Half an hour later Hamilton was ringing the bell of a large, gloomy house overlooking the Heath.
A manservant admitted him, led him to a sombre waiting-room, and took his card to the doctor.
There was no fire in the room, and after ten minutes Hamilton began to feel both cold and impatient. He was, in fact, debating whether to retreat forthwith and try his luck elsewhere, when the servant reappeared, saying that the doctor would see him now. He was conducted across the hall and shown into a small, barely furnished study. Behind a desk sat Dr. Gaunt, writing. He looked up as Hamilton came in and smiled.
“A thousand apologies for keeping you waiting, Mr. Hamilton. I have been on the telephone with our mutual friend, and he has told me all about you.”
Hamilton’s vague annoyance was instantly swept away by the other’s overwhelming personality. He had a swift impression of a tall, lean figure; a pale, handsome face, crowned with dark, silver-streaked hair; and a pair of the most amazing eyes he had ever seen. He took the outstretched hand, and was surprised at the strength of the slim, delicate fingers which gripped his. Taking the chair which was offered him, he sat down, facing the doctor across the desk.
“Now,” the latter went on, “let me hear all you know of the case, from your own lips.”
For the second time that morning Hamilton related the history of the Lovells, telling what little he knew of Sir Anthony, and revealing his own intimate knowledge of Tony. While he talked Dr. Gaunt’s piercing grey eyes never left his face. When he had done the doctor said:
“Excellent, Mr. Hamilton. You tell your story well. A writer by profession, are you not? I have read some of your work with profound admiration.”
Hamilton murmured a polite disclaimer, and the other continued:
“I have formed my own opinion of the case already. I imagine that, as in the case of your young friend, this ancient tale of the family curse has gradually taken possession of Sir Anthony’s mind, until now at last, possibly by some mischance or accident, it has suddenly developed into an overwhelming obsession, and put his health, if not his very life, in jeopardy. You could not have done better than to come to me, though I speak with all humility, for I have had much experience of these complexes, and their treatment. I shall be delighted to take up the case. Exactly where is this” — he referred to the telegram before him — “this Kestrel, and how may I reach it?”
“It’s not too easy to get at, in the ordinary way, Doctor,” Hamilton told him. “It’s an island, a couple of miles off the north coast of Cornwall, and the nearest inhabited spot is a little fishing village called Pentock, half-way between Portreath and St. Agnes’s Head — quite off the map. But I’ll wire Tony you’re coming, and he’ll meet you with the car at Redruth. You can get that far by train.”
Gaunt smiled.
“It sounds most intriguing. I like unusual places, don’t you, Mr. Hamilton? I will go down tomorrow.”
When the details had been settled Hamilton departed, going at once to wire Tony. He was highly delighted with the success of his mission, and much impressed by the doctor.
The latter, when his visitor had gone, made his way to another room, very different from those which Hamilton had seen: a large, comfortable room, lined with packed bookshelves and littered with strange apparatus.
In the centre stood a long table, pinned to which was a great sheet of parchment, on which a man was tracing an intricate diagram in coloured inks. He was short, and immensely fat, with a massive, hairless head, which he turned slowly in Gaunt’s direction.
“Well?” he asked, his thick lips scarcely moving.
The doctor came up to the table, rubbing his hands together.
“Very well, Simon,” he replied with a chuckle. “You have heard, no doubt, of Kestrel Isle, and the accursed family of Lovell?”
“Who has not amongst us?”
“I am invited to go there, to attend Sir Anthony Lovell in my professional capacity.”
“What?” The other was on his feet, his lethargy gone, his narrow eyes wide open, his loose mouth working with excitement.
“Exactly!” smiled the doctor. “This may well be the opportunity for which we have waited centuries. If it is so, then the tide has turned at last.”
“You — you will take me with you, Doctor?”
“Not yet. I shall go alone, and — er — treat Sir Anthony. When the first step is taken I will send for you. As you know, in spite of everything, not one of us has set foot on the island for nearly four hundred years. The conditions may not be altogether favourable — at first. I go tomorrow; meanwhile, prepare such things as I shall need. See to it.”
“Very well, Doctor.”
As Gaunt went out the other stared after him, gripping the table-top with both hands. His heavy body was shaking like a jelly. Sinking to his knees, he buried his face in his hands.
“O Lord,” he whispered, “let it be so, even as we hope. Thy Kingdom come . . . Thy Kingdom come . . .
II
After Tom Tregellis had left for the mainland with his wire to Hamilton, Tony spent a restless day. He had breakfast and luncheon with Dr. Pellew, but since that gentleman did not seem disposed to stir from the fireside, nor to discuss the vexed question of Sir Anthony’s illness, Tony passed the time refreshing his knowledge of the geography of the Abbey, and of the island generally.
The latter was roughly triangular, being perhaps a quarter of a mile across at its widest point. The south-western apex rose to a height of four or five hundred feet above the sea, and on this, the highest point, the Abbey was built, its grey walls merging with the perpendicular cliffs on two sides. Here the granite was naked, but on the opposite side of the island, facing the mainland, the ground fell away steeply, forming a depression, filled with a riot of gorse and coarse grass. At the foot of the low cliff at this point was a narrow beach of sand and shingle, terminated beneath the Abbey by a wall protecting the tiny harbour, whose other sides were formed from the natural rock.
A device, similar to that found at Polperro, had been adopted to close completely the narrow harbour-mouth in the event of severe storms. Slots were cut in the rock on one side and the wall on the other, and a water-gate, made of great baulks of timber, could be lowered across the channel.
From the harbour a steep rock stairway zigzagged up the face of the cliff to the one gate in the massive outer wall, which, quite bare and windowless, completely surrounded the Abbey buildings.
The Abbey itself was extremely severe in design, and looked far more like a fortress than its name implied. Indeed, the original structure had been much modified by the early Lovells, whose minds had turned to more war-like purposes than had those of the monks who first built it. The main building was a rough oblong, with a square tower at either end. Narrow, slit-like windows, over-shadowed by the outer wall, accounted for the perpetual gloom of the ground floor.
Tony, muffled to the eyes against the bitter wind, was pacing along a narrow walk within the parapet of the courtyard wall. What strange whim, he wondered, had possessed those old monks to build their home in such a place? Perhaps an act of defiance against the inhuman, godless sea which beat ceaselessly upon it; perhaps a great act of devotion to the God of all things and all places. Had they felt nearer to Him here than in the restless haunts of men? If solitude had been their wish, they had it here.
He leaned against the crenellated battlement and gazed over the sea to the mainland, where, less than three miles away, he could make out the tiny village of Pentock, clear in the pale sunlight. It looked so near! It was near, and yet, in truth, how far away! This place was a little world apart.
Difficult as it was to understand the monks first building the Abbey, how much more difficult to understand why his ancestors had remained here at all, once they had robbed it of its treasures! Yet he could not deny its fascination. Far off in London, he had cursed it, vowing never to return; but now that he was brought back against his will he felt quite at home, ready to stay in
definitely, letting the world slip by unheeded. And this in spite of the unhappy circumstances of his return, and the dark mystery which overshadowed all.
Tony’s thoughts took a gloomier turn, and he found himself bitterly regretting the estrangement which had come between himself and his father when, after his wife’s death, the old man had closed their London home and retired to the solitude of Kestrel. That was five years ago, and now his father might never know him again.
He fell once more to wondering what it could have been that had terrified the old man so that his very reason was tottering. Was it only some dark imagining, bred of loneliness and superstition, or was there indeed some abominable thing hidden away in that great pile of stone? Tony shivered, and, since the sunlight was fading from the sea, made his way down the spiral stair in the gateway turret and back to the fire in the great hall.
There he found Dr. Pellew asleep in an armchair beside the blaze, and, not wishing to disturb him, he crept silently away and, going down the passage beyond the great staircase, found his way to the kitchen. He knocked on the door, entered, and asked the surprised and embarrassed Lorrimers if he might join them.
Mrs. Lorrimer gave him a chair beside the great range, nervously dusting the seat before he sat down, and then bustled off, saying she would make some tea. Her husband stood awkwardly until Tony besought him to be seated, when he perched himself on the edge of a sofa near by. Tony was well aware that his unconventional intrusion had made the two servants feel most uncomfortable, but he was determined to find out more about his father’s illness, and this seemed the best way. He began by asking how his father had spent his time on the island.
“Sir Anthony lived very quiet, Mr. Tony,” Lorrimer replied; “he only used the hall and the library, and his own room; everywhere else is locked up.”
“I see. I suppose you and your wife have rooms over here?”
“Yes, sir, we’ve our own stairs. The maid slept in a little room next ours. Tregellis is staying there now that we’re short-handed; he’s a useful man to have about the place.”
“So I should imagine. I suppose my father spent most of his time indoors?”
“Yes, Mr. Tony. He used the library a good deal, reading and such. He’d go out now and again, when the weather was fair, and walk round the courtyard, or maybe down to the beach. And every Sunday Tom would take him across to church. He was friendly with Mr. Bennett, the rector, and he’d often stay to lunch with him. He scarce went anywhere else.”
At this point Mrs. Lorrimer appeared with the tea, and when each had a steaming cup in his hands the first feeling of restraint passed off to some extent. Lorrimer began to wriggle in his seat, and at last, after clearing his throat noisily, he blurted out:
“I know what you want to know, sir, and I think you should be told — No, my dear, don’t interrupt” — this to his wife, who had turned sharply towards him — “ ’tis only right that Mr. Tony should know the truth. You won’t laugh at me, though, will you, sir? That’s all I’ve been afraid of.”
Tony assured him that he had never felt less inclined for mirth, and the old servant began his tale.
“It’d be about a week ago, sir, that Sir Anthony first asked for a lantern. Said he was going down into the crypt to have a look round. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t have it. ‘Give me a lantern, Lorrimer,’ he says, ‘and don’t argue!’ So I finds him one, and down he goes. The entrance is under one of the flagstones in the hall, you know, sir, back of the staircase.
“He was gone about an hour, sir, and when he came up he looked a bit pale, I thought, and asked for a drink. But he said nothing. The next two days he went down again, sir; once he was gone for nearly two hours, and the missus and me got the wind up a bit, but he came back all right, looking white as a sheet, and trembling he was. I asked him straight then what he’d been up to, but he wouldn’t say. So I begged him not to go again. ‘There are some things as we’re not meant to know,’ I told him. He looked at me queerly, and said, ‘Lorrimer, you may be right. I’ll think about it.’ But that self-same night it happened, sir.”
“What happened?” Tony leant forward, gripped by a horrible excitement.
“Now don’t upset yourself, Mr. Tony,” Mrs. Lorrimer interjected, “or I shan’t let James tell you any more.”
“All right! But go on, man!” Tony’s throat was so dry he could scarcely speak.
“Well, you see, sir, before this Sir Anthony had only gone down in the daytime; this time he went at night. Perhaps that made a difference. Anyway, about three in the morning the missus woke me. ‘What’s that?’ she says. I listens. Then I hears it too. Somebody screaming, a long way off. Now, I’m no coward, Mr. Tony, as Missus’ll bear me out, but I didn’t want to leave my bed that night. But I told myself that God wouldn’t let no harm come to me; so I gets up, puts on my dressing-gown, takes my torch and a poker and goes to see what’s the matter.”
“That was a brave thing to do, Lorrimer.”
“Well, Mr. Tony, you see, I knew your father was in trouble — there was no one else to scream — at least, I hoped not — and I couldn’t fail him, could I? Well, when I got to the hall I found him. Lying beside the way to the crypt he was, in a dead faint. The trap was open, Mr. Tony, so I shut it quick and bolted it.”
“Why did you do that, Lorrimer?” Tony strove heroically to keep his voice steady.
The other hesitated, then he swallowed, and replied in a low voice:
“As God’s my witness, Mr. Tony, there was something down there. I don’t know what, and I hope I never shall.”
“Did you see anything?”
“No, it was pitch black. But I heard it, Mr. Tony. Breathing, it was. Panting, as you might say, like a beast after the chase.”
“Good God!”
“Yes, Mr. Tony, and I reckon He’s about the only one as can help us in this. Then I picks up Sir Anthony — he’s not a heavy man, but if he’d weighed twenty stone I don’t believe I’d’ve noticed it then — and I carried him back to this kitchen, where the missus was waiting for me. We got him up to our own bed, Mr. Tony, and after a bit he came to. It was awful, sir — awful it was. He kept crying out that It was after him, and other things which I won’t repeat, if you’ll excuse me, sir.
“We thought his mind’d go, and we didn’t know what to do, so we kept on giving him neat brandy. He drank it down as if it was water, and with no more effect, seemingly, till all of a sudden, when the bottle was nigh empty, he went under. Dead drunk, sir, and the best thing that could’ve happened, for he lay like that for hours, and we were able to get hold of Dr. Pellew. Now you know it all, sir. We hadn’t meant to tell you, but with you coming to us, so friendly like, we couldn’t keep it from you any longer, could we, Missus?”
“No, James,” his wife replied, “you’re right there. Mr. Tony had got to know sooner or later. But don’t take it too hard, sir. James may have imagined a lot of it; I never heard or saw anything. And even if it is all true, we must trust in God, mustn’t we, sir?”
“Yes — I suppose that’s all we can do, Mrs. Lorrimer. You have both been marvelous. How you can stay on after all that is beyond me.”
“We’ve our duty to Sir Anthony, sir, and to you. We’ve been in his service nigh on twenty years. And we’ve our faith.”
“The maid left at once, I suppose?”
“Yes, Mr. Tony. She slept through the first part of the commotion, but she heard Sir Anthony crying out in our room afterwards, and that finished her. Just packed her bags and went. Feckless hussy!”
A bell jangled over their heads, and Lorrimer stood up.
“That’ll be Tregellis, Mr. Tony,” said he, “back from Portreath.”
A few minutes later Tony was reading Hamilton’s wire announcing the coming of Dr. Nicholas Gaunt on the following day.
Chapter IV
I
Tony was walking up and down the platform at Redruth, smoking a cigarette, and wondering what manner of man this Dr. Ga
unt would turn out to be. Dr. Pellew had never heard of him, but then Dr. Pellew himself confessed that he was not in touch with modern psychology. Tony knew that he could rely on Hamilton to do his best, but he was rather doubtful about the outcome of this forlorn hope.
His conjectures were presently interrupted by the distant rumble of the train, and he ceased his perambulations and stood beneath a lamp. The engine roared by in a flurry of steam, the brakes screamed harshly, and the train came to a grinding standstill. A number of people descended, amongst whom was a tall, thin figure in a dark overcoat, who glanced up and down the platform uncertainly. Seeing Tony obviously waiting, he approached, hat in hand, and asked if he had the pleasure of addressing Mr. Anthony Lovell. Tony acknowledged his identity, and the doctor introduced himself. Gripping the firm, cool hand held out to him, and gazing into those wonderful eyes, Tony felt all his doubts vanish. If this man could not cure his father, he told himself, no one could.
The doctor’s luggage was collected with the help of a porter and bestowed in the waiting car. Tony took the wheel, and soon they were threading their way out of the narrow streets of the straggling industrial town into the dusky lanes leading to the coast.
The doctor had expressed a wish to see the patient before discussing the case, in order that he might not form any preconceived opinions, so they conversed on general topics during the drive. Tony found his first impression confirmed at every point, for Dr. Gaunt’s conversation was both charming and exceedingly well informed; and by the time they reached Pentock the two were firm friends.
They did not stop at the Three Fishermen for a meal, as Tony had done, for the doctor insisted that every moment was precious, and that he must see Sir Anthony as soon as possible. Tregellis was found in the bar, and sent down to prepare the boat; the car was put away, and in a very short time they were in the launch and heading for the island.
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