CHAPTER VI
On Thursday morning, at the appointed hour, the Rev. Philip Alletson made his way to the Manor. The maid who answered the door admitted him immediately, and conducted him up to the tower study.
His host was not there, so he went and seated himself upon the “Chesterfield” that filled the recess of the west window. Considering the short time he had been at Worlstoke, he knew the room well. Many a pleasant hour had he spent in it with his friend, over a game of chess, or in discussing mutually interesting subjects.
He always felt at home in this room, with its comfortably arranged furniture. There was a sense of Eastern luxury in it, conveyed no doubt by the beautifully figured tapestry that draped the north and south walls; the thick, richly coloured rugs that covered the well-polished floor, and the heavily upholstered furniture. In fact, the only article of modern appearance was a plain leather-topped writing-desk in the east window, supplemented by a business-like swivel oak chair.
As he thought of these things he grew easier, and the doubt he had about Brentwood’s attitude respecting what he was going to say, almost disappeared.
He gave a sigh of relief, and turning his head, looked out of the window. Far away over the rich fields he could see the restless changing sea, sweeping across the Bristol Channel; while to the south he could just discern the end of the low-water pier of Westsea. It was a beautiful view, with the rich green fields running almost to the edge of the bay. Here and there amongst the green were farms and cottages, while splashes of white at irregular intervals denoted the winding road that ran from the shore through Storton to the old priory at Melsea.
While thus absorbed, the door quietly opened, and his host entered noiselessly. Seeing that his visitor was preoccupied, he took advantage of the fact to contemplate him at his leisure.
“Yes,” he thought, “the Vicar has a good face, there is strength in it too, shown by the firmly set mouth and jaw.” Here he paused, surveying him critically. “Eyes rather too closely set, tending to narrowness, but that to some extent obviated by a fairly broad brow. Temperament nervous, very nervous.” He almost said “unfortunately so,” but instead he only said “umph,” which observation caused the Vicar to turn suddenly round.
He rose immediately, and crossing the room, shook hands with his host, who, in his quiet way, greeted him cordially enough.
The contrast between the two men was very marked, as they stood facing each other. The one tall and slender, with grey eyes set in a rather stern face, almost ascetic, his temperament highly strung and imaginative. The other, half Eastern, with dark skin, deep brown dreamy eyes, and closely cropped black hair, yet heavily built, denoting great physical strength, full-blooded and healthy, and possessed of a cool and calculating mind, that rarely lost its balance.
“I hope,” began the Vicar, “you will forgive this informality. Really, I——”
“Oh, that is all right,” interrupted the other. “If the matter is so important as your note indicates, there is no question of formality. Let’s get seated and then you can begin.”
Alletson settled himself down in one of the comfortable chairs, and then comprehensively and concisely related his experience of the Monday night, right down to when he lost consciousness in the summer arbour.
Here he paused and looked at Brentwood, who had been gazing out of the window while he was speaking. The silence caused the other to glance round, and for a minute he eyed his friend questioningly. Then he rose slowly, and approaching him, said shortly, “Let me feel your pulse.”
The Vicar drew in his breath and started forward in his chair. This was just what he had dreaded. Was he going to laugh at him? However, he controlled himself and held out his left arm.
The Master of Storton watched the second hand of his watch, in silent ease. When he had finished, he resumed his seat and, without saying anything, returned his gaze to the window, waiting for the other to proceed.
There was a pause. The Vicar did not quite understand. He was not aware that his host was a doctor, and it looked as though he were joking. Before he proceeded any further he must know in what light he viewed the narrative.
“Do you take me seriously?” he asked rather coldly.
The other turned and slightly lifted his brows.
“Why should I not?”
Alletson looked relieved.
“I hardly understood your testing my pulse.”
Brentwood looked enlightened and replied:
“Oh, I see. I simply did that just to prove to myself that you were normal. Will you please proceed? I take it that you have not told me all you want to say?”
“To be quite plain,” continued Alletson, “I believe there is some power at large in the neighbourhood, something evil, and that it has caused the disappearance of Elsie Hobson and Henry Thornton!”
Brentwood faced round with a jerk. He was not necessarily surprised, but this conclusion seemed to cause him to concentrate his attention.
“What should make you think it has caused the disappearance of those two people, presuming that such a power as you have mentioned is at large?”
The Vicar shrugged his shoulders in despair. Here he felt he might fail with his neighbour. These scientific men were such sticklers for hard facts, and he had none of those facts to give.
“I am afraid I cannot satisfactorily answer that, but let me be as explicit as I can. Inwardly I feel quite sure about it. Somehow or other I know; just the same as I know that there is a sympathetic link between you and me, though I could not explain it.”
Brentwood got up and walked to the window, and for a space looked out silently. He felt he had somewhat misjudged this man. He was almost certain before he came that the matter he wished to discuss was something to do with the Church, and he regretted that even in thought he should have wronged him. At last he walked back to his chair and said:
“Cannot you give me any idea why you should think such a thing? Haven’t you any train of thought which leads up to it?”
“To be quite frank, No! But I ‘sense’ it.”
“‘Sense’ it?” echoed his host. “Excuse me cross-examining, Alletson, but it is necessary if we are to arrive at a common basis. What do you mean by ‘sense’ it?”
The Vicar thought for a minute.
“It would be very difficult for me to explain that; but really I think you understand what I mean.”
His friend looked grimly amused.
“You repose a lot of confidence in me. Do you know how the scientific mind interprets that word when it is used (or rather I should say ‘abused’) outside its ordinary meaning?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Imagination.”
A hard expression came into Alletson’s eyes. Brentwood noticed it, for he added quickly:
“But I quite understand that that is not what you wished to convey to me. What you mean, I take it, is, outside your known five physical senses, you have, through one or more as yet unknown senses, become cognisant of this evil force. Is not that so?”
His friend looked relieved.
“That’s exactly what I mean. It is a similar sensing to that which one has when, say, going out of an ordinary room into a cathedral. Do you understand?”
The other laughed. “Yes, I do understand, although your analogy might easily be explained away by the different structure of the two buildings. Remember that the vastness of a cathedral and the ominous silence usually connected with it naturally impress one with a feeling of littleness and consequently of awe. But what made me laugh was the fact that your explanation reminded me of a so-called Eastern mystery which I came across in Circassia. There are two caves in one of the mountains of the Caucasus, very nearly alike. One is called ‘Evil,’ wherein the devil is supposed to dwell, and the other ‘Good,’ where God resides. The rogues who run this show invite guileless strangers to see for themselves, solemnly warning them not to treat the mystery lightly, as they are in the hands of powerful influences.
“The effect is remarkable. You are shown firstly into the cave ‘Good,’ and soon you are astonished at the happy feeling that comes over you. Then you go into the cave ‘Evil,’ similar in size, shape, and appearance to the other, and in about two minutes most people gladly come out, with a feeling that their hair is standing on end. It is merely a clever trick of Oriental magic. However, to return to the main path; I take it you seriously want me to probe this matter?”
“To that end I have come here with the fixed intention of obtaining your co-operation, if it is possible.”
Brentwood thought seriously for a time. At last he said:
“Have you had any practical experience of things of this nature?”
The Vicar hesitated somewhat.
“Well, I can hardly say. I have studied hypnotism fairly closely, also magic, but I’m afraid I know more of the theory than the practice of either.”
His host looked interested.
“Have you had any results?”
“In hypnotism, yes; I’ve had some queer results. When in the third, or trance stage, my sister—with whom I conducted the experiments—forewarned me of a serious breakdown in health which came true. On one occasion she, apparently without any effort, told me where to find my signet ring, which I had mislaid some three months previously and given up for lost. That was done when the matter was far from my mind, in fact, almost forgotten. Another time she exclaimed in a joyous voice that she was free and was going away. For an hour or more I could not get her to speak, and I was beginning to feel uneasy. All the colour had left her face and her breathing was hardly perceptible. At last, much to my relief, she began to come round, and then she started to upbraid me, saying I was cruel to call her back, and entreating me to let her go again. Unfortunately she could not remember anything of this episode when in the normal state. These in particular, and some minor results, I have had.”
The Master of Storton opened his eyes widely. He had no idea his friend had progressed that far in such a study. He was really surprised, though he did not say so.
“Have you had any experience of vampires, werewolves, or anything of the kind?”
The Vicar laughed.
“Of course I’ve read about them, if that’s what you mean.”
Brentwood repeated his question, though this time he emphasised the word “experience.”
His friend looked at him in amazement.
“No! certainly not. But surely you don’t mean to suggest that such things exist except in legend?”
His host surveyed him calmly, and there was a suggestion of mockery in his eyes. How was it, he thought, that so many folk jumped to conclusions upon certain things, particularly of this stamp, without attempting to verify them? Here was a man intellectually in the prime of life, well-educated and well-read, who, while admitting that he knew practically nothing about them—excepting what he had casually read—was satisfied that they did not exist! It was irritating.
“Have you ever travelled in the East?”
“No, I’ve never been further than Italy.”
“You know that I have spent some years out there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what I was doing?”
The Vicar looked a little guilty. He was conscious that he had sought information about his neighbour; not bluntly, but had taken opportunities when they occurred to obtain knowledge of him.
“Well, I understand that you were engaged in psychological research.”
“Quite so. Incidentally, I had to investigate other things closely connected with it, and my experiences have led me to grave conclusions. To be quite plain, I am convinced that the existence of so-called vampires and werewolves is not based on myth. Some of the extraordinary phenomena I have witnessed and dealt with have settled that point in my mind, beyond doubt; though there is of course a good deal of superstition mixed up with the matter and its origin is obscure.”
Alletson studied the carpet. His friend’s tone was serious and sincere; besides, so far as he knew, Brentwood was not a man to play with words. But this was remarkable news; it had never occurred to him that there could possibly be any truth in such things—it was generally taken for granted that they were myth, and that idea was so firmly implanted in his mind it could not be eradicated at once.
“It is difficult to believe,” he said, “though I cannot contradict what you say; but it seems incredible.”
“The tricks of the illusionist seem incredible until we find out how they are done,” was the terse reply. “But let me remind you, as Shakespeare said, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.’ We are too apt to take things for granted. The tendency of the present age seems to be: We know this and we know that; what we don’t know is not. Could anything be more arrogant? Is it not more rational to allow that things which appear to be impossible may be, than to assume that what we don’t know cannot be?”
The Vicar smiled interestedly.
“If,” he replied, “I am to take up the cudgels for modern thought, I would answer that although it is argued that what we don’t know is not, the analysis of it is that though a thing may exist, it is unknowable to us, and therefore, as far as we are concerned, it is not.”
“Your answer is the one that is usually put forward; but do you take that view yourself?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Beyond a certain point, I trust largely to intuition; and no reasoning I can bring to bear can affect that view.”
Brentwood half closed his eyes.
“If I may say so, I take it that that applies to you in your religion?”
The Vicar was silent a moment, then, looking straight at his friend, replied frankly:
“Certainly, no broad-minded cleric would attempt to narrow down his religion to a creed.”
“Quite so,” said the other; “and yet a few minutes ago you did not make use of the same principle when I mentioned werewolves and vampires.”
“That is true,” answered the Vicar; “but is not your analogy a little irrelevant? There is a reasonable basis for philosophy and also for religion; but I don’t think you can say that much for vampires, et cetera. Someone may have dreamed of such things very vividly in the first place, and believed they were actually real. Besides, there is no evidence upon which to build.”
Brentwood smiled a little satirically.
“I’m afraid I must contradict you there, and proof of what I say would make my analogy relevant. But be that as it may, what strikes me so very palpably is, that where a thing is bred in one’s blood and bone—like Christianity for nearly two thousand years, and like the belief in vampires and werewolves for a much longer period still—no amount of antipathetic environment seems able to entirely eradicate it; and, consequently, educated people of all nationalities unconsciously give themselves certain latitude with their own particular racial peculiarities, i.e. allow their intuitive faculties to play upon them. But when it comes to another person’s national eccentricities, Oh no, that is idle legend!”
The Vicar, who had listened attentively, took a long breath. There was undoubtedly reason in his friend’s argument, but he spoke in such a confident tone that it slightly irritated him. Usually the boot was on the other foot—it was the clerical mind that adopted that attitude. He smiled amusedly as he thought of the many times he had seen and heard his colleagues speak thus.
“You are very confident,” he said at last. “Are you so absolutely sure of what you say? For instance, how can you speak with authority about the hereditary instincts of the Eastern races; although you have studied them, you cannot actually know what they feel?”
“Perhaps the simplest way of answering,” replied the other, “is to tell you at once that I am not an Englishman. There is Hindoo blood in me from my mother, who was half a Circassian.”
He paused to see what effect his words would have on the Vicar, but the latter, if surprised, did not give vent to it; he merely nodded his head, and his friend continued:
“So you see I’m fairly capable of judging from that standpoint, as well as from a Western one. However, to return to the subject of your call. Do I understand that Miss Alletson is mediumistic?”
“Yes, she has power in that way.”
“Is she aware of what you have told me?”
“No. I have not mentioned anything to her. I did not see that it could serve any useful purpose at present. On the other hand, I concluded that it might upset her peace of mind.”
“Have you any other reason for withholding this matter from her?”
“No,” he replied, “but I see no reason why I should inform her.”
“Well, I think she could assist us in no small degree.”
“Indeed!”
Their eyes met, and for a time they looked at each other. He could not have said why, but the first thought that entered Alletson’s head was one of resentment. No, he would not draw Constance into it. But the thought vanished for the time, almost as soon as it was born.
His host seemed to read it, for he said quietly:
“I think you may take my word for it that no harm would come to your sister. So far as I am aware, it would only be necessary for her to act as the medium of one or two experiments, which appear to me essential if we are to obtain any clue. But of course, if you would rather not draw her into the case, I will not pursue the matter further.”
The Vicar was silent. There was really no good reason to refuse, yet he could not help but realise that he wanted to do so. While he hesitated, his sister’s words, “Promise you will let me know all that you do,” came back to his memory and decided his answer:
“Very well, I’ll put the position to her, but of course she must decide for herself.”
“I take it,” said Brentwood drily, “that you wish to keep things as quiet as possible, at any rate for the time being, and the fact of your sister being the medium would ensure secrecy. Moreover, she is to some extent acquainted with the case.”
“Quite so, quite so,” replied the Vicar. “I have little doubt but that she will be willing to assist us.”
“There is just one more thing I would like to add,” went on the Master of Storton. “I shall want to take into my confidence, in a matter of this kind, my chauffeur, Agar Halfi, the Hindoo.”
Alletson looked up a little surprised as he replied:
“Certainly, if you think it necessary.”
“Well,” continued the other, “I do. He has had great experience of such matters, besides the fact that he was with me during all my travels. Now, I don’t think we can get much further at present, and I am sure you must be hungry. Let us go and have some lunch.”