Agar Halfi the mystic

With rapid strides, Agar Halfi made his way to the Manor. As he walked, he thought long and seriously; forgotten for the time was his queer meeting in the priory with the stranger. That no doubt he would recall later on, but at the moment something of far greater importance occupied his mind.

The phenomenon he had seen when standing behind the other man in the ruins, had probably given him a key with which he would be able to unlock the mystery which had been baffling them so long.

Reaching the Manor, he went straight to Brentwood’s study, but found the door of the bedroom which led to it, locked, and the place in darkness. He listened for a while, but no sound reached his ear, so descending, he inquired of Mrs. Breton, the housekeeper, if the master was in.

That lady was busy checking accounts in her sitting-room. She raised her sharp grey eyes in surprise at the Hindoo’s question; it was so very unusual for him to inquire after Mr. Brentwood; generally he knew all his movements, in fact, if any of the household wanted to know the master’s whereabouts, they always went to Agar Halfi to find out.

“Well,” she said, “the master went out at half-past six, and left word that he would not be home till late, and that I was not to prepare anything for him.”

“I suppose you have no idea where he went?”

“Not the slightest. All I know is, that he was dressed as if he were going to walk.”

The Hindoo stared at a picture on the wall opposite, while he thought, and Mrs. Breton turned her attention to the column of figures she had been adding, when interrupted by her visitor. She checked it again carefully, and, satisfied that it was correct, turned her head inquiringly.

She looked at the dark, stern face with a wry expression. In spite of her fifty years, grey hair, and long service at the Manor, she had never been able to quite understand the relationship that existed between her master and his Eastern servant. They were more friends than anything else, and as she knew, spent much of their time together.

Still, being a practical woman, she had not allowed that to trouble her, though she was well aware that other members of the household were very jealous of the Hindoo. But Agar Halfi had never in any way interfered with her, indeed, had always shown her the utmost courtesy, and the fact that he had liberties which others did not possess, was, after all, Mr. Brentwood’s business.

“Did he leave any instructions for me?”

“Not a word,” she answered quickly.

He nodded solemnly, and after a few casual remarks, departed to his lodge. Passing through the living room, he went upstairs to his sleeping apartment, and taking a key from his pocket, opened the door of an inner room, the threshold of which none but he and the Master of Storton had ever crossed.

It lay east and west, with a window on either side; and was the chamber wherein the Hindoo practised the occult arts. But it was as unlike the general idea of a magician’s sanctum as could be imagined. The floor was polished with beeswax, and in the centre was covered by an Indian carpet about three feet square. The north and south walls were draped from ceiling to floor with dark tapestry, that on the south wall being divided where it covered the door which gave communication to the bedroom, and the windows were heavily curtained with the same material. On each side of the west window was a fantastic cabinet, on either side the east window, a copper brazier, supported on a tripod. Under the west window was the only sitting accommodation the room contained, in the shape of a long, low settee; while under the east window stood a curiously inlaid Indian table, which had on it a large cross of pure gold.

Carefully closing the door behind him, Agar Halfi switched on the electric light, and drew the curtains across the windows. The electrolier which gave light to the room was fixed in the ceiling, and covered by an opaque bowl. This had the effect of throwing the rays upward, thus imparting a soft, clear, and even light to the whole of the room.

For a moment he stood hesitating. Where was the Sahib? That was what he did not know, but was determined to find out. One way he knew of seemed pretty certain to bring about the desired result, but he was not sure that it was wise to take it. At last he passed back into the bedroom, and in a few minutes appeared clothed in a white robe which covered him from head to foot. Going to the cabinet on the right-hand side of the window, he took therefrom a pair of balances and a large metal jar. Out of the latter he took some reddish-brown powder, which he carefully weighed. That done, he put the balances and the jar back into the cabinet, not forgetting to lock it. Then, taking one of the copper braziers from its stand, he put it on the carpet, and kneeling down, began to chant in a low voice, with his hands held palms downward over the vessel. For several minutes he continued thus, and then there suddenly shot out of the brazier a thin, transparent flame. Picking up the powder which was by his side, the Hindoo emptied it into the vessel, and there issued forth a dense smoke which gradually filled the room. When it had dispersed, he was lying motionless, stretched full length on the carpet, his hands folded on his chest, a look of calm sleep on his dark, finely-moulded features.

For nearly three hours he remained in this state, and it wanted but a quarter of an hour to midnight when he regained external consciousness. Opening his eyes, he raised himself to a sitting position and listened. It was raining, he could hear the drops beating on the windows; and a night wind had risen, which moaned fitfully round the house. He rose slowly, walked a few steps, then stood listening again. This time it was a doleful whimpering by the door. He went and opened it, and Hector fawned at his feet.

Agar Halfi looked at the dog with a smile, then patted his great head.

“Ah, my friend, you can come with me.”

Hector wagged his tail, as though understanding.

“Now lie down, while I dress.”

Obedient to the Hindoo’s voice, the animal crept under a chair, and lay watching the man, who, with a frown on his brow, mechanically put on his everyday garments. He had not been successful in his experiment; no trace could he find of the Master of Storton. The failure to do so perplexed him. Try as he would, there always seemed to be something which was just too strong for him to overcome.

He had a growing conviction that Brentwood was in some way involved in this mystery, yet there was no tangible clue upon which he could act.

“Ah!” he muttered, “it is Fate.” Then, with a quick movement, he went and unlocked one of the drawers in the left-hand cabinet in the inner room, and took from it two keys on a ring. They were duplicates of those which belonged to Brentwood’s bedroom and study. Donning an ulster, he beckoned to the dog, and went downstairs. Passing out of the lodge, he quietly closed the sitting-room door behind him and made his way to a private entrance into the Manor, to which only the Master of Storton and he had access. Opening the door, he called Hector after him, and together they ascended a narrow stairway which led straight to the top of the building. At the end of the staircase was another door, which the Hindoo opened, and they emerged on to the landing of the general stairway of the house. Directly opposite was the door of Brentwood’s bedroom. Silently Agar Halfi turned the handle, and was satisfied to find it locked. He listened intently, but no sound fell on his ear except the falling of the rain and the mournful wail of the wind. Just then a great clock in the lower hall chimed twelve. He smiled oddly as he thought of the time, and without more ado unlocked the bedroom door, Hector close at his heels, and switched on the light.

One glance showed him that the room was empty, though the bed gave every appearance of having been used. Silently closing the door, he without hesitation climbed the short stairway to the Tower study, unlocked that door, and again switched on the light. Here also, he met with a similar result, the room was vacant.

He looked keenly around, but everything appeared to be in order, even to the west window, which was always kept partly open. Then something happened which roused his curiosity. Hector, whom he had momentarily forgotten, growled somewhere behind him. Turning, he saw the dog in the doorway, with hair bristling and muzzle drawn up, looking with wrathful eyes apparently at nothing!

“Quiet!” he said in a low, determined voice. Then he called him softly, but instead of taking heed, the animal started to back, slowly, in the same manner that a cat will when its gaze is held, his great eyes fixed on the east window. Instinctively the Hindoo looked in that direction, and for the first time he noticed that the window was open. A frown appeared on his face; he felt quite sure it was shut when he first looked round the room, though he could not have sworn to it for a certainty. Still, that would not be the cause of the dog acting in this manner. Walking over to the casement, he looked out into the night and listened intently; but only the sound of the elements and the rustling of the trees came to his ear.

Then he thought of the empty bed! Where was the Sahib? That was the dominating thought in his mind. It was fairly clear that if, as Mrs. Breton said, the Master of Storton had gone out at half-past six, he had returned, gone to bed, and gone out again! The fact that the bed had evidently been slept in pointed to that. But such a procedure was incomprehensible.

Turning from the window, he looked at Hector, who was lying just outside the door with watchful eyes, his muzzle on his huge paws. For a time he eyed him grimly, then with a deep, sonorous laugh, switched off the light and went out, carefully locking both doors after him. Calling the dog, he drew from his pocket an electric torch, and went and made sure that every entrance to the Manor, except the private way by which he had gone in, was bolted as well as locked. Satisfied, he went out the way he had entered, commanded the dog to lie down outside the door, and walked quickly back to the lodge. There he got some tacks, a piece of thread, and a small hammer. Returning, he fixed one tack on the doorpost and another on the door, then deftly twined the piece of thread around them. That done, he called Hector and again returned to his lodge. Locking himself in, he sent Hector to his corner underneath the cupboard in the sitting-room, and making a pillow of his ulster on the hearthrug, lay down and slept.

He was awakened by a low, fierce growl. In an instant he was on his feet, fully alert. Hector also was standing, looking savagely at the window, and Agar Halfi noticed that his attitude was similar to that which he had exhibited on the threshold of the study a few hours ago.

He had the door open in a twinkling, but not a visible sign of anything was there which could have caused the dog to show irritation. It was strange, the animal would not act in that manner without sufficient cause.

He noticed that the dawn was breaking, cold and misty. With a shiver, he went and put on his ulster. When he returned, it struck him that the mist looked particularly thick and dirty in one place, about a yard from the ground. As he looked he thought it moved, quite distinctly, from the general mass. Further inspection confirmed this; it was travelling rapidly away from him, and in the direction of the Manor. He followed it curiously with his eyes, until it seemed to stop under the east wall. He noticed now that it had a faint green tinge, and all at once he became deeply interested. Gradually it rose, higher and ever higher, until it must have been on a level with the Tower. Then suddenly it vanished, and in its place, the Hindoo found himself staring at the open east window of Brentwood’s study. He gave a low exclamation; it looked just as if that particularly thick portion of the mist had entered the window! He had, however, hardly recovered from his surprise when he stopped dead, with astonished eyes and clenched hands. For a moment he thought he must be dreaming, but as he continued to stare, he realised that it was no vision.

Standing at the open window of the tower study in his pyjamas was the Master of Storton, gazing with lack-lustre eyes at the sunrise. His hands gripped the casement on either side, and his bronzed handsome face, now ghastly in hue, was distorted with a look of intense suffering. Gradually the drawn features relaxed, a faint tinge of colour came into the cheeks, and slowly, so slowly that it seemed ages, the light crept into his eyes, and Brentwood’s face resumed its normal expression. Then Agar Halfi saw him shiver violently and start back suddenly; the next moment the window was closed.

For fully a minute the Hindoo stood as though entranced. Then he suddenly remembered the thread on the private door. Without more ado, he crossed the intervening ground—he was barely a hundred yards away—and dropping on his knees, examined the thread which he had overnight fixed across the entrance. One glance was sufficient to show him that it was intact!

He rose from the ground with a curious smile, and folding his arms, nodded to Hector, who was standing disconsolately by, and said sardonically:

“Yes, beast, the Gods have set Agar Halfi a pretty problem to unravel. Twice over shall he repay the debt he owes to his beloved friend, if not more!”

Hector slowly wagged his tail at being thus addressed, and looked up at the Hindoo with solemn eyes.

“And what part are you going to take in the drama, stupid?”

The dog, encouraged by the man’s voice, came close to him, and put his muzzle in his hand.

Agar Halfi looked at him with a quiet melancholy, and then stood for a time lost in thought, while the dog remained motionless, as though sharing his friend’s mood.

At last the Hindoo roused himself, and drew in a deep breath.

“Come, soulless one, let’s find a fire and some breakfast.”