The Door of the Unreal Page 11

  XIII

  Meanwhile my one outstanding anxiety for the moment, which was holding up my plans, was the fact that I had had no cable from Manders as to his return; and it was an intense relief to me to find one waiting when we came in from a morning walk over the down on Monday.

  It was sent from Vienna and said:

  “No doubt about John. Back Thursday. Meet me midday Temple.—MANDERS.”

  I felt a clutch at my heart. It spelt the climax of the great drama, which was so swiftly drawing to a head, unless I were mistaken. Yet withal it was an immense relief: and, self-reliant as I am both by nature and as the result of circumstance, I do not mind admitting that I was glad to feel that I should soon have his quick, alert brain with its full appreciation of the case, to say nothing of his strong personality, beside me to help as the crisis approached. Moreover, it meant that I should at last be able to take Burgess into my full confidence; and, whatever the cost to himself, I knew that I would then have another strong resolute collaborator to rely upon, in addition to being at last in a position to clear up all reservation between us. The latter, I own, was perhaps a little selfish, but few people will ever realize what it had meant to me to live with him hour by hour as his guest and his oldest friend under such circumstances. Facts had to be faced; and I knew from my long acquaintance with his character that he was a man who would rather face things than burke them.

  “Manders will be back on Thursday morning,” I said, putting the cable into my pocket: “and I shall have to run up to town. His mission, apparently, has been successful from the point of view I anticipated; and upon my return, Burge, old friend, I shall be able to explain everything and clear up this beastly mystery between us, though God knows you will like it even less than I do.”

  Burgess nodded.

  “I am content, as I trust I have shown, to leave myself in your hands,” he said quietly. “Whatever is right or for the best you may rely upon me to do.”

  “I know that,” I said with emphasis, as Ann called us to come to lunch.

  Dorothy came and spent the afternoon, and I must confess I liked her more than ever. But she struck me as looking pale and worried; and I had my fears as to the old man. Of him I had seen enough for my purpose; and I had no desire to further the acquaintance, however great his genius or however valuable his scientific knowledge. He was, to my mind, an object lesson in the value of life’s simplicities, the real things that make for happiness after all. Further, I had no desire unnecessarily to visit the decaying atmosphere of the Dower House.

  And so what between Bullingdon’s progress, visits of doctors with good reports, and other folk, including Blenkinsopp, and general trivialities, the next two days passed without incident.

  Ann was full of her patient; and we saw Dorothy again on the Wednesday, pale but red-lipped, and—possibly my imagination—it seemed to me that her eyes were contracting and lengthening towards the ends of the lids, a strange phenomenon.

  But of the Professor we saw nothing; and Dorothy informed us that he had one of his high-pressure working fits on, and would brook no interruption for meals or anything else.

  XIV

  On the eve of Manders’ return the moon entered its first quarter; and somehow I was hardly astonished to hear, upon my way to the station to catch the 9.30, that two more sheep had been found mutilated on the downs a little farther south than before. It all coincided; and I should have been surprised, rather than otherwise, had any attempt been made to devour the carcases.

  Still, it added yet one more to the many things I had to think about going up in the train; and from Victoria I drove straight to my solicitor’s to get from him the statement I had left in his hands, as it was my intention to take it in person to Scotland Yard that afternoon, accompanied by Manders, when we had talked everything out finally.

  I was at Garden Court on the stroke of noon and found him there, bathed and shaved after his journey, and none the worse for his long trip, though I fancied that there was a slightly worried expression in his eves.

  However, he greeted me cheerfully enough, as we gripped hands, speaking in a light tone which was in reality far removed from both of us.

  “Phew,” he said, passing me a cigar, “there is not a possible shadow of doubt in my mind as to your being only too correct in your surmises about our friend ‘John.’ In Berlin I could get nothing beyond praise of his scientific work—of his personality little or nothing. All was vague: but it was obviously a subject which no one seemed inclined to pursue. He has not actually resided in Berlin for over twenty-five years. So on I went to Vienna. There again I was baffled—everything equally vague and unsatisfactory. There too, he has not actually resided for a very long time; and his visits of recent years have been intermittent and never prolonged. In one instance—that of Professor Mendel, to whom you luckily gave me a letter—I received some pretty strong hints of something very wrong, confirming your suspicions; and he practically said that, whatever it was, he was a man of baleful influence, and that no one who knew anything of him would have anything to do with him. Better still—obviously not wishing to be more explicit himself—he gave me one or two clues, which took me to the Harz Mountains and then on into Rumania. As you can imagine, I had not much time; and without Professor Mendel’s hints and names of places I could never have done what I have in these few days. I found out that he was never very long in one place at a time, leading a strange recluse’s life, and always leaving a trail behind him of strange, unaccountable disappearances. There were weird tales that the peasants would hardly breathe: but I found one or two in different places, mostly older people, who spoke out their suspicions quite frankly. His final departure is completely wrapped in mystery; and no one I saw or spoke to seemed to have the least idea as to whither he had vanished or where he was. Here,” he concluded, handing me a bundle of manuscript, “are the details all collated, ready for immediate use. I think that they will be found pretty convincing—certainly so far as we ourselves are concerned.”

  “You have done wonders in the time,” I said, taking the manuscript; “and I am most grateful for your help. It has come just at the critical moment, and will, I trust, be the means of convincing the authorities and saving something possibly worse, at an early date, even than what has already happened—if, indeed, that be possible.”

  And I told him my fears with regard to Dorothy; and his face grew very grave.

  “My God,” he said in a low tone, “that is too horrible to think of, especially with your friend Clymping head over ears in love with the girl in his solid, complete fashion, and Walpurgis Nacht next Tuesday. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

  “No,” I agreed. “Just let me study this document of yours, while you study this one of mine, which I drew up after you left. Then this afternoon we must get right through to headquarters at the Yard, and thrash the whole thing out—and, what is more, convince them at any cost.”

  I read Manders’ statement through carefully twice; and, though naturally somewhat vague and elusive in itself, it was quite convincing enough when added to the other facts we had to work upon. dovetailing into the whole and making one complete piece—that is, if anything could ever convince the official British mind of things that stand outside the ordinary courses of nature in these latter days. I was especially struck by these events surrounding the Professor’s final disappearance from Transylvania, when his life was actually in danger amongst the superstitious peasants. But were they so superstitious after all; or rather were they not in closer touch with elemental facts than we of the West? The Brighton Road mysteries were only history repeating itself after all—at no very distant interval.

  “The two statements piece together admirably,” said Manders, giving counsel’s opinion, as he laid down my manuscript: “and you have covered the case from this end most concisely and completely. You have a legal mind, while fortunately lacking the verbosity of the law.”

  The compliment I must admit pleased me, coming fro
m such a source.

  Then for nearly an hour we went over everything in considerable detail, cross-questioning each other upon the statements, and getting things finally into order for official presentation: and I laid before Manders the plan of action which I had sketched out in my own mind.

  “Drastic, but practical and to the point,” was his only comment. “Personally I approve; but what if the authorities do not?”

  “Then,” I answered, looking him straight in the eyes, “I shall take the law into my own hands—that is, if human law there be in such a case standing outside all human laws. Burgess Clymping, I know, will not fail me.”

  Fitzroy Manders laughed in his light way, which often disguised so much beneath the crust.

  “I shall be in at the finish, too, old chap,” he said, “don’t you fret. I don’t believe in leaving a job half done. I like seeing things through myself.”

  “But your career, your future?” I said. “Suppose anything should be wrong? We are on very dangerous ground in event of failure, or even a serious hitch.”

  Manders laughed again.

  “With our facts and you in command we will so organize things that there will be no failure,” he said with quiet assurance.

  Then he looked at his watch.

  “By George, five minutes to two! You will be hungry after your early breakfast: I was a bit late myself. I’ll ring up Scotland Yard and get an appointment for this afternoon; and then we will go off to the Garrick and have lunch.”

  He rang up himself, his clerk being out, and got through to Major Blenkinsopp’s room, only to find that he was at lunch and not expected back till three o’clock: so he left word that he would telephone at that time for an appointment, adding that it was most urgent.

  We lunched in a quiet corner; and I told Manders everything that had happened during his absence. He was specially interested in my visit to the Professor and my investigation of his habits firsthand: and I found that during his trip he had been studying the literature of these strange elemental things, besides having learnt a good deal about it from the folk-lore of the peasants and some of the tales which had been told him first-hand.

  At three o’clock he went to the telephone, and returned in a few minutes with the news that he had arranged an interview with Sir Thomas Brayton at four o’clock, at which Major Blenkinsopp would be present also. We were to go to Blenkinsopp’s room at ten minutes to four, and he would take us straight through and introduce me. Manders himself had met the Chief two or three times, although he did not know him well.

  We were in Blenkinsopp’s room up to time, and he greeted us both most cordially.

  “Manders tells me that you have some very important and extraordinary facts to lay before the Chief with regard to the Brighton Road affairs,” he said, as we shook hands: “and I can only say, between ourselves, that we shall be very receptive, we are candidly at our wits’ end, and public comment has been none too kind of late.”

  I frowned slightly, but decided not to prejudice my case by saying that probably—certainly if I had my way—the public would never know the truth, and would continue for all time to blame Scotland Yard as the ever handy scapegoat in all cases of crime either undiscovered, or upon which they are not fully enlightened with all the morbid details which sell the newspapers and spice their breakfast-tables.

  “I trust I shall be able to help,” I answered; “but, as the matter is a somewhat long and abstruse one, it is no good my starting on it till we are with Sir Thomas Brayton.”

  Blenkinsopp nodded acquiescence, and asked Lord Bullingdon and the news from Clymping.

  “And that surly old brute of a German professor?” he added.

  “We are coming to him,” I replied, a trifle grimly: and he shot a quick glance across at me. He seemed as though he were about to speak, but checked himself.

  XV

  Sir Thomas Brayton received us cordially and motioned us to sit down. He was seated at a big table looking out across the river; and I purposely took a chair opposite to him, with Manders supporting me on my right, laying our two statements on the table for reference.

  “You have some special information with regard to the Brighton Road business which you wish to lay before me personally, Mr. Osgood,” he said without beating about the bush; and I saw that it was up to me to make good.

  I first explained my position in the matter, and how, through Burgess Clymping, I had, so to speak, been pitchforked right into the middle of the affair at its height upon my arrival in England three weeks before; and then I added a short explanation with regard to Manders, and how he had come into the business equally unexpectedly.

  Sir Thomas nodded.

  “Mr. Manders is known to me personally; and his considered opinion, in all matters like this, carries great weight.”

  It encouraged me, and gave me confidence to feel that I was introduced under such good auspices, considering the strangeness of the story which I was about to put forward.

  “Then, as his opinion fully coincides with mine. Sir Thomas,” I said with slight emphasis, “I trust that you will not too readily write me down a freak or a lunatic, but hear me through in detail, and with an open mind go into these two statements, which I have brought for your perusal and that of Major Blenkinsopp—one by Mr. Manders and the other by myself—dealing with the case from two points of view.”

  The Chief made a slightly impatient gesture.

  “You may rest assured on the subject.”

  “Thank you,” I said: and then I leant forward a trifle across the table.

  “Have you ever studied the subject of lycanthropy?” I asked.

  I could swear he started slightly.

  Again he nodded, as much as to convey that he knew something about the subject theoretically or academically, but that it was not one that he had lever entertained seriously in the sphere of practical everyday life or modern ermine, especially in twentieth-century England.

  “Professor Lycurgus Wolff and his old servant, Anna Brunnolf, are werewolves,” I said solemnly: “and they are responsible for the disappearances on the Brighton Road.”

  I heard Blenkinsopp breathe deeply, the sound of a man deeply moved.

  The Chief tapped his blotting-pad with a big blue pencil, looking across at me noncommittally.

  “Go on,” he said without comment; and for an instant I wondered if either or both were doubting my sanity—I, a strange American in London, advancing a theory so bizarre as to astound even the heads of Scotland Yard! “The lore of lycanthropy and the manifold legends of werewolves are one of the oldest things in the world, and appear in practically every country in Europe and Asia, including such outlying places as Iceland, Lapland, and Finland, to say nothing of other Continents, including even my own country; and it would hardly seem logical, upon the face of it, that there should be no foundation in fact for such widely spread—aye, and widely believed stories, many bearing close examination.

  “In the fifteenth century a council of theologians was actually convoked upon the subject by the Emperor Sigismund; and they solemnly decided in convocation that the werewolf was a reality. Amongst the ancients—without going into the matter deeply at the moment—Herodotus describes the Neuri as persons who had the power of assuming the shape of wolves once a year. Pliny relates that one of the family of Antæus was each year chosen by lot to be transformed into a wolf. Ovid, as doubtless you will recall, tells how Lycäon, King of Arcadia, was turned into a wolf for testing the divinity of Jove by serving up to him a ‘hash of human flesh.’ Again, St. Patrick in more recent times converted Vereticus, King of Wales, into a wolf. And so on… without labouring legends and piling up detail, though, in passing, I may add, perhaps not without point, the fact that in Great Britain itself in the North, in the history of the County of Durham, the actual name ‘Brunnolf’ itself is on record, and Gervase, of Tilbury, in his Otia Imperiala.’ writes: ‘Vidimus enim frequenter in Anglia per lunationes homines in lupos mutari, quod hominum
genus gerulphos Galli nominant, Angli vero “were-wulf“ dicunt’ Finally, surely the most primitive and obvious werewolf legend of all, accepted from the earliest days of our dawning intelligence, is the tale of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’? “In the whole history of demonology—the super-physical, spiritual projection, elementals, and so forth—which, as the result of civilization has been growing less and less, or been more concealed where such things still flourish in isolated or, at worst, sporadic fashion—things which, by the aid of science and the development of modern thought, we are again beginning to reconsider and reclass in many instances in the light of greater knowledge—in the whole of this world-long and world-wide history there is an unbroken sequence which cannot but carry conviction of itself. As a modern writer phrases it with regard to those other elementals, vampires—‘These intangible beings, who, though scoffed at in an age of materialism and negation, have throughout history given intermittent evidences of their existence… who belong to that unseen world to whose mystic manifestations time imaginative and soul-seers of all times have testified.’ It is very well put and applies equally to werewolves, who are super-physical hybrids of the material and the immaterial: and their power of metamorphosis dates back as far as can be traced, growing less and less frequent, as I have said, with the advance of civilization and the better ordering of things. However, this is not the side of the matter which I wish to labour. Doubtless you are familiar with it in the main”—Sir Thomas shook his head a trifle irritably—“and I have embodied the essentials in this statement of mine with references to the literature of the subject in many languages.”

  I paused and drew breath.

  “It was a subject that at one period was equally academic to my mind, though fascinating, I must admit, from the first time I struck it in my reading: but I have, as a man of means and leisure, ever since I left school, made travel my hobby, and I have been amazed at the legendry I have come across first-hand in all sorts of isolated parts—in the Harz Mountains, Austria-Hungary, the Balkans, the Caucasus, Russia, Siberia—and, more than that, modern cases of lycanthropy firmly believed in and vouched for locally. I have had actual werewolf men and women pointed out to me—families of werewolves who have a lycanthropic inheritance of many generations; and it is years since, as the result of actual personal investigation, that I have accepted lycanthropy as a fact—rare, but perhaps not so rare as people in circumscribed London imagine. It is essentially a survival, so far as it does survive, on the outer fringes, driven into outlying and outlandish places, and segregated by civilization and the rough-and-ready methods of centuries towards those convicted or often only suspected of lycanthropy. It is centuries since there was a case—at least, an actually authenticated case—of lycanthropy in Great Britain, though there have been strange stories touching upon it even in more recent times and certain unexplained manifestations, again in outlying and isolated parts. But the werewolf in this country and in Ireland is a fact as well established as in any other, if not so frequent in instance. I can give you specific references; but again I do not wish to labour this part of my statement unduly with quotations from Bodleian MSS., Richard Verstegen in his ‘Restitution of Decayed Intelligence’ in 1605, and the like. Why, the very story of the dog Gelert is a werewolf legend in itself! But in the present case in hand we have not to fall back upon British lycanthropic lore itself for justification or substantiation, as here it is plainly a matter of importation.”