Authors: Neil M. Gunn
Second Sight (26 page)
He was silent.
She gave an uncertain chuckle. “Go on, say I am enchanting you!”
“You are not enchanting me. You are merely making me a bit frightened.”
“Harry,” she said, excitement catching her breath, “do you not understand that I am making a song? Harry, Harry, don't you know that where delight is the heart sings? Don't you understand that love is delight? Harry, I was talking, talkingâbecause becauseâoh, Harry!” and she turned swiftly and threw her arms round his neck.
Her embrace was fierce.
He knew a lot more about this girl Helen before they at last remembered that they had to go back to Corbreac Lodge.
“It must be very late,” she said, as they strode along.
He did not speak, taking the night on his brows.
For it was a remarkable thing how this girl Helen had changed. She was a new person entirely, a changeling. Remarkable metamorphosis when a fellow tried to think about it. He had known her so well, had known her so long, that the old Helen was like a sister, a dear companion. This oneâthis oneâ¦he couldn't think at all, taking the horizons of the night on his forehead as a ship takes the horizons of the ocean.
She caught his hand, she pulled, they ran until they were out of breath. That helped him a bit, but not very much. Every cell of his body, every cell of the night, was filled with wild honey. He could not taste it properly. He was inarticulate. He stopped.
She was very strong, her lithe body was wary and quick. She broke and ran. He caught her.
“Harry!” she said solemnly.
“What now?”
She kissed him and laughed.
Until at long last they saw the lights of the Lodge, and lights behind it, and manifestly strange ongoings. They paused, wondering.
“Shall we go on or not?” he asked in a deep reluctance.
She looked back along the road they had come, slowly turned her head and looked up into his face. She did not speak.⦠Then she took his hand without a word and in silence they went down to the place where Geoffrey had arrived, and Angus, and Lachlan with the pony bearing the body of King Brude, the greatest trophy ever brought home to Corbreac.
By the time they reached the larder, Geoffrey and the others had gone in, but Maclean was still there with a lantern, and Alick, and Angus, and one or two of the pony-men and gillies.
Harry met Angus as he was turning away and complimented him, asking about the stalk.
“It was in the High Corrie that Mr. Smith got him,” said Angus. After that he answered yes or no.
Harry greeted Alick, who, after waiting a silent moment, followed Angus.
Maclean himself was not much more communicative, as he held up the lantern.
The dead eyes of King Brude caught light from the lantern. The antlers arched in beauty, high points blown inward. Harry stared at the magnificent head, for in the shadows it had an uncanny stillness, a growing power. He found himself deeply affected, touched with wonder and some primordial sensation of fear. He said something to Maclean and turned to speak to Helen, to find that she was awaiting him near the house. Before he reached her, she went round the corner towards the front door, and, in the hall, he saw her ankles disappearing upstairs.
At once he went into the sitting-room and up to Geoffrey with outstretched hand. “Hah-ha! You have brought the King home! My congratulations.”
“Excuse me not getting up,” said Geoffrey, accepting Harry's hand. “But it was a long pull.” He smiled. “Thanks.”
He was enthroned on his epic, a perpetual grin on his face, a readiness to laugh. He could see the humorous side of everything now. He even confessed to the first stag that he should have stalked. His description of the rock climb, with his side “giving me gyp”, was quite dramatic and unspoilt by reference to Angus's helping hand.
“I don't think you should have tackled that, Geoffrey,” said Sir John quietly. “In your condition, I do not think you should have risked it.”
“Had I known it was as bad as it was, I shouldn't,” said Geoffrey. “But we are only wise after the event.”
“Wise or dead!” said George.
Geoffrey laughed. He had seen the touch of doubt in their faces, of secret fear. He was scoring over Harry all along the line. Harry with his second sight of solemn death, and Geoffrey, like an intellectual acrobat, giving solemn death the slip! It was good fun in more ways than one.
He was fussed over and packed off to bed by the women.
“I think all this hero-worship positively smells,” said George.
“Never mind, old man,” replied Geoffrey. “You did pretty well yourself yesterdayâenough to make some of 'em think! Eh what?” And he winked to George and laughed, as he went out at the door, bent a little over the pain in his side.
Soon it was bedtime for all. Maclean had prophesied rain from the lack of colour in the sky. The weather forecast from the wireless backed him up. Was the spell of good weather at an end, the exhilarating autumn weather?
As Sir John was brushing his hair, Lady Marway remarked, “I think you should say a word to Geoffrey about taking risks. I was really worried until he got back. I think he should show a little more consideration.”
“I did try to warn him.”
“I think also the way he went after King Brudeâafter all, it's your forest, and I think you should have had as good a chance as Geoffrey.”
“I don't mind, my dear, not really.”
“That's why I mind.”
“You're merely a little upset. It's all right. Geoffrey has had his way. And if the weather breaks, it will break for days. It always does after such a good spell. There may not be much more hill for Geoffrey.”
She said no more. He stooped down, tall and clean, kissed her good night, and put out the light.
Geoffrey was extremely tired. He stretched himself between the cool sheets on the flat of his back, closed his eyes, and smiled in the dark. He had had a triumphant day. There was nothing a man could not do, once he gave his mind to it. A certain type of man, with a trained mind. A superstition had been growing that no one would ever shoot King Brude. He had exploded that superstitionâas he would explode others! Good fun exploding superstitions! A wholesome and necessary duty besides. He called on sleep. It came before the smile faded from his face.
Harry did not call on sleep, did not want to lose consciousness.
Neither did Helen.
Joyce always went to sleep very quickly, like a child whose nervous energy was all used up, unless she had overdone things, when sleeplessness made her acutely miserable.
George was just popping offâheld back a little by thought of Geoffrey's triumph. He could not help liking that wink Geoffrey had given him; singling him out, as it were. He admired Geoffrey's assurance. Strong character. Wouldn't mind if he himself could act with that definiteness.â¦
Helen was so wide awake that she could hardly think of one thing at a time. Her mind was so wide open, so sensitive, that it was aware of nothing, as a listening ear is aware of silence. Suggestions of emotions drifted through, but she settled on none of them, drew none of them into her thought or into her arms. This was an exquisite game that played itself. Her happiness was so great that she was afraid of it. She got out of bed, and went to the window, cautiously pulled up the blind, and looked out.⦠The pale night, the stillness; dear God, the beauty of the quiet night in this quiet remote worldâ¦
But his astonishment was really far more cunning than that. For its centre was Helen's art of love, that unforeseen, indescribable play of her instincts, grace of her arms and hands, and quick living mouth. He could hardly believe it yet, because in some way it implied he was worthy of it, and his bones and opaque flesh and ordinary mind couldn't quite accept that. Not altogether. Yet what could come out of delight, but acts of delight, when one thought of it? And the more exquisite the delight in the mind, the more exquisite the acts.⦠Memory of the acts began to get the better of him. If he got up and slipped outside and round to her window?⦠If they were caught, what did it matter? That night they had been for ever betrothed.â¦
Mairi was in deep sleep, for she had worked hard all day, and worked hard every day. Yet the last night or two she had been restless. She did not require to talk much. The sight of Alick walking, a glimpse of his face, told her more than words could. She had tried to fight against a creeping sense of fatality, of something dreadful about to happen, of a horror that could almost be smelt, but to-night she had given in. What would be had to be. Ina slept also. They tried, if possible, to get to sleep before Cook produced her peculiar short grunt of a snore. It now came through the thin wall like mechanically timed explosions. Cook was a strong-minded woman. That evening she had given Maclean his orders about getting a salmon for the third night hence, when Screesval was coming to dine.
Maclean had not answered her. He had been in a queer dour mood, due to the killing of King Brude by Geoffrey. He had not looked at Angus, who had felt the hostility.
Alick and Angus had gone away together, and Angus had told Alick the whole story of the day's stalk with an extreme bitterness, right down to Geoffrey's regret that he had not his pocket book on him to pay the bribe of two pounds. “Thank God he hadn't. The rifleâthe rifle was in my hands.” He grew silent, remembering how murder had sat in his head. He added: “I feel like a bloody Judas.”
“You merely did your job,” said Alick with a strange smile.
The sky was dark, all the blue out of it, and the stars extremely bright and near. A sign of rain. A soft puff of wind came up the birches, through the slats of the larder where King Brude hung alone, round the Lodge windows and chimneys. The fir trees stirred, making the sighing hissing sound of sea-water. The wind came and the wind went on, up the ways to the forest, into and out of the corries, carrying its tale to sensitive nostrils, through the empty High Corrie, round the bald rock of Benuain, over the moors and ridges, by croft houses and inns and shooting lodges, heard by every sleeping ear in that northern land of mixed uneasy dreams, until it got beyond the last peaks and came to the salt, cleansing sea.
On Marjory's sleeping ear it produced a remarkable effect. Between the time that the sound struck her ear and was acknowledged by her brain, in that inconceivably short instant of time, she dreamed a dream that went through hours of slow, detailed misadventures culminating in the horror of being lost in a forest in the Far East. She awoke wide-eyed, and, holding the gulp of her breath, listened. There was no sound in the house. Only the sound of the wind outside.
She gave an uncertain chuckle. “Go on, say I am enchanting you!”
“You are not enchanting me. You are merely making me a bit frightened.”
“Harry,” she said, excitement catching her breath, “do you not understand that I am making a song? Harry, Harry, don't you know that where delight is the heart sings? Don't you understand that love is delight? Harry, I was talking, talkingâbecause becauseâoh, Harry!” and she turned swiftly and threw her arms round his neck.
Her embrace was fierce.
He knew a lot more about this girl Helen before they at last remembered that they had to go back to Corbreac Lodge.
“It must be very late,” she said, as they strode along.
He did not speak, taking the night on his brows.
For it was a remarkable thing how this girl Helen had changed. She was a new person entirely, a changeling. Remarkable metamorphosis when a fellow tried to think about it. He had known her so well, had known her so long, that the old Helen was like a sister, a dear companion. This oneâthis oneâ¦he couldn't think at all, taking the horizons of the night on his forehead as a ship takes the horizons of the ocean.
She caught his hand, she pulled, they ran until they were out of breath. That helped him a bit, but not very much. Every cell of his body, every cell of the night, was filled with wild honey. He could not taste it properly. He was inarticulate. He stopped.
She was very strong, her lithe body was wary and quick. She broke and ran. He caught her.
“Harry!” she said solemnly.
“What now?”
She kissed him and laughed.
Until at long last they saw the lights of the Lodge, and lights behind it, and manifestly strange ongoings. They paused, wondering.
“Shall we go on or not?” he asked in a deep reluctance.
She looked back along the road they had come, slowly turned her head and looked up into his face. She did not speak.⦠Then she took his hand without a word and in silence they went down to the place where Geoffrey had arrived, and Angus, and Lachlan with the pony bearing the body of King Brude, the greatest trophy ever brought home to Corbreac.
By the time they reached the larder, Geoffrey and the others had gone in, but Maclean was still there with a lantern, and Alick, and Angus, and one or two of the pony-men and gillies.
Harry met Angus as he was turning away and complimented him, asking about the stalk.
“It was in the High Corrie that Mr. Smith got him,” said Angus. After that he answered yes or no.
Harry greeted Alick, who, after waiting a silent moment, followed Angus.
Maclean himself was not much more communicative, as he held up the lantern.
The dead eyes of King Brude caught light from the lantern. The antlers arched in beauty, high points blown inward. Harry stared at the magnificent head, for in the shadows it had an uncanny stillness, a growing power. He found himself deeply affected, touched with wonder and some primordial sensation of fear. He said something to Maclean and turned to speak to Helen, to find that she was awaiting him near the house. Before he reached her, she went round the corner towards the front door, and, in the hall, he saw her ankles disappearing upstairs.
At once he went into the sitting-room and up to Geoffrey with outstretched hand. “Hah-ha! You have brought the King home! My congratulations.”
“Excuse me not getting up,” said Geoffrey, accepting Harry's hand. “But it was a long pull.” He smiled. “Thanks.”
He was enthroned on his epic, a perpetual grin on his face, a readiness to laugh. He could see the humorous side of everything now. He even confessed to the first stag that he should have stalked. His description of the rock climb, with his side “giving me gyp”, was quite dramatic and unspoilt by reference to Angus's helping hand.
“I don't think you should have tackled that, Geoffrey,” said Sir John quietly. “In your condition, I do not think you should have risked it.”
“Had I known it was as bad as it was, I shouldn't,” said Geoffrey. “But we are only wise after the event.”
“Wise or dead!” said George.
Geoffrey laughed. He had seen the touch of doubt in their faces, of secret fear. He was scoring over Harry all along the line. Harry with his second sight of solemn death, and Geoffrey, like an intellectual acrobat, giving solemn death the slip! It was good fun in more ways than one.
He was fussed over and packed off to bed by the women.
“I think all this hero-worship positively smells,” said George.
“Never mind, old man,” replied Geoffrey. “You did pretty well yourself yesterdayâenough to make some of 'em think! Eh what?” And he winked to George and laughed, as he went out at the door, bent a little over the pain in his side.
Soon it was bedtime for all. Maclean had prophesied rain from the lack of colour in the sky. The weather forecast from the wireless backed him up. Was the spell of good weather at an end, the exhilarating autumn weather?
As Sir John was brushing his hair, Lady Marway remarked, “I think you should say a word to Geoffrey about taking risks. I was really worried until he got back. I think he should show a little more consideration.”
“I did try to warn him.”
“I think also the way he went after King Brudeâafter all, it's your forest, and I think you should have had as good a chance as Geoffrey.”
“I don't mind, my dear, not really.”
“That's why I mind.”
“You're merely a little upset. It's all right. Geoffrey has had his way. And if the weather breaks, it will break for days. It always does after such a good spell. There may not be much more hill for Geoffrey.”
She said no more. He stooped down, tall and clean, kissed her good night, and put out the light.
Geoffrey was extremely tired. He stretched himself between the cool sheets on the flat of his back, closed his eyes, and smiled in the dark. He had had a triumphant day. There was nothing a man could not do, once he gave his mind to it. A certain type of man, with a trained mind. A superstition had been growing that no one would ever shoot King Brude. He had exploded that superstitionâas he would explode others! Good fun exploding superstitions! A wholesome and necessary duty besides. He called on sleep. It came before the smile faded from his face.
Harry did not call on sleep, did not want to lose consciousness.
Neither did Helen.
Joyce always went to sleep very quickly, like a child whose nervous energy was all used up, unless she had overdone things, when sleeplessness made her acutely miserable.
George was just popping offâheld back a little by thought of Geoffrey's triumph. He could not help liking that wink Geoffrey had given him; singling him out, as it were. He admired Geoffrey's assurance. Strong character. Wouldn't mind if he himself could act with that definiteness.â¦
Helen was so wide awake that she could hardly think of one thing at a time. Her mind was so wide open, so sensitive, that it was aware of nothing, as a listening ear is aware of silence. Suggestions of emotions drifted through, but she settled on none of them, drew none of them into her thought or into her arms. This was an exquisite game that played itself. Her happiness was so great that she was afraid of it. She got out of bed, and went to the window, cautiously pulled up the blind, and looked out.⦠The pale night, the stillness; dear God, the beauty of the quiet night in this quiet remote worldâ¦
Fra bank to bank, fra wood to wood I rinHarry had no trouble with his mind, for it was in a perpetual astonishment. He was making the supreme discovery that a state of delight is a state that cannot be communicated, and yet, when you have it, is more certain than all else in the world of appearances. All the horrors of the world were seen at a remote distance, the challengings and boastings and desperations of pigmies in a lower world of partial darkness. The Dean's pity was for them, Christ's divine pity, the mystic's pity.â¦
Ourhailit by my feeble phantasie.â¦
But his astonishment was really far more cunning than that. For its centre was Helen's art of love, that unforeseen, indescribable play of her instincts, grace of her arms and hands, and quick living mouth. He could hardly believe it yet, because in some way it implied he was worthy of it, and his bones and opaque flesh and ordinary mind couldn't quite accept that. Not altogether. Yet what could come out of delight, but acts of delight, when one thought of it? And the more exquisite the delight in the mind, the more exquisite the acts.⦠Memory of the acts began to get the better of him. If he got up and slipped outside and round to her window?⦠If they were caught, what did it matter? That night they had been for ever betrothed.â¦
Mairi was in deep sleep, for she had worked hard all day, and worked hard every day. Yet the last night or two she had been restless. She did not require to talk much. The sight of Alick walking, a glimpse of his face, told her more than words could. She had tried to fight against a creeping sense of fatality, of something dreadful about to happen, of a horror that could almost be smelt, but to-night she had given in. What would be had to be. Ina slept also. They tried, if possible, to get to sleep before Cook produced her peculiar short grunt of a snore. It now came through the thin wall like mechanically timed explosions. Cook was a strong-minded woman. That evening she had given Maclean his orders about getting a salmon for the third night hence, when Screesval was coming to dine.
Maclean had not answered her. He had been in a queer dour mood, due to the killing of King Brude by Geoffrey. He had not looked at Angus, who had felt the hostility.
Alick and Angus had gone away together, and Angus had told Alick the whole story of the day's stalk with an extreme bitterness, right down to Geoffrey's regret that he had not his pocket book on him to pay the bribe of two pounds. “Thank God he hadn't. The rifleâthe rifle was in my hands.” He grew silent, remembering how murder had sat in his head. He added: “I feel like a bloody Judas.”
“You merely did your job,” said Alick with a strange smile.
The sky was dark, all the blue out of it, and the stars extremely bright and near. A sign of rain. A soft puff of wind came up the birches, through the slats of the larder where King Brude hung alone, round the Lodge windows and chimneys. The fir trees stirred, making the sighing hissing sound of sea-water. The wind came and the wind went on, up the ways to the forest, into and out of the corries, carrying its tale to sensitive nostrils, through the empty High Corrie, round the bald rock of Benuain, over the moors and ridges, by croft houses and inns and shooting lodges, heard by every sleeping ear in that northern land of mixed uneasy dreams, until it got beyond the last peaks and came to the salt, cleansing sea.
On Marjory's sleeping ear it produced a remarkable effect. Between the time that the sound struck her ear and was acknowledged by her brain, in that inconceivably short instant of time, she dreamed a dream that went through hours of slow, detailed misadventures culminating in the horror of being lost in a forest in the Far East. She awoke wide-eyed, and, holding the gulp of her breath, listened. There was no sound in the house. Only the sound of the wind outside.
Chapter Twelve
G
eoffrey did not get up until the afternoon of the following day. The sound of the wind and rain had been a pleasant background to his thought as he lay in bed. He regretted, of course, that the others could not get to the hill. Any beast now brought home must be in the nature of an anti-climax. At one stroke he had taken the heart out of the forest, he had exhausted the marvellous.
There was another satisfaction, too. By killing King Brude he had compensated for that first unfortunate, over-long shot, of which Harry had made so much. That incident had rankled more poisonously than he was willing to admit. He could never quite forgive Harry, and would dearly like to take it out of him in some wayâand particularly out of that fellow, Alick. There was only one immediate way in which that could be doneâby proving them simple, if necessary even honest, credulous fools. Not that he believed Alick was honest. If, by a stroke of vast fun, he could prove Alick to be the sort of native snake that he was, he would at the same time clear up the whole atmosphere that undoubtedly had begun to depress the place. Lady Marway wouldn't like the process, but she would thank him if in the end.â¦
He found Harry alone in the sitting-room. The others had gone out to pay a call or something, Harry explained, with the exception of Marjory, who was somewhere about, he thought. But he did not appear very interested, nor did he brighten perceptibly at the prospect of Geoffrey's company. Geoffrey turned to the mantelpiece to hide a small smile and helped himself to a cigarette.
“No further developments?” he asked.
“About what?” asked Harry.
Geoffrey offered an amused shrug. “I have never really managed to continue an interesting, not to say a dramatic, conversation with you interrupted a few nights ago. You may rememberâabout second sight? Have I missed any further developments?”
Harry looked at him. “Not of any particular moment, I think.”
“Good. Are you still of the same mind about their importance?”
“Yes,” said Harry, “I am.”
Geoffrey looked at him. “Really?”
Harry smiled. “Amusing, isn't it?”
“I must say it is.”
Harry made no comment.
Geoffrey stood with his back to the fire. Harry, from his chair, had his face turned towards the window. The day was gloomy with hanging mists and curtains of driving rain.
“If I remember, you said something about four men, and even about
you
or
me
. Was that right?”
“Quite right,” said Harry.
“But you did not care to mention the names of the four men? That was a pity, because what this sort of stuff needs badly is evidence recorded beforehand.”
“Quite,” said Harry. “I merely used my discretion in this matter, as, I suppose, people always have done, because it's personal. However, if you can give me an assurance you will not divulge the names, I could let you have them now.”
“I promise,” said Geoffrey.
“The names are: Sir John, George, Maclean, and Angus.”
Deliberately Geoffrey repeated them: “Sir John, George, Maclean, and Angus.” He continued to look penetratingly at Harry. “Do you
really
believe?”
“Belief does not come into it yet. It's not a religious topic exactly. I told you what happened. Normally belief waits on proof.”
“Quite,” said Geoffrey, tilting his head and taking a pull at his cigarette. “Now about the body. You or me. Any suggestion as to which of us?”
Harry hesitated. “No more than a suggestion.”
“Am I to interpret that as meaning
me
rather than
you
?”
Harry shrugged. “You may.”
“I see,” said Geoffrey. “Any statement as to time?”
“No.”
“Pity. We may be coming here for years. The grouping you describe may be possible indefinitely. I trust you see my point?”
“I do. Only he saw usâas we are now.”
“Naturally. He doesn't know us any other way. Which should explain much. However, surely you at least see a point like this: If, say, George and I left for London at once and never came back together, we could make the grouping impossible.”
“Certainly I see that.”
“Well?”
“But you're not in London.”
“No. But we
could
go at once. And so make what he alleges he foresaw impossible. Here we are
before
the event, and the free will you believe in could be used to circumvent the happening. Do you appreciate the illogical knot you're tying yourself in?”
“Not exactlyâif, as Colonel Brown says, a degree of interference with a vision of the future is mathematically or theoretically possible.”
“Oh, good God! That sort of mathematical talk in a dreamvacuum! You don't mean to say you were impressed by that?”
“I was. For all I know, his mathematical knowledge may be greater than yours. He has been trained to deal scientifically with extremely practical things. You can fight that out between you. I'm an ordinary engineer, with no particular gift for the higher criticism whether in nuclear physics or metaphysics. I merely try to recognise a situation when I see it. And all I am sure of is that you and George are not in London. You're here.”
“But we could go.”
“You could both set out for London at once. You could try to get away from here to-night.”
“Are you implying we couldn't get away?”
“No.” Harry got up. “Look here, Geoffrey. I want to be quite frank about this. You may think me mad. I cannot help that. All I can assure you is that I was never more serious. You are one of this partyâusually a pretty happy crowd, and not quite the normal huntin' and shootin' kind. If anything unfortunate happened here, the distress would be pretty acute, particularly to, say, our hosts. In a word, I should be delighted if you did get away. I should like to prove this particular second sight a piece of moonshine. The point isâ” and he faced Geoffrey â“
will you go?
”
Their eyes drew out the silence to an extreme tension.
Geoffrey broke it harshly. “Good God!” he said.
Harry turned away.
“Leave here at once!” Geoffrey's voice was hoarse with sarcasm. “Great heavens, what would sane people think of me?”
“You have no excuse like that,” said Harry. “It could be arranged quite simply and naturally.”
“How?”
Without hesitation Harry turned from the window and said, “I can walk to the telephone now, ring up your chief, Dr. Lester, in London, say to him that you want an excuse for leaving here immediately. Ask him to ring up Sir John in a couple of hours. Tell him to say to Sir John that a very urgent laboratory affair demands your immediate presence. He'll apologise and ask to speak to you. Then at six in the morning I'll run you from here to catch the south train.”
Geoffrey gaped at him. “You have worked it outâas far as that?”
“I dallied with the idea of arranging the call without telling you.”
“Have you gone quite mad?”
“Don't think so,” said Harry, holding his eyes.
The door opened and Marjory came in.
“Come in, Marjory,” said Geoffrey, “and bring a breath of sanity with you, in heaven's name.”
“More arguments?” smiled Marjory, raising her eyebrows and glancing from one to the other.
“Oh, so so,” said Harry. “Small private affair. This sort of weather affects the mind.”
“What your mind needs is fresh air,” said Geoffrey.
“Thanks for the idea,” said Harryâ“and the tip.” With a smile, he strolled out and closed the door.
Marjory looked at Geoffrey. “What's wrong?”
“Come here, Marjory, till I talk to you. This is becoming monstrous. Absolutely monstrous.” He took a crippled step or two on the hearth rug. Obviously he accepted Marjory as a natural ally, and the forces held in sarcastic reserve before Harry could now be given expression. He felt angry; he felt vindictive. To score over Harry, to expose this appalling incredible nonsenseâat this time of day, not merely amongst superstitious natives, whom one might excuse, but amongst people like Harry and Helen, the so-called educated!âto expose it became imperative, an absolute duty. He spoke to Marjory with considerable heat. “Don't you agree?”
“If it could be done,” she murmured hesitantly.
“Done? We'll do it all right! And wouldn't it be a joke if we could frighten the wits out of them? Blow their hocus-pocus sky-high and frighten the wits out of them! And the wits of Colonel Brown
and
the Dean!”
His vehemence disturbed Marjory. “It might. Butââ”
“Yes. That's what they need! And that's what they'll get!”
“Aren't you taking this too much to heart? I meanââ”
“Do you know”, he interrupted her, “what he was trying to get me to do just now?”
“What?”
“Clear off to London at once.”
“Why?” Her eyes opened upon him.
“Because the poor mut, worked on by that cunning stalker, has gone spoofy.”
“But why London?”
“To be out of harm's way. You see they have arranged between them that I am the corpse-to-be.” He laughed. “Now if.⦠What are you staring like that for?”
She turned her face away. “Nothing.”
“Heavens, you're not preparing to go temperamental, too, are you?”
“No. Only it's sort of everywhere andâoneâwellâoneââ”
“Gets infected. Isn't that what I say? And you are the only really sane person I could ask to help me. I couldn't ask anyone outside the house. And insideâyou are the only one. You are sane, Marjory, and balanced. I have always admired you, really. You will help me, won't you?”
“I should like to help you. Butââ”
“Never mind the buts.”
“Frankly, Geoffrey, I would rather you left the thing alone.” She looked at him.
He liked her troubled eyes. They were concernedânot for herself.
“You wouldn't like me to score over them?”
He waited as if for an avowal. She stared towards the window.
“Won't you answer?” he asked.
“Yes, I would,” she murmured. “But I don't think it's important enough for you toâto riskâI mean, how would youââ”
He laughed, quietly for him. “We'll think that out.” His eyes were bright with triumph. “I have a working idea. All we need is something to give it a push. We'll think it out carefully. It will be great fun. Give me your hand on it, Marjory!” He took her hand. He was eager as a malicious schoolboy. He squeezed her hand. Involuntarily she returned the pressure, withdrew her hand, and moved towards the window. A quick step after her, and he paused, clutching at his side.
“What is it, Geoffrey?” She came quickly up to him, concern in her eyes, her voice.
His face had paled, his lips were drawn taut. He carefully let himself into a chair. He stared before him, like one who had had a stroke, his eyes alive and gleaming.
“Geoffrey!”
He smiled into her terrified face. “Hsh!” he said, holding up his hand. There was the sound of the car drawing up. “Remember,” he said, “not a word. And we'll meet later. A cigarette, please.” He pointed to the mantelpiece and wiped his forehead. “Don't worry,” he added, smiling to her over the match-light. “I'm all right. To-night we'll beginâpreparing the atmosphere.”
G
eoffrey did not get up until the afternoon of the following day. The sound of the wind and rain had been a pleasant background to his thought as he lay in bed. He regretted, of course, that the others could not get to the hill. Any beast now brought home must be in the nature of an anti-climax. At one stroke he had taken the heart out of the forest, he had exhausted the marvellous.
There was another satisfaction, too. By killing King Brude he had compensated for that first unfortunate, over-long shot, of which Harry had made so much. That incident had rankled more poisonously than he was willing to admit. He could never quite forgive Harry, and would dearly like to take it out of him in some wayâand particularly out of that fellow, Alick. There was only one immediate way in which that could be doneâby proving them simple, if necessary even honest, credulous fools. Not that he believed Alick was honest. If, by a stroke of vast fun, he could prove Alick to be the sort of native snake that he was, he would at the same time clear up the whole atmosphere that undoubtedly had begun to depress the place. Lady Marway wouldn't like the process, but she would thank him if in the end.â¦
He found Harry alone in the sitting-room. The others had gone out to pay a call or something, Harry explained, with the exception of Marjory, who was somewhere about, he thought. But he did not appear very interested, nor did he brighten perceptibly at the prospect of Geoffrey's company. Geoffrey turned to the mantelpiece to hide a small smile and helped himself to a cigarette.
“No further developments?” he asked.
“About what?” asked Harry.
Geoffrey offered an amused shrug. “I have never really managed to continue an interesting, not to say a dramatic, conversation with you interrupted a few nights ago. You may rememberâabout second sight? Have I missed any further developments?”
Harry looked at him. “Not of any particular moment, I think.”
“Good. Are you still of the same mind about their importance?”
“Yes,” said Harry, “I am.”
Geoffrey looked at him. “Really?”
Harry smiled. “Amusing, isn't it?”
“I must say it is.”
Harry made no comment.
Geoffrey stood with his back to the fire. Harry, from his chair, had his face turned towards the window. The day was gloomy with hanging mists and curtains of driving rain.
“If I remember, you said something about four men, and even about
you
or
me
. Was that right?”
“Quite right,” said Harry.
“But you did not care to mention the names of the four men? That was a pity, because what this sort of stuff needs badly is evidence recorded beforehand.”
“Quite,” said Harry. “I merely used my discretion in this matter, as, I suppose, people always have done, because it's personal. However, if you can give me an assurance you will not divulge the names, I could let you have them now.”
“I promise,” said Geoffrey.
“The names are: Sir John, George, Maclean, and Angus.”
Deliberately Geoffrey repeated them: “Sir John, George, Maclean, and Angus.” He continued to look penetratingly at Harry. “Do you
really
believe?”
“Belief does not come into it yet. It's not a religious topic exactly. I told you what happened. Normally belief waits on proof.”
“Quite,” said Geoffrey, tilting his head and taking a pull at his cigarette. “Now about the body. You or me. Any suggestion as to which of us?”
Harry hesitated. “No more than a suggestion.”
“Am I to interpret that as meaning
me
rather than
you
?”
Harry shrugged. “You may.”
“I see,” said Geoffrey. “Any statement as to time?”
“No.”
“Pity. We may be coming here for years. The grouping you describe may be possible indefinitely. I trust you see my point?”
“I do. Only he saw usâas we are now.”
“Naturally. He doesn't know us any other way. Which should explain much. However, surely you at least see a point like this: If, say, George and I left for London at once and never came back together, we could make the grouping impossible.”
“Certainly I see that.”
“Well?”
“But you're not in London.”
“No. But we
could
go at once. And so make what he alleges he foresaw impossible. Here we are
before
the event, and the free will you believe in could be used to circumvent the happening. Do you appreciate the illogical knot you're tying yourself in?”
“Not exactlyâif, as Colonel Brown says, a degree of interference with a vision of the future is mathematically or theoretically possible.”
“Oh, good God! That sort of mathematical talk in a dreamvacuum! You don't mean to say you were impressed by that?”
“I was. For all I know, his mathematical knowledge may be greater than yours. He has been trained to deal scientifically with extremely practical things. You can fight that out between you. I'm an ordinary engineer, with no particular gift for the higher criticism whether in nuclear physics or metaphysics. I merely try to recognise a situation when I see it. And all I am sure of is that you and George are not in London. You're here.”
“But we could go.”
“You could both set out for London at once. You could try to get away from here to-night.”
“Are you implying we couldn't get away?”
“No.” Harry got up. “Look here, Geoffrey. I want to be quite frank about this. You may think me mad. I cannot help that. All I can assure you is that I was never more serious. You are one of this partyâusually a pretty happy crowd, and not quite the normal huntin' and shootin' kind. If anything unfortunate happened here, the distress would be pretty acute, particularly to, say, our hosts. In a word, I should be delighted if you did get away. I should like to prove this particular second sight a piece of moonshine. The point isâ” and he faced Geoffrey â“
will you go?
”
Their eyes drew out the silence to an extreme tension.
Geoffrey broke it harshly. “Good God!” he said.
Harry turned away.
“Leave here at once!” Geoffrey's voice was hoarse with sarcasm. “Great heavens, what would sane people think of me?”
“You have no excuse like that,” said Harry. “It could be arranged quite simply and naturally.”
“How?”
Without hesitation Harry turned from the window and said, “I can walk to the telephone now, ring up your chief, Dr. Lester, in London, say to him that you want an excuse for leaving here immediately. Ask him to ring up Sir John in a couple of hours. Tell him to say to Sir John that a very urgent laboratory affair demands your immediate presence. He'll apologise and ask to speak to you. Then at six in the morning I'll run you from here to catch the south train.”
Geoffrey gaped at him. “You have worked it outâas far as that?”
“I dallied with the idea of arranging the call without telling you.”
“Have you gone quite mad?”
“Don't think so,” said Harry, holding his eyes.
The door opened and Marjory came in.
“Come in, Marjory,” said Geoffrey, “and bring a breath of sanity with you, in heaven's name.”
“More arguments?” smiled Marjory, raising her eyebrows and glancing from one to the other.
“Oh, so so,” said Harry. “Small private affair. This sort of weather affects the mind.”
“What your mind needs is fresh air,” said Geoffrey.
“Thanks for the idea,” said Harryâ“and the tip.” With a smile, he strolled out and closed the door.
Marjory looked at Geoffrey. “What's wrong?”
“Come here, Marjory, till I talk to you. This is becoming monstrous. Absolutely monstrous.” He took a crippled step or two on the hearth rug. Obviously he accepted Marjory as a natural ally, and the forces held in sarcastic reserve before Harry could now be given expression. He felt angry; he felt vindictive. To score over Harry, to expose this appalling incredible nonsenseâat this time of day, not merely amongst superstitious natives, whom one might excuse, but amongst people like Harry and Helen, the so-called educated!âto expose it became imperative, an absolute duty. He spoke to Marjory with considerable heat. “Don't you agree?”
“If it could be done,” she murmured hesitantly.
“Done? We'll do it all right! And wouldn't it be a joke if we could frighten the wits out of them? Blow their hocus-pocus sky-high and frighten the wits out of them! And the wits of Colonel Brown
and
the Dean!”
His vehemence disturbed Marjory. “It might. Butââ”
“Yes. That's what they need! And that's what they'll get!”
“Aren't you taking this too much to heart? I meanââ”
“Do you know”, he interrupted her, “what he was trying to get me to do just now?”
“What?”
“Clear off to London at once.”
“Why?” Her eyes opened upon him.
“Because the poor mut, worked on by that cunning stalker, has gone spoofy.”
“But why London?”
“To be out of harm's way. You see they have arranged between them that I am the corpse-to-be.” He laughed. “Now if.⦠What are you staring like that for?”
She turned her face away. “Nothing.”
“Heavens, you're not preparing to go temperamental, too, are you?”
“No. Only it's sort of everywhere andâoneâwellâoneââ”
“Gets infected. Isn't that what I say? And you are the only really sane person I could ask to help me. I couldn't ask anyone outside the house. And insideâyou are the only one. You are sane, Marjory, and balanced. I have always admired you, really. You will help me, won't you?”
“I should like to help you. Butââ”
“Never mind the buts.”
“Frankly, Geoffrey, I would rather you left the thing alone.” She looked at him.
He liked her troubled eyes. They were concernedânot for herself.
“You wouldn't like me to score over them?”
He waited as if for an avowal. She stared towards the window.
“Won't you answer?” he asked.
“Yes, I would,” she murmured. “But I don't think it's important enough for you toâto riskâI mean, how would youââ”
He laughed, quietly for him. “We'll think that out.” His eyes were bright with triumph. “I have a working idea. All we need is something to give it a push. We'll think it out carefully. It will be great fun. Give me your hand on it, Marjory!” He took her hand. He was eager as a malicious schoolboy. He squeezed her hand. Involuntarily she returned the pressure, withdrew her hand, and moved towards the window. A quick step after her, and he paused, clutching at his side.
“What is it, Geoffrey?” She came quickly up to him, concern in her eyes, her voice.
His face had paled, his lips were drawn taut. He carefully let himself into a chair. He stared before him, like one who had had a stroke, his eyes alive and gleaming.
“Geoffrey!”
He smiled into her terrified face. “Hsh!” he said, holding up his hand. There was the sound of the car drawing up. “Remember,” he said, “not a word. And we'll meet later. A cigarette, please.” He pointed to the mantelpiece and wiped his forehead. “Don't worry,” he added, smiling to her over the match-light. “I'm all right. To-night we'll beginâpreparing the atmosphere.”
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