CHAPTER VI.
A TELEPATHIC TELEGRAM.
I left the room and hurried outside without any positive plan for mymovements. My brain was in such a whirl I could form no connected trainof thought. These men, whose conversation was a jargon fitting only forlunatics, had proved that they could read my mind with the ease of atelegraph operator taking a message off a wire. That they, further,possessed marvellous, if not miraculous powers, over occult naturalforces could hardly be doubted. The net in which I had voluntarilyentangled myself was closing around me. An irresistible impulse tofly--to desert Natalie and save myself--came over me. I put this asidepresently. It was both unworthy and unwise. For whither should I fly?The ends of the earth would not be far enough to save me, the depths ofthe sea would not be deep enough to hide me from those who killed bywilling that their victim should die.
On the other hand, if my senses had only been hocussed, and Messrs.Brande and Grey were nothing better than clever tricksters, the parkgate was far enough, and the nearest policeman force enough, to save mefrom their vengeance. But the girl--Natalie! She was clairvoyante. Theypractised upon her. My diagnosis of the strange seeing-without-sightexpression of her eyes was then correct. And it was clear to me thatwhatsoever or whomsoever Brande and Grey believed or disbelieved in,they certainly believed in themselves. They might be relied on to sparenothing and no one in their project, however ridiculous or mad theirpurpose might be. What then availed my paltry protection when the girlherself was a willing victim, and the men omnipotent? Nevertheless, if Ifailed eventually to serve her, I could at least do my best.
It was clear that I must stand by Natalie Brande.
While I was thus reflecting, the following conversation took placebetween Brande and Grey. I found a note of it in a diary which Brandekept desultorily. He wrote this up so irregularly no continuousinformation can be gleaned from it as to his life. How the diary cameinto my hands will be seen later. The memorandum is written thus:--
_Grey_--Our new member? Why did you introduce him? You say he cannothelp with money. It is plain he cannot help with brains.
_Brande_--He interests Natalie. He is what the uneducated callgood-natured. He enjoys doing unselfish things, unaware that it is forthe selfish sake of the agreeable sensation thereby secured. Besides, Ilike him myself. He amuses me. To make him a member was the only safeway of keeping him so much about us. But Natalie is the main reason. Iam afraid of her wavering in spite of my hypnotic influence. In a girlof her intensely emotional nature the sentiment of hopeless love willcreate profound melancholy. Dominated by that she is safe. It seemscruel at first sight. It is not really so. It is not cruel to reconcileher to a fate she cannot escape. It is merciful. For the rest, what doesit matter? It will be all the same in--
_Grey_--This day six months.
_Brande_--I believe I shivered. Heredity has much to answer for.
That is the whole of the entry. I did not read the words until the handthat wrote them was dust.
Natalie professed some disappointment when I announced my immediatereturn to town. I was obliged to manufacture an excuse for such a hastydeparture, and so fell back on an old engagement which I had trulyoverlooked, and which really called me away. But it would have calledlong enough without an answer if it had not been for Brande himself, hisfriend Grey, and their insanities. My mind was fixed on one salientissue: how to get Natalie Brande out of her brother's evil influence.This would be better compassed when I myself was outside the scope ofhis extraordinary influence. And so I went without delay.
For some time after my return to London, I went about visiting oldhaunts and friends. I soon tired of this. The haunts had lost theirinterest. The friends were changed, or I was changed. I could not resumethe friendships which had been interrupted. The chain of connection hadbeen broken and the links would not weld easily. So, after some futileefforts to return to the circle I had long deserted, I desisted andaccepted my exclusion with serenity. I am not sure that I desired theold relationships re-established. And as my long absence had preventedany fresh shoots of friendship being grafted, I found myself alone inLondon. I need say no more.
One evening I was walking through the streets in a despondent mood, ashad become my habit. By chance I read the name of a street into which Ihad turned to avoid a more crowded thoroughfare. It was that in whichMiss Metford lived. I knew that she had returned to town, for she hadbriefly acquainted me with the fact on a postcard written some dayspreviously.
Here was a chance of distraction. This girl's spontaneous gaiety, whichI found at first displeasing, was what I wanted to help me to shake offthe gloomy incubus of thought oppressing me. It was hardly within theproprieties to call upon her at such an hour, but it could not mattervery much, when the girl's own ideas were so unconventional. She hadindependent means, and lived apart from her family in order to be rid ofdomestic limitations. She had told me that she carried alatch-key--indeed she had shown it to me with a flourish of triumph--andthat she delighted in free manners. Free manners, she was careful toadd, did not mean bad manners. To my mind the terms were synonymous.When opposite her number I decided to call, and, having knocked at thedoor, was told that Miss Metford was at home.
"Hallo, Marcel! Glad to see you," she called out, somewhat stridentlyfor my taste. Her dress was rather mannish, as usual. In lieu of herout-door tunic she wore a smoking-jacket. When I entered she was sittingin an arm-chair, with her feet on a music-stool. She arose so hastilythat the music-stool was overturned, and allowed to lie where it fell.
"What is the matter?" she asked, concerned. "Have you seen a ghost?"
"I think I have seen many ghosts of late," I said, "and they have notbeen good company. I was passing your door, and I have come in forcomfort."
She crossed the room and poured out some whisky from a decanter whichwas standing on a side-board. Then she opened a bottle of soda-waterwith a facility which suggested practice. I was relieved to think thatit was not Natalie who was my hostess. Handing me the glass, she saidperemptorily:
"Drink that. That is right. Give me the glass. Now smoke. Do I allowsmoking here? Pah! I smoke here myself."
I lit a cigar and sat down beside her. The clouds began to lift from mybrain and float off in the blue smoke wreaths. We talked on ordinarytopics without my once noticing how deftly they had been introduced byMiss Metford. I never thought of the flight of time until a chime from atiny clock on the mantelpiece--an exquisite sample of the tastefulfurniture of the whole room--warned me that my visit had lasted twohours. I arose reluctantly.
She rallied me on my ingratitude. I had come in a sorry plight. I wasnow restored. She was no longer useful, therefore I left her. And so on,till I said with a solemnity no doubt lugubrious:
"I am most grateful, Miss Metford. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.You would not understand--"
"Oh, please leave my poor understanding alone, and tell me what hashappened to you. I should like to hear it. And what is more, I likeyou." She said this so carelessly, I did not feel embarrassed. "Now,then, the whole story, please." Saying which, she sat down again.
"Do you really know nothing more of Brande's Society than you admittedwhen I last spoke to you about it?" I asked, without taking the chairshe pushed over to me.
"This is all I know," she answered, in the rhyming voice of a youngpupil declaiming a piece of a little understood and less cared forrecitation. "The society has very interesting evenings. Brande shows onebeautiful experiments, which, I daresay, would be amazingly instructiveif one were inclined that way, which I am not. The men are mostlylong-haired creatures with spectacles. Some of them are rathergood-looking. All are wholly mad. And my friend--I mean the only girl Icould ever stand as a friend--Natalie Brande, is crazy about them."
"Nothing more than that?"
"Nothing more."
The clock now struck the hour of nine, the warning chime for which hadstartled me.
"Is there anything more than that?" Miss Metford asked with someimpatienc
e.
I thought for a moment. Unless my own senses had deceived me thatevening in Brande's house, I ran a great risk of sharing George Delany'sfate if I remained where I was much longer. And suppose I told her allI knew, would not that bring the same danger upon her too? So I had toanswer:
"I cannot tell you. I am a member now."
"Then you must know more than any mere outsider like myself. I supposeit would not be fair to ask you. Anyhow, you will come back and see mesoon. By the way, what is your address?"
I gave her my address. She wrote it down on a silver-cased tablet, andremarked:
"That will be all right. I'll look you up some evening."
As I drove to my hotel, I felt that the mesmeric trick, or whateverartifice had been practised upon me by Brande and Grey, had now assumedits true proportion. I laughed at my fears, and was thankful that I hadnot described them to the strong-minded young woman to whose kindlysociety I owed so much. What an idiot she would have thought me!
A servant met me in the hall.
"Telegram, sir. Just arrived at this moment."
I took the telegram, and went upstairs with it unopened in my hand. Astrange fear overcame me. I dared not open the envelope. I knewbeforehand who the sender was, and what the drift of the message wouldbe. I was right. It was from Brande.
"I beg you to be more cautious. Your discussion with Miss M. this evening might have been disastrous. I thought all was over at nine o'clock.
"BRANDE."
I sat down stupefied. When my senses returned, I looked at the tablewhere I had thrown the telegram. It was not there, nor in the room. Irang for the man who had given it to me, and he came immediately.
"About that telegram you gave me just now, Phillips--"
"I beg your pardon, sir," the man interrupted, "I did not give you anytelegram this evening."
"I mean when you spoke to me in the hall."
"Yes, sir. I said 'good-night,' but you took no notice. Excuse me, sir,I thought you looked strange."
"Oh, I was thinking of something else. And I remember now, it wasJohnson who gave me the telegram."
"Johnson left yesterday, sir."
"Then it was yesterday I was thinking of. You may go, Phillips."
So Brande's telepathic power was objective as well as subjective. My ownbrain, unaccustomed to be impressed by another mind "otherwise thanthrough the recognised channels of sense," had supplied the likeliestauthority for its message. The message was duly delivered, but thetelegram was a delusion.