Red Laryx,' he said. 'It is to be
found in great quantities on the three-hundred fathom level, forty
miles to the west-south-west of North Aran Island, and can be procured
for you by the same man that gets the weeds for Hamar and Curtis. It
is a blood-red pebble, covered with peculiarly vivid green spots, and
cannot be mistaken. Sit with it pressed against your forehead for an
hour every morning, and concentrate hard on amalgamating yourself with
it--_i.e._ passing into it, and its properties will gradually be
imparted to you. Do this regularly, for a week, and by the end of that
time, you will be able to experiment with animals. All you will have
to do, will be to hold the stone slightly clenched in your left hand,
whilst, with your right, you make these signs in the air,' and he
showed me certain passes. 'Stare fixedly into the animal's eyes all
the while, and, by the time you have finished making the passes, you
will find the animals are subdued. Pronounce these words
"Meta--ra--ka--va--Avakana," holding up, as you do so, your right hand
with the thumb turned down and held right across the palm, and the
little finger stretched out as wide as it will go, and you will
understand what any animal wishes to say.'
"He ceased speaking, and approaching close to me, tapped my forehead;
whereupon there was a blank; and on recovering consciousness, I found
myself in bed, feeling somewhat exhausted and very cold."
"You have no recollection of coming to see us, in your pyjamas, about
two o'clock in the morning?" Hamar asked.
"Don't talk rot," Kelson said. "I'm in no mood for fooling, I've got a
chill on my liver."
"What was it, Leon?" Curtis inquired.
"A case of unconscious projection," Hamar said. "Clearly the work of
the Unknown. We must commence carrying out the instructions at once."
At the end of a week, Hamar, Kelson and Curtis, began to put in
practice their newly acquired properties.
Hamar tested his, in a first-class railway carriage, on the London,
Brighton & South Coast Railway.
"I'll go for a day's trip to Brighton," he said, "and cheat the
Company. They deserve it."
He went to Victoria, and ignoring the booking-office, calmly seated
himself in a first-class compartment, where, amongst other occupants,
sat a quite remarkably proper-looking clergyman, and a very handsomely
dressed lady, with a haughty stare, and a typical _nouveau riche_
nose!
When the ticket collector came round before the train started, Hamar
waited, till every one else in the compartment had shown him their
tickets, and then, just as the man was about to demand his, swallowed
one of the prescribed pills, repeating immediately, in a loud voice,
which caused considerable excitement among the other passengers, the
words, "Bakra--naka--taksomana!" The next moment he had disappeared.
"Strike me red!" the collector gasped, putting one hand to his heart,
and grasping the door with the other. "What's become of him? Was
he--a--a--gho--st?"
"I don't--er--know--er what to--to make of it," the parson said,
heroically preserving his Oxford drawl, in spite of his chattering
teeth. "I don't--er, of course--er, believe in gho--sts! He must--er
have been--a--a--an evil spirit. Dear me--aw!"
"Help me out of the carriage at once," the lady with the stare panted.
"I consider the whole thing most disgraceful. I shall report it to the
Company."
"What's the matter, Joe?" an inspector called out, threading his way
through the crowd of people, that had commenced to collect at the door
of the compartment.
"I'm blessed if I know!" the collector said. "The honly explanation I
can give is that a gent who was seated here has dissolved--the hot
weather has melted him like butter!"
At this there was a shout of laughter, the inspector slammed the door,
the guard whistled, and the next moment the train was off.
As soon as the train was well out of the station Hamar repeated the
words he had used, backwards, and he was once again visible.
The effect of his reappearance amongst them was even more striking
than that of his previous disappearance.
"Take it away--take it away!" the lady opposite him shouted, throwing
up her hands to ward him off. "It's there again! Take it away! I shall
die--I shall go mad!"
"How hideous! How diabolical!" a stout, elderly man said in slow,
measured tones, as if he were reading his own funeral service. "It
must be the devil! The devil! Ha!" and burying his face in his hands,
he indulged in a loud fit of mirthless laughter.
"Why don't you do something? Talk theology to it, exorcise it," a
remarkably plain woman, in the far corner of the carriage said, in
highly indignant tones to the clergyman. "As usual, whenever there is
something to be done, it is woman who must do it!"
She got up, and casting a look of infinite scorn at the
clergyman--whose condition of terror prevented him uttering even the
one telling, biting word--Suffragette--that had risen and stuck in his
throat--raised her umbrella, and, before Hamar could stop her, struck
it vigorously at him.
"Ghost, demon, devil!" she cried. "I know no fear! Begone!" And the
point of her umbrella coming in violent contact with Hamar's
waistcoat, all the breath was unceremoniously knocked out of him; and
with a ghastly groan he rolled off his seat on to the floor, where he
writhed and grovelled in the most dreadful agony, whilst his assailant
continued to stab and jab at him.
In all probability, she would have succeeded, eventually, in reaching
some vital part of his body, had not one of the frenzied passengers
pulled the communication-cord and stopped the train!