The adept was an impressive figure, as he stood there with the sun behind him, throwing a yellow nimbus around his head. The robe he wore was of a rich purple, and gave an added effect of height and dignity to a figure already tall. His hair was dark and crinkled like wind-swept water, his complexion dark, but with an under-blush of red in the cheeks. His lips were scarlet and his eyes coal-black and of an arresting brilliance. The whole effect he gave was of transcendent energy and magnetism, nor did he show the slightest fatigue from his long vigil.
His eyes swept our faces, as we stood crowded there in the doorway. He did not seem surprised. If there was any expression in his face except courteous inquiry, it was one of carefully suppressed amusement.
"Enter, friends," he repeated. "What is it you desire?"
His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke with a peculiar intonation, but without accent. It was something of a shock to hear the ordinary wordsof English speech coming from his lips, for they seemed formed to utter prophecies in unknown tongues.
Goldberger took one step into the room, and then stopped abruptly. Following his eyes, I saw that the cobra had also awakened from its trance, and was regarding us steadily and hissing slightly. The adept smiled as he saw us shrink back.
"Do not fear," he said. "Come, Toto," and stepping across the room, he lifted the cobra in one hand and held it a moment close to him, gently stroking the distended hood. The snake curled itself about his arm and seemed to cuddle to him, but it kept its eyes fixed on us. I could not but smile at the incongruity of its name. Toto was well enough for a French poodle, but for a cobra!
After a moment, the adept lifted the lid of a round basket which stood on the floor near the divan, dropped the snake gently into it, and fastened down the lid. Then he clapped his hands softly, and an instant later the curtains at the rear of the room parted and a strange figure appeared between them.
It was the figure of a man, not over five feet tall and very thin. He was almost as dark as a full-blooded negro, and the white burnoose which was thrown about his shoulders and covered himto just below the hips, made him look even darker. His legs were bare and seemed to be nothing but skin and bone. The flat-nosed face, with its full lips and prominent eyes, reminded me of an idol I had seen pictured somewhere.
The newcomer bowed low before the adept, and, at a sign from him, picked up Toto's basket and disappeared with it through the curtains. He had not even glanced in our direction. The adept turned back to us.
"Now, friends," he said, "will you not enter?"
Goldberger led the way into the room and stopped to look about it. The walls were hung with black velvet, so arranged that windows and doors could be covered also, and the room was absolutely devoid of furniture, save for a low, circular divan in the centre of which stood the crystal sphere, supported, as I saw now, by a slender pedestal.
"I have a few questions to ask you," began Goldberger at last, in a voice deferential despite himself.
"Proceed, sir," said the adept, courteously.
"Do you know that Mr. Vaughan is dead?"
The adept made a little deprecating gesture.
"Not dead," he protested. "A man does not die. His soul rejoins the Over-soul, that is all.Yes, I know that at midnight the soul of my pupil passed over."
"How did you learn that?" Goldberger demanded.
"I saw it in the sphere," replied the adept calmly.
"Where were you at the time?"
"I was gazing at the sphere."
"Do you mean," asked Goldberger incredulously, "that you sat for five hours and more staring at that thing?"
"My vigil began at sundown," said the adept, with a slight smile. "Last night was the White Night of Siva. It must be spent in meditation by all who follow him."
Goldberger worried his moustache with nervous fingers, as he stared at the adept, plainly at a loss how to proceed.
"Perhaps," ventured Godfrey, softly, "your crystal could give us some further information which we very much desire."
The adept turned his dark eyes on the speaker, and it seemed to me that they glittered more coldly, as though they recognised an adversary.
"What information, sir?" he asked.
"Information as to the manner of Mr. Vaughan's passing—can you tell us anything of that?"
The adept shook his head.
"I only saw the soul as it passed over. I knew, however, that it had been torn from the body by violence."
"How did you know that?" broke in Goldberger.
"Because of its colour," answered the adept; and then, when he saw our benumbed expressions, he explained. "Souls which pass in peace are white; souls which the body has driven forth by its own hands are black; souls which are torn from the body by an alien hand are red. My pupil's soul was red."
I could see that Goldberger did not know whether to snort with derision or to be impressed. He ended by smiling feebly. As for me, I admit I was impressed.
"When an alien hand, as you put it, is used," said the coroner, "we call it murder in this country, and the law tries to get hold of the alien and to send his soul after his victim's. That's what we are trying to do now. We are officers of the law."
The adept bowed.
"Any assistance I can give you," he said, softly, "I shall be glad to give; though to do murder, as you call it, is not always to do wrong."
"Our law doesn't make such nice distinctions,"said Goldberger, drily. "May I ask your profession?"
"I am a White Priest of Siva," said the adept, touching his forehead lightly with the fingers of his left hand, as in reverence.
"Who is Siva?"
"The Holy One, the Over-soul, from whom we come and to whom we all return."
Again Goldberger worried his moustache.
"Well," he said, at last, "until the mystery is cleared up, I must ask you not to leave this house."
"I have no wish to leave it, sir."
"And the other fellow—the fellow who took away the snake—where was he last night?"
"He slept in a small room opening into this one."
"May I look into it?"
"Certainly," and the adept swept aside the curtains.
The room into which we looked was not more than ten feet square, and empty of furniture, except for a mat in the middle of the floor and three or four baskets set against the wall. On the mat was squatted the attendant, his legs crossed with feet uppermost, and his hands held palm to palm before him. On the floor in front of him were what looked to me like a strip of cloth, a bone and a tooth. He did not raise his eyes at our entrance, but sat calmly contemplating these relics.
Goldberger's moustache lost a few more hairs as he stood staring down at this strange figure.
"What are those things? His grandmother's remains?" he asked, at last.
"Those are the attributes of Kali," said the adept gravely, as one rebuking blasphemy.
"Very interesting, no doubt," commented the coroner drily. "Would it disturb the gentleman too much to ask him a few questions?"
"He speaks no English, but I shall be glad to translate for you."
The coroner thought this over for a moment, and then shook his head.
"No," he said; "I'll wait for the court interpreter. You might tell him, though, that there will be officers of the law on duty below, and that he is not to leave the house."
"I will caution him," answered the adept, and let the curtain fall, as we passed out.
"I suppose there are some other servants somewhere about the place?" asked Goldberger.
"There are three—they sleep on the floor above."
"Are they Hindus, too?"
"Oh, no," and the adept smiled. "Two of them are German and the other is Irish."
The coroner reddened a little, for the words somehow conveyed a subtle rebuke.
"That is all for to-day," he said; "unless Mr. Simmonds has some questions?" and he looked at his companion.
But Simmonds, to whom all these inquiries had plainly been successive steps into the darkness, shook his head.
"Then we will bid you good-morning," added Goldberger, still a little on his dignity. "And many thanks for your courtesy."
The adept responded with a low bow and with a smile decidedly ironical. I, at least, felt that we had got the worst of the encounter.
Goldberger, without a word, led the way up the stair that mounted to the attic story, and there soon succeeded in routing out the three servants. The Germans proved to be a man and wife, well past middle age, the former the gardener and the latter the cook. Erin was represented by a red-haired girl who was the housemaid. All of them were horrified when told their master had been murdered, but none of them could shed any light on the tragedy. They had all been in bed long before midnight, and had not been disturbed by any of the noises of the night.
This could be the more readily understood when, as a little investigation showed, we foundthat they had all slept with doors locked and windows closed and shuttered. Any sounds from the house would really have to penetrate two doors to reach them, for their rooms were at the end of an entry, closed by an outer door. As to the windows, it was the rule of the house that they should always be closed and tightly shuttered during the night. They knew of no especial reason for the rule, though the Irish girl remarked that, with heathen in the house and lunatics, there was no telling how the nights were spent.
They were all evidently innocent of any connection with the tragedy; but Goldberger, for some ridiculous reason, brought them downstairs with him and made them look at their master's body. This had no result except to send the Irish girl into hysterics, and Hinman for a few minutes had another patient on his hands.
"Well," said Goldberger, passing his hand wearily across his forehead, "I guess there's nothing more to be done. And I'm dead tired. I had just got to bed when Simmonds called me. I'll set the inquest for ten o'clock to-morrow morning, and I'll hold it here in this room. We'll want you here, Mr. Godfrey, and you, Mr. Lester. And—oh, yes," he added suddenly, "we'll want that Mr. Swain, whose story I haven't heard yet. No doubt of his appearing is there?"
"Absolutely none," I assured him.
"I could put him under guard, of course," said Goldberger, pensively, "for I'm sure he'll prove to be a very important witness; but if you will be personally responsible for him, Mr. Lester...."
"I will," I agreed, and Goldberger nodded.
"Have him here at ten o'clock, then," he said.
"Dr. Hinman would better see him again to-day," I suggested.
"I'll call about four o'clock this afternoon," the doctor promised; and, leaving Goldberger to complete his arrangements and Simmonds to post his men, Godfrey and I stepped out upon the lawn.
It was after five o'clock and the sun was already high. It scarcely seemed possible that, only six hours before, Swain had crossed the wall for the first time!
"We'd better go out as we came," Godfrey said, and turned across the lawn. He walked with head down and face puckered with thought.
"Can you make anything of it?" I asked, but he only shook his head.
We soon reached the ladder, and Godfrey paused to look about him. The shrubbery was broken in one place, as though some heavy bodyhad fallen on it, and this was evidently the mark of Swain's wild jump from the wall.
At last, Godfrey motioned me to precede him, and, when I was over, reached one ladder down to me and descended to my side. We replaced the ladders against the shed, and then walked on toward the house. As we turned the corner, we found Mrs. Hargis standing on the front porch.
"Well, youareout early!" she said.
"Yes," laughed Godfrey; "fact is, we haven't been to bed yet. Will you have something to eat, Lester, before you turn in?"
A glass of milk was all I wanted; and five minutes later I mounted to my room. I glanced in for a moment at Swain, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully; and then darkened my room as well as I could and tumbled into bed. I must have dropped asleep the moment my head touched the pillow, for I remember nothing more until I opened my eyes to find Godfrey standing over me.
"I hate to wake you, Lester," Godfrey said, smiling, "but it's nearly four o'clock. Dr. Hinman will be here before long, and if you're going to hear Swain's story, you'll have to be getting up."
I sat up in bed at once, all trace of sleepiness vanished.
"How is he?" I asked.
"He seems to be all right. He's been up for some time. I haven't said anything to him about last night—I wanted the doctor to see him first; besides, I thought you ought to be present."
"I'll be down right away," I said, and twenty minutes later, I found Godfrey and Swain sitting together on the front porch. As Swain returned my greeting, I was relieved to see that his eyes were no longer fixed and staring, but seemed quite normal.
"Mrs. Hargis has your breakfast ready," said Godfrey, "and I think I'll join you. Will you come, Mr. Swain?"
"No, thank you," Swain replied. "I had mybreakfast only about an hour ago. I'll just sit here, if you don't mind."
"All right," said Godfrey, "we won't be long," and together we went back to the dining-room.
Mrs. Hargis was there, and greeted us as though stopping out till dawn and breakfasting at four o'clock in the afternoon were the most ordinary things in the world. A copy of theRecordwas lying, as usual, on the table, and a black headline caught my eye:
I glanced at Godfrey in surprise.
"Yes," he said, reddening a little, "I was just in time to 'phone the story in for the last edition. I called the doctor first, though, Lester—you must give me credit for that! And it was a beautiful scoop!"
"What time did you get up?" I asked.
"About noon. I sent down the full story forto-morrow morning's paper just before I called you."
"Any developments?"
"None that I know of. Of course, I haven't heard Swain's story yet."
"Godfrey," I said, "it seems to me that this thing is going to look bad for Swain—I think Goldberger suspects him already. A good deal depends upon his story."
"Yes, it does," Godfrey agreed.
We finished the meal in silence. It was not a long one, for I, at least, was anxious to get back to Swain. As we rejoined him on the porch, Dr. Hinman's car came up the drive. He got out and shook hands with us. As he greeted Swain, I saw him glance anxiously into his eyes—and saw also that the glance reassured him.
"You're feeling better to-day," he said, sitting down by Swain's side.
"Yes," said Swain quietly, "I'm feeling all right again."
"How is Miss Vaughan, doctor?" I asked.
Swain jerked round toward the doctor.
"Is Miss Vaughan ill?" he demanded.
"She had a shock last night," answered the doctor, slowly; "but she's getting along nicely. She'll have to be kept quiet for a few days."
I was looking at Swain curiously. He was rubbing his head perplexedly, as though trying to bring some confused memory to the surface of his mind.
"I seem to remember," he said, "that Miss Vaughan fainted, and that I picked her up." Then he stopped and stared at us. "Is her father dead?"
"Yes," I said, and he fell to rubbing his head again.
I glanced at Hinman, and he nodded slightly. I took it for assurance that Swain might be questioned. Godfrey, who had gone indoors to get some cigars, came back with a handful. All of us, including Swain, lighted up.
"Now, Swain," I began, "I want you to tell us all that you remember of last night's happenings. Both Mr. Godfrey and Dr. Hinman are in my confidence and you may speak freely before them. I want them to hear your story, because I want their advice."
There was a pucker of perplexity on Swain's face.
"I've been trying, ever since I woke up this morning, to straighten out my remembrance of last night," he began, slowly; "but I haven't succeeded very well. At least, everything seems to stop right in the middle."
"Go ahead," I said, "and tell us what you doremember. Maybe it will grow clearer as you recall it, or maybe we can fill in the gaps. Begin at the moment you went over the wall. We know everything that happened up to that time. You remember that clearly, don't you?"
"Oh, yes," said Swain. "I remember all that," and he settled back in his chair. "Well, after I went down the ladder, I found myself in a clump of shrubbery, and beyond that was a path. I knew that the arbour where I was to meet Miss Vaughan was in the corner of the grounds at the back next to Mr. Godfrey's place, so I turned back along the wall, leaving the path, which curved away from it. It was very dark under the trees, and I had to go slowly for fear of running into one of them. But I finally found the arbour. I struck a match to assure myself that it was empty, and then sat down to wait. Once or twice I fancied I heard some one moving outside, but it was only the wind among the trees, I guess, for it was fully half an hour before Miss Vaughan came."
I could see how his hand was trembling on the arm of his chair, and he paused a moment to collect himself.
"What Miss Vaughan told me," he went on, at last, and I saw that of the details of the meeting he did not intend to speak, "convinced me thather father was quite mad—much worse than I had suspected. I knew, of course, that he was a student of the supernatural, but since the coming of this yogi...."
"This what?" Hinman interrupted.
"A yogi," Swain answered, turning toward him, "is, as nearly as I can make out, a sort of high priest of Hinduism. He knows all its secrets, and is supposed to be able to do all sorts of supernatural things. This fellow who lived with Mr. Vaughan is a yogi. Mr. Vaughan was his disciple."
"Where did the yogi come from?" Godfrey asked.
"I don't know. I don't think Miss Vaughan knows. He arrived, with his attendant, about six months ago; and since then things have gone from bad to worse. There has been crystal-gazing and star-worship and necromancy of all sorts. I confess I didn't understand very much of it," he added. "It was all so wild and weird; but it ended not only in Mr. Vaughan's becoming a convert to whatever religion it is the yogi practises, but in a determination that his daughter should become a priestess of the cult. It was from that she wished me to help her to escape."
He stopped and again rubbed his head slowly.
"As I tell it," he went on, at last, "it soundsabsurd and unbelievable; but as she told it, there in the darkness, with those strange rustlings round us, it sent the chills up and down my spine. Perhaps those Orientalsdoknow more about the supernatural than we give them credit for; at any rate, I know that Miss Vaughan had been impressed with the yogi's power. It fascinated and at the same time horrified her. She said he had a hideous snake, a cobra, which he petted as she would pet a kitten...."
His voice broke off again, and he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. I myself felt decidedly nervous. Godfrey threw away his cigar, which had broken in his fingers.
"At any rate," Swain went on, "I was so upset by what she told me that I could think of nothing to do except to beg her to come away with me at once. I remembered my promise to you, Mr. Lester, but I was sure you would approve. I told her about you—that it was into your hands the letter had fallen. She said she had seen you looking at her from a tree and had known at a glance that she could trust you. You didn't tell me you were in a tree," he added.
"Yes," I said, awkwardly. "I was just taking a little look over the landscape. Rather foolish of me, wasn't it?"
"Well, it was mighty fortunate, anyway. Shehad written the letter, but she had no idea how she was going to get it to me."
"You mean she couldn't go out when she wanted to?" demanded Godfrey.
"I gathered from what she told me," said Swain, his face flushing with anger, "that she has been practically a prisoner ever since the yogi arrived. Besides, even if she had succeeded in mailing the letter, it wouldn't have reached me until too late."
"In what way too late?"
"Her father seems to have had a sudden turn for the worse yesterday; he became almost violent in insisting that she consent to his plan. He told her that the life of his own soul as well as of hers depended upon it. He threatened—I don't know what. The yogi talked to her afterwards. He, of course, believed, or pretended to believe, as her father did; moreover, he told her that her father would certainly suffer a serious mental shock if she refused, perhaps a fatal one. In despair, she finally agreed, on the condition that she be given three days in which to prepare herself. If she did not hear from me in that time, she had made up her mind to consent."
Swain stopped again, and I lay back in my chair, wondering if such things were possible in this twentieth century, here within the boundaries ofGreater New York! My brain reeled at the absurdity of it!
"Vaughan was undoubtedly suffering from mania," said Dr. Hinman, in a low voice. "The symptoms, as Mr. Swain describes them, are unmistakable."
"It was that argument I used," said Swain. "I told her that, since he was clearly mad, she must, in self-defence, place herself beyond his reach. But she refused to leave him. Then, I argued, in kindness to him she must have him committed to some institution where he would be taken care of, and where he might, in time, regain his sanity. I told her that it would be criminal folly to permit him to remain longer under the influence of the yogi. She had to agree with me; and she finally consented to sign an affidavit to the facts as I have told them, and a petition asking that a commission be appointed to examine her father. You were to have drawn up the papers to-day, Mr. Lester, and I was to have taken them to her for signature to-night."
"That would have settled the matter," said Godfrey, thoughtfully. "It's too bad it wasn't settled in that way. What else happened, Mr. Swain?"
"Miss Vaughan had grown very nervous, with all this discussion, and at last she sprang to herfeet and said she must go, or her father would discover her absence. We rose to leave the arbour, and at that instant, a white-robed figure sprang to her side, seized her and tore her away from me. I was too startled for an instant to resist; then, as I started toward them, Marjorie pushed me back.
"'Go! Go!' she cried. 'It is my father!'
"But he stopped me. In a voice shaking and husky with rage, he warned me that if I entered the place again, my life would be forfeit. I can't repeat the horrible things he said. I could see his eyes gleaming like a wild beast's. He cursed me. I had never been cursed before," and Swain smiled thinly, "and I confess it wasn't pleasant. Then he led his daughter away.
"I stood staring after them. I didn't know what to do. I felt like a madman myself. I sat down and tried to collect my thoughts. I saw that some new plan must be made—that there was no hope of meeting Marjorie again. I was sick with fear for her; I thought of following to the house and compelling her to come with me at once. And then, suddenly, I saw two eyes gleaming at me. They were not human eyes—they were too close together—and they were swaying gently back and forth in the air, about a foot from the ground. I gazed at them, fascinated, and then I heard a soft, low whistle, followed by a faint hissing, as the eyes fell forward.
"In a flash, I knew what it was—the cobra; I knew why it was there—Vaughan had said my life was forfeit. I sprang up with a shriek, dashed along the seat to the door and out into the darkness. I struck my head against something—a tree, I suppose; but I kept on, and reached the wall and got over it somehow—it is all confused, after that. I seem to remember hearing Marjorie scream, and finding her lying beside her father, who was dead—but I can't put things together," and he rubbed his head helplessly.
"I'll put them together for you," said Godfrey. "When you ran into the tree, you suffered a partial concussion. It's lucky it wasn't total, or Toto would have got you!"
"Toto?"
"That, I believe, is the cobra's name," explained Godfrey, with a smile; "unless, of course, there are two of them." And he told Swain in detail of the events which had followed.
Swain listened with staring eyes. I did not blame him. Indeed, I felt that my own eyes were staring a little, though I already knew the story. But Godfrey, with a gift of narration born of longnewspaper experience, told it in a way that made its horror salient and left one gasping.
"There is one question I want to ask you, Swain," he said, in conclusion, "and I want you to think carefully before you answer it. During your altercation with Mr. Vaughan, did you at any time touch him?"
"Touch him? No, of course not," and Swain shook his head decidedly.
"You are sure of that?" asked Godfrey earnestly.
"Perfectly sure," said Swain, looking at him in astonishment. "I was never within three feet of him."
Godfrey sprang to his feet with a gesture of relief.
"I seem to need a cocktail," he said, in another tone. "Isn't that the prescription for all of us, doctor?"
"Yes," assented Hinman, smiling, "and, after that, complete change of subject!"
We tried to follow Dr. Hinman's prescription, but not with any great success, for it is difficult to talk about one thing and think about another. So the doctor took himself off, before long, and Swain announced that he himself would have to return to the city. He had come out without so much as a tooth-brush, he pointed out; his trousers were in a lamentable condition, and, while Godfrey's coat was welcome, it was far from a perfect fit.
"Which reminds me," he added, "that I don't know what has become of my own coat and shirt."
I looked at Godfrey quickly.
"No, I forgot them," he said. "They're over in the library at Elmhurst," he added to Swain. "You can get them to-morrow."
"I shall have to be there to-morrow, then?"
"Yes, at the inquest; I've promised to produce you there," I said.
"At what time?"
"You'd better be there by ten."
"Very well; that's all the more reason for getting back to my base of supplies. If I went onthe stand looking like this, the jury would probably think I was the murderer!" he added, laughing.
My answering smile was decidedly thin. Godfrey did not even try to force one.
"Wait a few minutes," he suggested, "and I'll take you down in my car. I'll try to get back early, Lester," he added, apologetically. "I'm far from an ideal host—but you'll find some books on my desk that may interest you—I got them up to-day. Take a look at them after dinner."
He went back to bring out his car, and Swain sat down again beside me.
"Mr. Lester," he said, in a low voice, "I hope you haven't forgotten your promise."
"What promise?"
"To put Miss Vaughan in a safe place and to look after her interests."
"No," I said, "I haven't forgotten. I am going to ask to see her after the inquest to-morrow. If she wishes us to represent her, we will."
"And to protect her," he added, quickly. "She hasn't even a mad father now!"
"She's safe enough for the present," I pointed out. "Dr. Hinman has employed another nurse, so that one is with her all the time."
"I won't be satisfied," said Swain, "till you get her out of that house and away from those damnedHindus. One nurse, or even two, wouldn't stop them."
"Stop them from what?"
"I don't know," and he twisted his fingers helplessly.
"Well, the police will stop them. There are three or four men on duty there, with orders to let no one in or out."
His face brightened.
"Ah, that's better," he said. "I didn't know that. How long will they be there?"
"Till after the inquest, anyway."
"And you will see Miss Vaughan after the inquest?"
"Yes."
"And urge her to go to Mr. and Mrs. Royce?"
"Yes—but I don't think she'll need much urging. I'll get a note from Mrs. Royce. I'll telephone to Mr. Royce now, and you can stop and get the note as you come up in the morning."
Godfrey's car glided up the drive and stopped at the porch. Swain held out his hand and clasped mine warmly.
"Thank you, Mr. Lester," he said; and a moment later the car turned into the highway and passed from sight.
Then I went in, got Mr. Royce on the 'phone, and give him a brief outline of the incidents ofthe night before. He listened with an exclamation of astonishment from time to time, and assented heartily when I suggested that Miss Vaughan might be placed in Mrs. Royce's care temporarily.
"She's a beautiful girl," I concluded, "and very young. I agree with Swain that she mustn't be left alone in that house."
"Certainly she mustn't," said my partner. "I'll have Mrs. Royce write the note, and get a room ready for her."
"Of course," I said, "it's possible she won't come—though I believe she'll be glad to. Or there may be a family lawyer who will want to look after her. Only she didn't appear to know of any when she was talking to Swain."
"Well, bring her along if you can," said Mr. Royce. "We'll be glad to have her. And take your time about coming back, if you're needed up there. We're getting along all right."
I thanked him, and hung up; and presently Mrs. Hargis came to summon me to dinner. That meal over, I went in to Godfrey's desk to see what the books were he had suggested that I look at. There was quite a pile of them, and I saw that they all related to mysticism or to the religions of India. There was Sir Monier Williams's "Brahmanismand Hinduism," Hopkins's "The Religions of India," a work on crystallomancy, Mr. Lloyd Tuckey's standard work on "Hypnotism and Suggestion," and some half dozen others whose titles I have forgotten. And as I looked at them, I began to understand one reason for Godfrey's success as a solver of mysteries—no detail of a subject ever escaped him.
I lit my pipe, sat down, and was soon deep in the lore of the East. I must confess that I did not make much of it. In that maze of superstition, the most I could do was to pick up a thread here and there. The yogi had referred to the White Night of Siva, and I soon found out that Siva is one of the gods of Hinduism—one of a great trilogy: Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Siva the destroyer. He had also spoken of the attributes of Kali, and, after a little further search, I discovered that Kali was Siva's wife—a most unprepossessing and fiendish female.
But when I passed on to Hinduism itself, and tried to understand its tenets and its sects, I soon found myself out of my depth. They were so jumbled, so multitudinous, and so diverse that I could get no clear idea of them. I read of the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Brâhmanas; of metaphysical abstractions too tenuous to grasp; ofkarna or action, of maya or illusion, and I know not what "tangled jumble of ghosts and demons, demi-gods, and deified saints, household gods, village gods, tribal gods, universal gods, with their countless shrines and temples and din of discordant rites." At last, in despair, I gave it up, and turned to the book on crystallomancy.
Here, at least, was something comprehensible, if not altogether believable, and I read with interest of the antiquity of crystal-gazing as a means of inducing hallucination for the purpose of seeking information not to be gained by any normal means. I read of its use in China, in Assyria, in Egypt, in Arabia, in India, in Greece and Rome; of how its practitioners in the Middle Ages were looked upon as heretics and burnt at the stake or broken on the wheel; of the famous Dr. Dee, and so down to the present time. The scryers or seers sometimes used mirrors, sometimes vessels filled with water, but usually a polished stone, and beryl was especially esteemed.
The effect of gazing at these intently for a time was to abstract the mind from normal sensory impressions, and to induce a state of partial hypnosis during which the scryer claimed he could perceive in the crystal dream-pictures of great vividness, scenes at a distance, occurrences of the past, and of the future.
I was still deep in this, when I heard a step outside, the door opened, and Godfrey came in. He smiled when he saw what I was doing.
"How have you been getting along?" he asked.
"Not very well," and I threw the book back on the table. "The crystal-gazing isn't so bad—one can understand that; but the jumble of abstractions which the Hindus call religion is too much for me. I didn't know it was so late," I added, and looked at my watch; but it was not yet eleven o'clock.
"I'm earlier than usual," said Godfrey. "I cut loose as soon as I could, because I thought we'd better talk things over. I saw Simmonds in town to-night."
"Ah," I said; "and what did he tell you?"
"Nothing I didn't know already. The police have discovered nothing new—or, if they have, they're keeping it dark until to-morrow. Simmonds did, however, regale me with his theory of the case. He says the murder was done either by one of the Hindus or by young Swain."
"What doyouthink?" I asked.
"I'm inclined to agree with Simmonds," said Godfrey, grimly. "With the emphasis on the Hindus," he added, seeing the look on my face, "I don't believe Swain had any hand in it."
"Neither do I," I agreed, heartily. "In fact, such a theory is too absurd to discuss."
"Just the same," said Godfrey, slowly, "I'm glad he didn't touch Vaughan. If he had happened to seize him by the neck, while they were struggling together,—in other words, if those finger-prints Goldberger found had happened to be Swain's—things would have looked bad for him. I'm hoping they'll turn out to belong to one of the Hindus—but, as I said to Goldberger, I'm afraid that's too good to be true."
"Which one of the Hindus?" I asked.
"Oh, the Thug, of course."
I sat bolt upright.
"The Thug?" I echoed.
"Didn't you get that far?" and Godfrey picked up one of the books and ran rapidly through the pages. "You remember we found him squatting on the floor with a rag and a tooth and a bone in front of him?"
"Yes."
"And do you remember how the yogi described them, when Goldberger asked him about them?"
"Very distinctly—he called them the attributes of Kali."
"Now listen to this: 'The Thugs are a religious fraternity, committing murders in honor of Kali, the wife of Siva, who, they believe, assists themand protects them. Legend asserts that she presented her worshippers with three things, the hem of her lower garment to use as a noose, a rib to use as a knife, and a tooth to use as a pick-axe in burying the victims.'" He glanced at me, and then went on: "'But the knife was little used, for the religious character of an assassination came to depend more and more upon its bloodless character, and for this a noose was used, with which the victim was strangled. The aversion to bloodshed became in time so great that many sects of Thuggee consider it defiling to touch human blood!'" He closed the book and threw it on the table. "Don't you think that proves the case?"
"Yes," I said, thoughtfully. "And the yogi—is he also a Thug?"
"Oh, no; a White Priest of Siva could never be a Thug. The worship of Siva and of Kali are the very opposites of each other. The Saivas are ascetics. That is," he added, in another tone, "if the fellow is really a Saiva and not just a plain fraud."
"All these fellows are frauds, more or less, aren't they?" I questioned.
"No," was Godfrey's unexpected answer; "the real yogin are no doubt sincere; but a real yogi wouldn't waste his time on a soft-brained old man,and fire sky-rockets off at midnight to impress him. My own opinion is that this fellow is a fakir—a juggler, a sleight-of-hand man—and, of course, a crook."
"Well?" I asked, as Godfrey stopped and failed to continue.
"Well, that's as far as I've got. Oh, yes—there's Toto. A cobra is one of a fakir's stock properties."
"But, Godfrey," I protested, "he is no ignorant roadside juggler. He's a cultivated man—an unusual man."
"Certainly he is—most unusual. But that doesn't disprove my guess; it only makes the problem harder. Even a roadside juggler doesn't do his tricks for nothing—what reward is it this fellow's working for? It must be a big one, or it wouldn't tempt him."
"I suppose Vaughan paid him well," I ventured.
"Yes; but did you look at him, Lester? You've called him unusual, but that word doesn't begin to express him. He's extraordinary. No doubt Vaughandidpay him well, but it would take something more than that to persuade such a man to spend six months in a place like that. And I think I can guess at the stake he's playing for."
"You mean Miss Vaughan?"
"Just that," and Godfrey leaned back in his chair.
I contemplated this theory for some moments in silence. It was, at least, a theory and an interesting one—but it rested on air. There was no sort of foundation for it that I could see, and at last I said so.
"I know it's pretty thin," Godfrey admitted, "but it's the best I've been able to do—there's so little to build a theory out of. But I'm going to see if I can't prove one part of it true to-night."
"Which part?"
"About his being a fakir. Here's my theory: that hocus-pocus on the roof at midnight was for the purpose of impressing Vaughan. No doubt he believed it a real spiritual manifestation, whereas it was only a clever bit of jugglery. Now that Vaughan is dead, that particular bit of jugglery will cease until there is some new victim to impress. In fact, it has ceased already. There was no star last night."
"But you know why," I pointed out. "The yogi spent the night in contemplation. We can bear witness to that."
"We can't bear witness to when he started in," said Godfrey, drily. "We didn't see him till after half-past twelve. However, accepting his explanation, there would be no reason for omittingthe phenomenon to-night, if it's a genuine one."
"No," I agreed.
"And if itisomitted," Godfrey went on, "it will be pretty conclusive evidence that it isn't genuine. Although," he went on hurriedly, "I don't need any proof of that—anything else would be unbelievable." He glanced at his watch. "It's ten minutes to twelve," he said. "Come along."
I followed him out of the house and through the grove with very mixed sensations. If the stardidn'tfall, it would tend to prove that it was, as Godfrey had said, merely a fake arranged to impress a credulous old man; but suppose itdidfall! That was a part of the test concerning which Godfrey had said nothing. Suppose itdidfall! What then?
So it was in silence that I followed Godfrey up the ladder and took my place on the limb. But Godfrey seemed to have no uneasiness.
"We won't have long to wait," he said. "We'll wait till five minutes after twelve, just to make sure. It must be twelve now. I wish I could persuade that fellow to show me how the fake was worked, for it was certainly a good one—one of the best...."
He stopped abruptly, staring out into the darkness. I was staring, too, for there, against the sky, a light began to glow and brighten. It hungfor a moment motionless, and then began slowly to descend, steadily, deliberately, as of set purpose. Lower and lower it sank, in a straight line, hovered for an instant, and burst into a million sparks.
In the flare of light, a white-robed figure stood, gazing upwards, its arms strained toward the sky.
As we went silently down the ladder, a moment later, it seemed to me that I could hear Godfrey's theory crashing about his ears.