A Case for Brutus Lloyd

by John Russell Fearn

  Phalnack shrugged and doubled for a wasp. Lloyd eyed him very gravely then glanced at the others. “Any of you hear that?”

  “I was so surprised I don’t remember,” said the Sheriff.

  “I can’t be sure,” Janice Hutton said. “I had the radio on, you see—at least I was trying to, but something must have been wrong with the battery for there was very bad static—”

  “There was a wind so I wouldn’t know,” her husband interrupted her shrugging. “But those monsters existed alright! Besides, there are the prints!”

  “And when were they found?” Lloyd asked.

  “Took me to find them,” Branson said with pride. “I always begin a search at the beginning—”

  “Wise of you,” Lloyd grunted. Then, “Let’s go take a look at ’em before it gets dark. All of you,” he added. “I might want to ask some questions.”

  Branson led the way out into the main street, marched with determined strides to the soggy fields just beyond the village. Here, except for the village back of it, the landscape was sheer country, broken only by distant outcroppings of a fairly dense wood....

  “A monster or two might hide in those woods,” Branson pointed out. “We can look later— What’s the matter?”

  Lloyd turned sharply. “Sorry—I was just admiring the village gaslights.”

  “Gaslights?” Branson puzzled; then shrugged. “Here are the prints.”

  Lloyd frowned down on a massive, four-toed print in the sloppy mud. There was no denying that a monster possessing such a foot must by proportion have measured at least twenty feet high.

  “And here—and here,” Branson indicated, moving further on—until altogether they had covered a mile.

  “And leading back to the wood!” Dr. Phalnack observed. “That seems pretty conclusive, doesn’t it?”

  “Non sequitur—it does not follow,” Lloyd replied sourly. “And I would point out I require no aid in this matter, Dr. Phalnack. I am Lloyd—therefore self-sufficient.”

  He stooped and stared at one of the prints carefully, then from it he picked up bits of what seemed to be wood-shredding from the mud. Carefully he put them away in an envelope, then looked around him.

  “Is it possible, Dr. Phalnack, that you heard a thin hum at such a distance as this? How far away is your home?”

  “Over there.” And Phalnack nodded across the gas-lighted village to a solitary rain-misted residence maybe a mile on the far side of the dwellings.

  “Hmm,” Lloyd said, scowling.

  “The doctor sahib speaks truth,” Ranji observed gravely. “It is not well to even question his word—”

  “Speak when spoken to!” Lloyd retorted, glaring. “Do not dare to cross swords with me, or—”

  “But honestly, Dr. Lloyd, I’m sure Professor Phalnack is right,” Janice Hutton broke in earnestly. “He is too—too clever to need to tell falsehoods. His psychic demonstrations—they’re amazing!”

  “Phony!” Ted Hutton sniffed.

  Phalnack’s eyes seemed to gleam more brightly for a moment behind the thick lenses, but he said nothing.

  “We might follow this trail to the wood anyway and see where it gets us,” Lloyd shrugged. “Just time before dark.”

  They went forward swiftly, found the footmarks ever and again, leading finally into the wet, drizzling wood itself.

  “Wait a minute,” Branson said uneasily. “If we walk right into a pair of sleeping dinosaurs, I don’t fancy our chances! Better take it easy—”

  Lloyd grinned faintly, then looking back at the others, “We’Il split up and search around. See what we can find....” Then as they went in various directions he added to Branson, “I still don’t believe there are any monsters. Something happened to make these folks think so, that’s all....”

  Branson looked his wonder, then turned to prowl along at Lloyd’s side. They had hardly moved a dozen yards in the undergrowth before they were arrested by a gasping scream. It was followed by the unmistakable voice of Ted Hutton.

  “Help, quick! Somebody—!”

  Instantly the various members of the party converged through the bushes upon the spot where Ted Hutton was standing white and shaken, glancing about him. His wife was holding his arm tightly.

  “Ted dearest, whatever’s the matter?”

  “I—I don’t know.” He hesitated, looked around. “There’s something awful in this place,” he breathed. “An evil power—or something!”

  “I understood we were searching for dinosaurs,” Lloyd murmured.

  “Yeah, sure we were— But there’s something else, invisible! I was ahead of Janice when something I couldn’t see got hold of me! I felt as though something were trying to drag me down then—then it went away.”

  “So,” Phalnack murmured, pondering, “my own conclusions of an evil presence were not far wrong perhaps.”

  “Bunk!” observed Branson with healthy candour; but he went to search just the same. He came back shrugging.

  “Anyway, the trail’s lost in this undergrowth,” he growled.

  “You remark on an evil presence, doctor,” Lloyd said, turning to him thoughtfully. “Could you, for instance, really detect an evil power if it were present?”

  “Certainly—but I’d have to start a seance.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why yes, if you wish.”

  “Mainly because the monsters, if any, are likely to appear at night, and also because the forces of evil are more pungent at night,” Lloyd embellished. “We’ll get some tea, then come along to your home around seven-thirty. Right?”

  “I’ll be honoured,” Phalnack said.

  “In fact,” Lloyd added, glancing round, “it might help if we all went....”

  “I’m more than willing,” Janice Hutton said eagerly. “I was so glad when the Government moved Ted up here because it meant I could attend Dr. Phalnack’s seances. I first heard of him in the papers, you know, and—”

  “You can count me out anyway,” Ted growled. “This holding hands in the dark is a lot of hooey!”

  “Ted!” Janice pleaded.

  He sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ve been before, so I guess it won’t hurt to go again—but you’ll never convert me. I’ll come this time if only to find out what attacked me....” He broke off and regarded his watch. “Say, I’ve an electrical job to finish before evening. See you at home, Jan. ’Bye, folks.”

  He went hurrying off and Lloyd looked at the girl curiously.

  “An electrical job in a village lighted by gas?” he asked in some surprise.

  She smiled. “That’s his way of putting it. The Government sent him here to study the layout for electrical supply to be given to the village. It should have happened years ago, but I guess bureaucracy got in the way.”

  “Ah,” Lloyd nodded. “I get it.”

  “I’ll come along too,” Murgatroyd said. “But I must be getting back to my tea—”

  “Come along with us,” Lloyd suggested.

  “Thanks all the same, but I don’t stay in the village. See you all later.”

  He, too, went off, and the rest of the party broke up, finally left Lloyd and Branson alone in the gathering dark.

  “Queer for a travelling salesman to put up outside a village,” Lloyd reflected; then he shrugged. “Okay, let’s get back and dig up some tea....”

  II. SEANCE EXTRAORDINARY

  “You know, I don’t get the angle on this,” Branson growled, as they tramped back through the wood. “How does a seance help find a prehistoric monster or two?”

  “That,” Lloyd beamed, “is what I want to find out—”

  He broke off, jumped, jerked himself backwards sharply as something whizzed dangerously close to his face. It landed with a thud in a nearby tree.

  Astounded, he and Branson stared at it—then the inspector leapt forward and using his handkerchief tugged forth a knife from the bark.

  “Looks sort of...oriental,” he said, ominously.

  Lloyd didn’t
answer; he raised a hand for silence. There came the momentary cracking of undergrowth away to their left. Instantly Lloyd raced in the direction of the sound, flying like a gnome over bushes, umbrella raised aloft. He left the cumbersome Branson far behind. But fast though he travelled, he could not overtake the fleeing attacker.

  He stopped at last, breathing hard. He had lost his quarry.

  Branson came up, gulping. “I saw him,” he gasped out. “Only for a second or two. It was that Indian guy. I saw his turban— Yes, I was right!” he cried, pointing. “Look there!”

  Nearby was the outjutting branch of a tree, perhaps six feet from the ground. Caught against part of its rough bark was a small piece of white fabric.

  “And footprints here!” Branson went on eagerly, pointing to the mud. “The Indian, sure as fate. It’s as clear as day, Lloyd! He caught his turban on this branch and a piece ripped off—”

  “Um,” Lloyd said, pulling the fabric down and studying it. He reflected, then asked shortly, “How tall are you Branson?”

  “Six foot one. What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Plenty. You’re not touching the branch. It’s a bit higher than you. And that Indian isn’t very tall.”

  “Irrelevant!” Branson snorted. “Running makes a man go a lot higher than normal. If I had a turban on and were to run under this tree— What in hell are you grinning at?” he broke off sourly.

  “Just picturing you in a turban! Res est sacra miser, Branson—a man in distress is a sacred object.... But skip it for the moment and let me have that knife.”

  Branson handed it over, looking disappointed. “Look, that was a deliberate effort to kill you. We ought to do things to that Ranji guy.”

  “At the seance tonight we probably will,” Lloyd answered. “Right now I want my tea. Come!”

  * * * * * * *

  In the local apology for an hotel Lloyd spent a lot of time thinking after he had had his tea. Then finally he pulled out the oriental knife and studied it carefully. He nodded at length.

  “Excellent fingerprints. Just what I need. A few more to tally will help....”

  Reverently he picked up his Derby hat and to Branson’s amazement slipped a tight fitting rubber cover round the brim.

  “What the heck?” Branson demanded, round his pipe.

  “Rubber, coated with a special solution,” Lloyd beamed. “The merest touch leaves fingerprints and rain cannot eliminate them. You gaze on a supreme scientist, Branson!”

  “I’ve heard that before. If you’re so supreme suppose you tell me how far you’ve gotten up to now? First we look for monsters, then we make an appointment to sit in the dark and hold hands. We’re getting just a bit too old for that!”

  “The monsters,” Lloyd said, with his most arrogant glare, “do not exist. Only the feet exist—and they’re made of wood!”

  “What!”

  Lloyd shook the wood shreddings from the footprint out of their envelope.

  “Let us consider,” he said slowly. A—a flat board cut out to resemble a monster’s foot would leave the right impression. B—but whoever did it forgot that the mud would cling to the board and drag off bits of the surface. Obviously, rough wood was used. C—a monster, or even a human being, when running or moving swiftly, leaves deeper imprints at the toe end than the heel end. Yet those footprints were level both ends! D—a monster of the dinosaur genus would weigh in the neighborhood of twenty tons. Therefore, in soggy soil like it is around here a depression of an inch is absurd. It should be around four to six inches! Lastly—a dinosaur belongs to the saurian or alligator class, so why in heck should it want to choose land? It was a water beast mainly.... The whole set-up smells!”

  Branson ran his pipe-stem along his jaw. “Sounds logical.... But everybody saw the monsters!”

  “That,” Lloyd admitted, “has me stymied at the moment. But a supreme brain is never baulked. I hope to get it clearer after the seance tonight. Phalnack’s ‘evil presence’ angle rather interests me. A curious sort of guy—and it’s possible he may be actually psychic: we’ve no proof otherwise. Anyway, he’s got to be fitted into the picture— And it’s time we were going.”

  “And probably get our throats cut,” Branson growled, buttoning up his coat. “After this afternoon I’m putting nothing past that Ranji anarchist.”

  Muffled to the ears they tramped through the gas-lighted village street to the psychicist’s home, were admitted by Ranji in person. Lloyd handed over his hat with a gloved hand—then just as quickly snatched it back from Ranji’s grasp.

  “What am I thinking of!” Lloyd gasped. “That I should part with my Derby! Huh! Must be wool gathering.”

  “This way, gentlemen,” the Indian invited, with steely calm—and glided to a curtained lounge. The rest of the party—the vicar, Ted and Janice Hutton, Murgatroyd, and the Sheriff—were already present, seated in a semicircle on hardwood chairs and gazing at the ornate table and folderals of the doctor’s seat of operations.

  Lloyd nodded to them and sat down—then Branson eyed him as he snapped off the rubber band from his hat brim and put it carefully away. He had just done it when Dr. Phalnack came in, attired now in a flowing gown with comets and stars embroidered all over it.

  His odd eyes peered through the dense spectacle lenses. With his black-brimmed hat, off he seemed all head—and that as bald as an egg. Ranji took up a position to one side of him, folded his arms, and surveyed the assembly dispassionately. The smell of incense began to fill the air.

  “Lights,” Phalnack said softly, sitting down—and they went out. Then his face was thrown into relief by a rosy glow from a hidden globe in the table.

  “You will hold hands,” he requested, “so that the chain of mediumship will not be broken. Mr. Hutton, you will take my left hand; you, Murgatroyd, will take my right. That completes the circle. If there are evil presences around us—or indeed anywhere within five miles—they will be detected. Now, hold hands, please!”

  The assembly obeyed, Branson clutching Lloyd’s tiny palm and Lloyd himself holding onto the vicar. For a long time there was deathly quiet, except for the wind moaning behind the thick black draperies— Then there came a horrible strangulating gasp from where Phalnack sat. It ended in a sobbing, soul-freezing groan.

  “What’s he doing—throwing a fit?” Branson whispered uneasily.

  “Going into a trance!” Janice Hutton hissed. “Ssssh!”

  “Quantum mutatus ab illo,” Lloyd murmured. “How changed from what he was!”

  But at last the howling anguish ceased and there came into the room a faint humming sound, so inaudible one felt rather than heard it. Branson felt Lloyd stiffen intently.

  “Evil presence—show yourself!” Phalnack droned.

  Surprisingly enough, things did show themselves—but not evil presences. There were tamborines and trumpets. They banged and they blew. Then they gave place to other things, moving diaphanous objects that swept with gossamer unreality through the heavy dark. Faces began to leer out of the void—unpleasant, rascally faces—

  “No! No! I cannot go on!” Phalnack screamed suddenly. “Evil power is present! I cannot—”

  Lloyd hurtled suddenly to his feet, flung himself at the nearest floating face to seize it. But instead he went flying—and the abrupt return of the lights found him bundled into a corner, rubbing his head where it had hit the wall.

  “I apologize, doctor,” he said gravely, getting up. “I thought those manifestations were phony— But they’re not. No solidity to them.”

  “I am a true psychic subject,” Phalnack answered calmly. “It is a pity you should have ever doubted it.”

  “You actually mean these things we saw—tamborines, faces, and what-have-you—were not tricks?” Branson demanded.

  “They were not solid anyway,” Lloyd said; then he glanced round. “Hm—so you have electric lights in a gas-supplied village, doctor?”

  “My own generators.”

  “Ah....” Lloyd pon
dered a moment, then, “I think I heard that thin waspish hum you mentioned during the seance.”

  Phalnack shook his bald head quickly. “That was not the evil influence I told you of: it was purely the normal establishment of psychic contact. But there is an evil presence here just the same! It baulked my efforts.”

  “It’s a pity it broke up the party,” Lloyd sighed, putting on his Derby again. “Thanks all the same, Phalnack—it was good while it lasted.” He turned to the Sheriff. “I’ve a few things to check up but I’ll be back tomorrow. ’Night everybody.”

  * * * * * * *

  Out in the fresh air Branson gave his big form a violent shake.

  “Uh! That place gave me the jitters!”

  “And yet it was a valuable experience,” Lloyd commented. “I got what I hoped to get—the first foundations of a solution. That Phalnack is an extremely clever man, Branson!”

  “Struck me as an out and out phony!”

  “But nobody, unless he were a scientist, could prove him a phony!” Lloyd said modestly. “Those manifestations of his were not done with the usual occult trickster’s gadgets, such as wires and things. No, they were done by the mind! I’ll prove it later, too. Right now we’re getting back home.”

  They returned to the village hall and Branson’s car, started out into the dark country road citywards. The rain had ceased now and the moon was shining through ragged clouds.

  “A bit odd that a spiritualist of Phalnack’s accomplishments should be content to do his stuff in so lonely a spot,” Branson reflected. “You’d think he’d get busy in a city, frisking devotees of the upper classes.”

  “Unless this is his initial experiment and he’ll move later,” Lloyd replied; then suddenly he shook his head a little and jabbed a finger irritably in his ear.

  “Do you hear something?” he demanded finally. “I thought I’d gotten bells in my ears. Now I’m not sure if—”

  “Hey, will you look at that!” Branson yelled hoarsely, pointing ahead.

  Lloyd jerked his head up—and simultaneously swung the steering wheel frantically out of Branson’s grasp. He seemed too stunned to act—paralyzed.

  For right ahead of them in the dim moonlight was the shape of a monstrous animal. They had time to notice a spined back—then it swung sideways to them as the car went bounding and bumping into a thickly ploughed field. It halted with a jolt.