Was he a magician? So help him, no! Was his section boss one? No - he was sure; all that sort of thing was handled from higher up. That was all he knew, and could he go now? Jedson pressed him to remember other things; he added a number of details, most of them insignificant, but I took them all down. The last thing he said was that he thought both of us had been marked down for special attention because we had been successful in overcoming our first lesson'.
Finally Jedson let up on him. I'm going to let you go now,' he told him. You'd better get out of town. Don't let me see you hanging around again. But don't go too far; I may want you again. See this?' He held up the doll and squeezed it gently around the middle. The poor devil immediately commenced to gasp for breath as if he were being compressed in a strait jacket. Don't forget that I've got you any time I want you.' He let up on the pressure, and his victim panted his relief. I'm going to put your alter ego - doll to you! - where it will be safe, behind cold iron. When I want you, you'll feel a pain like that' - he nipped the doll's left shoulder with his fingernails; the man yelped - then you telephone me, no matter where you are.'
Jedson pulled a penknife from his vest pocket and cut the circle three times, then joined the cuts. Now get Out!'
I thought he would bolt as soon as he was released, but he did not. He stepped hesitantly over the pencil mark, stood still for a moment, and shivered. Then he stumbled towards the door. He turned just before he went through it and looked back at us, his eyes wide with fear. There was a look of appeal in them, too, and he seemed about to speak. Evidently he thought better of it, for he turned and went on out.
When he was gone I looked back at Jedson. He had picked up my notes and was glancing through them. I don't know,' he mused, whether it would be better to turn this stuff at once over to the Better Business Bureau and let them handle it, or whether to have a go at it ourselves. It's a temptation.'
I was not interested just then. Joe,' I said, I wish you hadn't burned him!'
Eh? How's that?' He seemed surprised and stopped scratchin' his chin. I didn't burn him.'
Don't quibble,' I said, somewhat provoked. You burned him through the doll, I mean with magic.'
But I didn't, Archie. Really I didn't. He did that to himself - and it wasn't magic. I didn't do a thing!'
What the hell do you mean?'
Sympathetic magic isn't really magic at all, Archie. It's just an application of neuropsychology and colloidal chemistry. He did all that to himself, because he believed in it. I simply correctly judged his mentality.'
The discussion was cut short; we heard an agony-loaded scream from somewhere outside the building. It broke off sharply, right at the top. What was that?' I said, and gulped.
I don't know,' Jedson answered, and stepped to the door. He looked up and down before continuing. It must be some distance away. I didn't see anything.' He came back into the room. As I was saying, it would be a lot of fun to-'
This time it was a police siren. We heard it from far away, but it came rapidly nearer, turned a corner, and yowled down our street. We looked at each other. Maybe we'd better go see,' we both said, right together, then laughed nervously.
It was our gangster acquaintance. We found him half a block down the street, in the middle of a little group of curious passers-by who were being crowded back by cops from the squad car at the kerb.
He was quite dead.
He lay on his back, but there was no repose in the position. He had been raked from forehead to waist, laid open to the bone in three roughly parallel scratches, as if slashed by the talons of a hawk or an eagle. But the bird that made those wounds must have been the size of a five-ton truck.
There was nothing to tell from his expression. His face and throat were covered by, and his mouth choked with, a yellowish substance shot with purple. It was about the consistency of thin cottage cheese, but it had the most sickening smell I have ever run up against.
I turned to Jedson, who was not looking any too happy himself, and said, Let's get back to the office.'
We did.
We decided at last to do a little investigating on our own before taking up what we had learned with the Better Business Bureau or with the police. It was just as well that we did; none of the gang whose names we had obtained was any longer to be found in the haunts which we had listed. There was plenty of evidence that such persons had existed and that they had lived at the addresses which Jedson had sweated out of their pal. But all of them, without exception, had done a bunk for parts unknown the same afternoon that their accomplice had been killed.
We did not go to the police, for we had no wish to be associated with an especially unsavoury sudden death. Instead, Jedson made a cautious verbal report to a friend of his at the Better Business Bureau, who passed it on secondhand to the head of the racket squad and elsewhere, as his judgement indicated.
I did not have any trouble with my business for some time thereafter, and I was working very hard, trying to show a profit for the quarter in spite of setbacks. I had put the whole matter fairly well out of my mind, except that I dropped over to call on Mrs Jennings occasionally and that I had used her young friend Jack Bodie once or twice in my business, when I needed commercial magic. He was a good workman - no monkey business and value received.
I was beginning to think I had the world on a leash when I ran into another series of accidents. This time they did not threaten my business; they threatened me - and I'm just as fond of my neck as the next man.
In the house where I live the water heater is installed in the kitchen. It is a storage type, with a pilot light and a thermostatically controlled main flame. Right alongside it is a range with a pilot light.
I woke up in the middle of the night and decided that I wanted a drink of water. When I stepped into the kitchen - don't ask me why I did not look for a drink in the bathroom, because I don't know - I was almost gagged by the smell of gas. I ran over and threw the window wide open, then ducked back out the door and ran into the living room, where I opened a big window to create a cross draught.
At that point there was a dull whoosh and a boom, and I found myself sitting on the living room rug.
I was not hurt, and there was no damage in the kitchen except for a few broken dishes. Opening the windows had released the explosion, cushioned the effect. Natural gas is not an explosive unless it is confined. What had happened was clear enough when I looked over the scene. The pilot light on the heater had gone out; when the water in the tank cooled, the thermostat turned on the main gas jet, which continued inde- finitely to pour gas into the room. When an explosive mixture was reached, the pilot light of the stove was waiting, ready to set it off.
Apparently I wandered in at the zero hour.
I fussed at my landlord about it, and finally we made a dicker whereby he installed one of the electrical water heaters which I supplied at cost and for which I donated the labour.
No magic about the whole incident, eh? That is what I thought. Now I am not so sure.
The next thing that threw a scare into me occurred the same week, with no apparent connexion. I keep a dry mix - sand, rock, gravel - in the usual big bins set up high on concrete stanchions, so that the trucks can drive under the hoppers for loading. One evening after closing time I was walking past the bins when I noticed that someone had left a scoop shovel in the driveway pit under the hoppers.
I have had trouble with my men leaving tools out at night; I decided to put this one in my car and confront someone with it in the morning. I was about to jump down into the pit when I heard my name called.
Archibald!' it said - and it sounded remarkably like Mrs Jennings's voice. Naturally I looked around. There was no one there. I turned back to the pit in time to hear a cracking sound and to see that scoop covered with twenty tons of medium gravel.
A man can live through being buried alive, but not when he has to wait overnight for someone to miss him and dig him out. Acrystallized steel forging was the prima-facie cause of the
mishap. I suppose that will do.
There was never anything to point to but natural causes, yet for about two weeks I stepped on banana peels both figuratively and literally. I saved my skin with a spot of fast footwork at least a dozen times. I finally broke down and told
Mrs Jennings about it.
Don't worry too much about it, Archie,' she reassured me. It is not too easy to kill a man with magic unless he himself is involved with magic and sensitive to it.'
Might as well kill a man as scare him to death!' I protested.
She smiled that incredible smile of hers and said, I don't think you have been really frightened, lad. At least you have not shown it.'
I caught an implication in that remark and taxed her with it. You've been watching me and pulling me out of jams, haven't you?'
She smiled more broadly and replied, That's my business, Archie. It is not well for the young to depend on the old for help. Now get along with you. I want to give this matter more thought.'
A couple of days' later a note came in the mail addressed to me in a spidery, Spencerian script. The penmanship had the dignified flavour of the last century, and was the least bit shaky, as if the writer were unwell or very elderly. I had never seen the hand before, but guessed who it was before I opened it. It read:
My dear Archibald: This is to introduce my esteemed friend, Dr Royce Worthington. You will find him staying at the Belmont Hotel; he is expecting to hear from you. Dr Worthington is exceptionally well qualified to deal with the matters that have been troubling you these few weeks past. You may repose every confidence in his judgement, especially where unusual measures are required.
Please to include your friend, Mr Jedson, in this introduction, if you wish.
I am, sir,
Very sincerely yours,
Amanda Todd Jennings
I rang up Joe Jedson and read the letter to him. He said that he would be over at once, and for me to telephone Worthington.
Is Dr Worthington there?' I asked as soon as the room clerk had put me through.
Speaking,' answered a cultured British voice with a hint of Oxford in it.
This is Archibald Fraser, Doctor. Mrs Jennings has written to me, suggesting that I look you up.'
Oh, yes!' he replied, his voice warming considerably. I shall be delighted. When will be a convenient time?'
If you are free, I could come right over.'
Let me see-' He paused about long enough to consult a watch. I have occasion to go to your side of the city. Might I stop by your office in thirty minutes, or a little later?'
That will be fine, Doctor, if it does not discommode you-'
Not at all. I will be there.'
Jedson arrived a little later and asked me at once about Dr Worthington. I haven't seen him yet,' I said, but he sounds like something pretty swank in the way of an English-university don. He'll be here shortly.'
My office girl brought in his card a half hour later. I got up to greet him and saw a tall, heavy-set man with a face of great dignity and evident intelligence. He was dressed in rather conservative, expensively tailored clothes and carried gloves, stick, and a large briefcase. But he was black as draftsman's ink!
I tried not to show surprise. I hope I did not, for I have an utter horror of showing that kind of rudeness. There was no reason why the man should not be a Negro. I simply had not been expecting it.
Jedson helped me out. I don't believe he would show surprise if a fried egg winked at him. He took over the conversadon for the first couple of minutes after I introduced him; we all found chairs, settled down, and spent a few minutes in the polite, meaningless exchanges that people make when they are sizing up strangers.
Worthington opened the matter. Mrs Jennings gave me to believe,' he observed, that there was some fashion in which I might possibly be of assistance to one, or both, of you-'
I told him that there certainly was, and sketched out the background for him from the time the racketeer contact man first showed up at my shop. He asked a few questions, and Jedson helped me out with some details. I got the impression that Mrs Jennings had already told him most of it, and that he was simply checking.
Very well,' he said at last, his voice a deep, mellow rumble that seemed to echo in his big chest before it reached the air, I am reasonably sure that we will find a way to cope with your problems, but first I must make a few examinations before we can complete the diagnosis.' He leaned over and commenced to unstrap his briefcase.
Uh ... Doctor,' I suggested, hadn't we better complete our arrangements before you start to work?'
Arrangements?' He looked momentarily puzzled, then smiled broadly. Oh, you mean payment. My dear sir, it is a privilege to do a favour for Mrs Jennings.'
But ... but ... see here, Doctor, I'd feel better about it. I assure you I am quite in the habit of paying for magic-'
He held up a hand. It is not possible, my young friend, for two reasons: In the first place, I am not licensed to practise in your state. In the second place, I am not a magician.'
I suppose I looked as inane as I sounded. Huh? What's that? Oh! Excuse me, Doctor. I guess I just naturally assumed that since Mrs Jennings had sent you, and your title, and all-'
He continued to smile, but it was a smile of understanding rather than amusement at my discomfiture. That is not surprising; even some of your fellow citizens of my blood make that mistake. No, my degree is an honorary doctor of laws of Cambridge University. My proper pursuit is anthropology, which I sometimes teach at the University of South Africa. But anthropology has some odd bypaths; I am here to exercise one of them.'
Well, then, may I ask-'
Certainly, sir. My avocation, freely translated from its quite unpronounceable proper name, is "witch smeller .'
I was still puzzled. But doesn't that involve magic?'
Yes and no. In Africa the hierarchy and the categories in these matters are not the same as in this continent. I am not considered a wizard, or witch doctor, but rather an antidote for such.'
Something had been worrying Jedson. Doctor,' he inquired, you were not originally from South Africa?'
Worthington gestured towards his own face. I suppose that Jedson read something there that was beyond my knowledge. As you have discerned. No, I was born in a bush tribe south of the Lower Congo.'
From there, eh? That's interesting. By any chance, are you nganga?'
Of the Ndembo, but not by chance.' He turned to me and explained courteously. Your friend asked me if I was a member of an occult fraternity which extends throughout Africa, but which has the bulk of its members in my native territory. Initiates are called nganga.'
Jedson persisted in his interest. It seems likely to me, Doctor, that Worthington is a name of convenience - that you have another name.'
You are again right - naturally. My tribal name - do you wish to know it?'
If you will.'
It is' - I cannot reproduce the odd clicking, lip-smacking noise he uttered - or it is just as proper to state it in English, as the meaning is what counts - Man-Who-Asks-Inconvenient- Questions. Prosecuting attorney is another reasonably idiomatic, though not quite literal, translation, because of the tribal functions implied. But it seems to me,' he went on, with a smile of unmalicious humour, that the name fits you even better than it does me. May I give it to you?'
Here occurred something that I did not understand, except that it must have its basis in some African custom completely foreign to our habits of thought. I was prepared to laugh at the doctor's witticism, and I am sure he meant it to be funny, but Jedson answered him quite seriously:
I am deeply honoured to accept.'
It is you who honour me, brother.'
From then on, throughout our association with him, Dr Worthington invariably addressed Jedson by the African name he had formerly claimed as his own, and Jedson called him brother' or Royce'. Their whole attitude towards each other underwent a change, as if the offer and acceptance of a name had in fact made the
m brothers, with all of the privileges and obligations of the relationship.
I have not left you without a name,' Jedson added. You had a third name, your real name?'
Yes, of course,' Worthington acknowledged, a name which we need not mention.'
Naturally,' Jedson agreed, a name which must not be mentioned. Shall we get to work, then?'
Yes, let us do so.' He turned to me. Have you some place here where I may make my preparations? It need not be large-'
Will this do?' I offered, getting up and opening the door of a cloak- and washroom which adjoins my office.
Nicely, thank you,' he said, and took himself and his briefcase inside, closing the door after him. He was gone ten minutes at least.
Jedson did not seem disposed to talk, except to suggest that I caution my girl not to disturb us or let anyone enter from the outer office. We sat and waited.
Then he came out of the cloakroom, and I got my second big surprise of the day. The urbane Dr Worthington was gone. In his place was an African personage who stood over six feet tall in his bare black feet, and whose enormous, arched chest was overlaid with thick, sleek muscles of polished obsidian. He was dressed in a loin skin of leopard, and carried certain accoutrements, notably a pouch, which hung at his waist.
But it was not his equipment that held me, nor yet the John Henrylike proportions of that warrior frame, but the face. The eyebrows were painted white and the hairline had been outlined in the same colour, but I hardly noticed these things. It was the expression - humourless, implacable, filled with a dignity and strength which must be felt to be appreciated. The eyes gave a conviction of wisdom beyond my comprehension, and there was no pity in them - only a stem justice that I myself would not care to face.
We white men in this country are inclined to underestimate the black man - I know I do - because we see him out of his cultural matrix. Those we know have had their own culture wrenched from them some generations back and a servile pseudo culture imposed on them by force. We forget that the black man has a culture of his own, older than ours and more solidly grounded, based on character and the power of the mind rather than the cheap, ephemeral tricks of mechanical gadgets. But it is a stern, fierce culture with no sentimental concern for the weak and the unfit, and it never quite dies out.
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