by R. R. Ryan
He slept lightly indeed, even in sleep on the alert, and awoke early. Outside Mary’s door he could hear Aunt’s stertorous breathing. Pray God Mary had gained tranquil rest. What was to be done about Vin? Police? A charge should be made. It was their duty as citizens. First, however, there were some questions he wished to put personally and alone to Vin. He slipped across the landing. Door still locked . . . Terry listened but could hear nothing. He’d wait half an hour and then rap. He sat down on a landing-chair, from which he could see both Mary’s and Vin’s doors . . . Surprising that Ruth was not stirring. He glanced at his watch. Seven. Breakfast was at eight-thirty . . . And Aunt Charlotte was leaving for the home at eleven . . . Yet, why wonder that one so young as Ruth—hardly out of childhood—still slept after such a night? And breakfast was unlikely to appeal . . . Except to himself.
. . . Seven-thirty. Now he’d tap at Master Vincent’s door. But half-consciously, as he tapped, he turned the knob once again . . . The door was open. The room was empty . . . But—but—but how could that be? He glanced down at the lock. Its key was there, on the inside. Could he have been mistaken in thinking it turned when his previous attempt to open the door had . . . But absurd. The door had been locked . . . Yet had he not been seated with Vin’s door in full view since seven? And it certainly had not opened! More, had that door been opened during his half-slumber . . . Still, commonsense could only assume, first, that Vin had come out while he, Terry, slept; and second, that the key had not been turned at his previous attempt to open that confounded door. The mind could play human certainty odd tricks. And quite clearly this room was as empty of human occupation as a new dust-bin. The wardrobe held only clothes, the window was fast on the inside . . . Well, damned odd. But then everything connected with Vin had, of course, to be bizarre.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Both Mary and Ruth looked pale he thought, as Mary poured out the coffee and Ruth handed his cup. Other effects showed, especially in Mary’s face: it recorded the cold control her mind was exercising. Her duties done, Ruth crossed to the door, but Terry stopped her.
“A minute, Ruth.”
The girl paused obediently, but her lips worked and her eyes darkened with fear. Terry turned to Mary.
“Vin may return at any instant now, I think we ought to decide our actions. Our duty is, of course, to phone the police-station.”
“Ruth begs us not to,” Mary said quietly.
Terry glanced at the girl. Tears were rolling down each cheek. God can she love the fellow? Possibly. There is no end, he reflected, to the complexities of human nature.
“Do you wish to charge Vin, Mary?”’ he asked.
“No.”
Almost he had expected this.
And, suddenly, an idea flooded his mind.
“Mary, why don’t you go on a long visit to my mother and take Ruth with you?”
Mary drew a deep breath. Plainly the idea appealed to her.
“Mother’s written me more than once asking me to persuade you.”
“But who’ll look after the house?”
“Anne and Mrs. T. And, when you return, Ruth can come to us, taking Anne’s place; Anne will come to you.”
“And then you won’t go to the police about master?” Ruth asked hoarsely.
“We need not then, need we, Mary?”
Vin entered, in his usual, silent, buoyant way. No dephlogistication here, no lessening of that otherness. No lessening within himself, Terry decided, of that dark, striving against something a little more than that, a little less than this . . .
Twi-creature! Terry began to suspect him of being the most uncanny mortal of his experience. He seemed in no relationship with that waste soul which had wandered in during night’s antelucan hour. That spent thing! That hollow simulacrum! That mindless human clock!
And yet he had met any amount of outré beings, especially sadistic drunkards . . . But Vin was the kingpin of these. One could imagine him drinking a bowl of spiced wine and blood at some magician’s banquet whereat the guests had holes in place of eyes; or, suddenly revealed by a lance of moonlight, seated, wearing on his head a conical cap and on his chin a pointed beard, astride a tomb-stone; or, cut open on a slab, discovering to his dissector an acorn for a heart.
Never had he looked more Greekly gracious, younger, happier, more full of good-fellowship; or more unaware of wrong-doing. Perhaps he supposed that his present charm compensated fully for his recent debauch. But there was surely more than mere puckishness to this chap’s conduct, air, thought? Suddenly, Terry’s mind began to quote: “Still stranger, should, on the opposite side of the street, another Hatter establish himself . . .” Carlyle, that. Just what he was, this chap: the other Hatter. A Hatter who recked naught of time, who leapt Man’s ages, using perhaps the sexual affinities—perhaps not. Or perhaps he was just addled atavism . . . Or perhaps—oh, hell!
He smiled brilliantly at the others, then strode over to Ruth and in his most winning manner said:
“I’m afraid I made a nasty beast of myself last night. But you realize, I hope, that’s not the real me by a long chalk?”
“A very long chalk,” Terry thought grimly; and said aloud. “That’s all very well, Border, but it’s not good enough. As a matter of fact we’ve been debating a criminal charge against you; not because we think it would benefit your mortal nature, but because it would free us of your unpleasant company for a long period.”
“Now listen,” Vin began.
“Not more promises, please. We’re still smarting from the damage of your present broken ones. Look at Mary’s face. Look at Ruth’s . . .”
“The present circumstances are exceptional. That terrible, unnatural storm unbalanced me . . . And, then, this business about THE INEXPLICABLE . . .”
“Yes, talking about that—I’m talking as a special constable and a lawyer now, Border—it appeared to Mary last night, terminating. I believe, your orgy of assault, and caused her to faint because of its monstrous appearance. You were present at the identical instant. I’d like a formal statement from you describing exactly what happened.”
Vin stared first at Terry, then at Mary with an expression of bewilderment.
“I don’t get you at all, Terry. I admit losing myself last night and I admit behaving like a brute; it’s certainly true that Mary fainted, but nothing appeared to her—when I was present. It was because she fainted that I sobered up sufficiently to realize what I was about . . . I did remember my promise, then, and in a fit of desperation rushed off to find you. But no one was about. I daren’t trust my own self to go back, so just lost myself in the night . . .”
“Have you only now returned?” Terry asked curtly, watching Vin’s face with close attention.
“About half an hour back. I’ve just washed and come straight in.”
(“Well! What sort of a liar was this? Or what . . . But wait! It was possible that Vin had, in some automatic condition, returned unknown even to himself. One had to be just even to Beelzebub.”)
There was a considerable pause, during which Vin sat watching Terry as an eager boy would watch a bench of magistrates. And presently, perhaps rather in the manner of a magistrate, Terry passed judgment.
“I cannot accept your word, your apologies or explanations, Border. I feel sure Mary doesn’t. Personally, I should charge you, for the reason that your sort ranks with the beasts . . .”
He broke off abruptly, startled by a sound that made him stare at Vin, a sound that could only be described as a brutish snarl, but certainly matched by the savage glare of the other man’s eyes. In a flash Vin’s beautifully moulded lids had fallen and, whatever the expression lurking beneath, Terry could not now see it. But the ferocity of both sound and look not only had startled Terry, but roused in him a curious and equally savage opposition. He leaned forward, his chin out-thrust.
“That your sort ranks with the beasts,” he repeated deliberately, “and is safer caged.”
A violent tremor disturbed Vin’s body
from top to toe. And Terry noticed that his hands remained clenched, his whole physique taut.
“However, Mary has decided to go away for some time and take Ruth with her, during which period she will come to a decision how to protect her future . . .”
Suddenly Vin looked up, his Face once more normal, his eyes clear, but anxious.
“Go away?” he repeated . . . “But for how long and where?”
“She will visit my mother, who has been pressing her to do so for some time.”
“But . . .”
“How long is a matter for Mary to decide.”
Vin remained very still for a time. Then, without looking up, said in a low, strange tone:
“The child must be born here.”
A certain quality of emotion behind these words surprised all the others.
“Gosh, I believe he wants the child,” Terry reflected swiftly . . . “Who’d have thought it?”
“You can get me a keeper, if you like, but the child must be born here . . . We are not divorced, nor legally separated . . . She shall have no grounds for a divorce or for any legal complaint . . . but the child must be born here . . . I still have the right to demand that.”
There was another complete silence, broken by Mary who said coldly:
“I will return in time.”
“Very well, we’ll let things stand at that for the present . . .” He turned to Mary. “There’s one excellent aspect of this decision that you’ve not thought of, maybe. You’ll be free of THE INEXPLICABLE.”
Mary rose violently and faced round, her eyes alight with an almost demented expression.
“I shall not be free. I never shall be free: the monster is here!”
She laid her hands upon the child.
Vin crashed back his chair and, erect, stared with flaming eyes at his wife.
He began to jerk and twitch, growling in a paroxysm of menacing rage; but, even as Terry sprang between man and woman, the growl changed to a scream; Vin fell at their feet torn and tortured in a fashion that none of those who, paralyzed, watched him had ever seen.
“Good God, he’s an epileptic,” Terry whispered.
Mary laughed.
CHAPTER VIII
It was arranged that Terry should phone to his mother, suggesting if possible that Mary should come at once. An informal person, Mrs. Cliffe was prepared to play hostess at any moment of the day or night; her method being: Do just as you like, and, in any plan in which I’m able to take part, count on me. Her job, just now, was entertaining and no doubt she’d welcome an attractive girl to aid in brightening up the lot of “her boys.”
Things happened swiftly. Anne and Mrs. Thatcher undertook to look after Mary’s house in her absence and cook plain breakfasts for Vin, who, since recovery from his fit, had disappeared.
“Let Mary do as she likes, so long as she’s back here for the child’s birth,” he told Terry. “If she’s gone when I come home, that’ll be okay.”
“Are you subject to epilepsy?” Terry asked abruptly.
The other turned eyes dark with evil.
“If you’re referring to that seizure just now, allow me to inform you it was the first of its kind I’ve ever experienced; and though I don’t profess to be as clever as you, Terry, I venture to suggest it was not in the remotest degree connected with epilepsy. And will you oblige me . . .”
“How?”
“Just go to hell, will you?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Aunt Charlotte safely in her nursing home, Mary and Ruth far on their way to Mrs. Cliffe’s prosaic care, it was with a sensation of great relief that Terry returned home from the office that night.
He was met by Mrs. Thatcher.
“Oh, Mr. Terry, two gentlemen called this morning just after you’d gone with Miss Mary.”
“What did they want?”
“They’re calling again this evening, about six.”
“Why didn’t you send them along to the office?”
“They said their business was not professional. Here are their cards.”
“Runder . . . K.S. Runder, that’s the celebrated brain man and scientist . . . Bede Touchcord . . . Yes, I’m sure he’s the occultist . . . Oh, I see light. THE INEXPLICABLE. H’m, rather interesting.”
“They asked me about Mr. Border. I explained he often doesn’t return home till late at night, but that he usually lunched at the Clarendon Restaurant. They said they’d take a chance of finding him there.”
“Yes, I expect they would . . . Well, maybe they’ll get what they want from him. Anyhow, when they come, if the come, bring them along to my den.”
“Very well, Mr. Terry . . . It’s a funny thing they can’t find that freak.”
“Devilish funny! There were swarms out last night . . . We did think we were on the track when those screams sounded. It’s hard to believe, even now, it was only a cat. Maybe to-night they’ll have better luck.”
“Are you going out to-night, Mr. Terry?”
“No. I’m having a night off. A substitute’s taking my place. I want at least eight hours sleep to-night.”
Promptly at six Mrs. Thatcher showed in Professor Runder and Bede Touchcord. Runder proved a hatchet-faced man with exceedingly steady and penetrating eyes. The occultist was a massive-browed, very still being, whose reddy-brown eyes had a curious opaque appearance. Both these men struck Terry as of profound mentality and, during the ensuring conversation, it became clear that they were profoundly informed men, familiar with various fields of thought and the erudite attainments of most countries. Runder introduced the purpose of their visit after the first few complimentary amenities had been exchanged.
“We are writing a book, a curious book,” Runder explained with a laugh. “It’s in the form of dialogue and contains the fors and againsts upon many subjects from the points of view of what you might call an exact mind such as my own and an impressionist or open mind like my good friend’s.” He smiled at Touchcord. “Anything in the nature of the unusual interests us; we examine it minutely from our different standpoints, then debate the matter in dialogue . . .”
“My word, I’d like to read your book,” Terry exclaimed.
“I’m afraid,” Touchcord said quietly, “it will be many months yet before our book sees the light. You may be assured, however, that, since you are interested, we will send you a copy.”
“Certainly,” Runder endorsed.
Touchcord had a remarkable voice, Terry thought; it matched his deep, still, unreadable eyes. Powerfully bass, it suggested an immense sense of personal mental dignity. His utterance was exceedingly deliberate and suggested that each word was accompanied by clear, applied thought.
“Well, Mr. Cliffe, you no doubt appreciate why we’re interested in this INEXPLICABLE business.”
“I do; but I hardly think I’m the man to help you. Dr. Erne, his . . .”
“Erne has disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“So we understand . . . Vanished. As it would seem his freak had done. As a matter of fact, it is not so much about the freak we want to see you, or perhaps I should say my friend, Touchcord, wants to see you, but about your next door neighbour.”
“Border?”
“Exactly,” Touchcord’s deep voice broke in. “It was in his garden that the last victim was discovered, so naturally we sought him out first thing. It is I who am interested in Mr. Border. Have you known him long and intimately?”
“We were in the trenches together and his wife’s my oldest friend; but he and I are not very intimate,” Terry replied carefully.
“Is Mr. Border secretly interested in the occult, do you think?”
“I should imagine not.”
“Has he shown himself at all interested in this matter of THE INEXPLICABLE?” Runder asked.
“Well—”
“We think it rather strange,” Touchcord said quietly, “that he did not take part in the search for a creature that had destroyed a human life in his own garden.
”
It was strange. Yet till now, remembering Vin’s difficult nature, Terry had not considered it strange; but, come to think of it, from the personal point-of-view, the personal menace involved, one would have thought . . . Quite unexpectedly Terry thought of Vin’s description of his father. He glanced at Touchcord. What had this strange, powerful man discovered in Vin to make him put these very personal, probing questions?
“I’m in rather a difficult position, gentlemen. I cannot supply information about a neighbour’s private . . .”
Runder held up his hand.
“We will assure you solemnly, Mr. Cliffe, that every word of this interview will be confidential . . .”
“I am seeking light upon deeply dark matters, my young friend,” Touchcord said softly; “not information to be used in our book. Please accept that as simple truth . . .”
“Naturally—from you gentlemen.”
“I think, perhaps, you have remembered something that has bearing on my question: Is Mr. Border secretly interested in the occult?”
“He told me his father was a close student of and believer in the occult. I think I can recall his actual words. ‘But father was a strange being . . . He believed in mystery, forbidden mystery; the hidden and dreadful secrets . . . He believed absolutely in vampires and had a religion founded upon the undead . . . He swore by . . . by his dark world he’d still live after he was dead! . . .”
During this effort of memory Touchcord leaned slowly farther and farther forward, his gaze fixed unblinkingly upon Terry.
“Those were his actual words?”
“I daresay I’ve misplaced or altered some words; but it’s near enough to be called his actual words.”
“And does he believe his father still lives?”
Terry stared. The question that twenty minutes ago would have seemed absurd and have challenged the scoffer in him—now filled him with wonder; for had not Mary told him that Vin had annoyed Aunt Charlotte by jesting about THE INEXPLICABLE, who, he had said, was his father . . . Good lord alive! Of all the fried rot!
