CHAPTER XXIII
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:
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.”