The Spirit Murder Mystery (15 page)

“Perhaps he has a keen sense of the ridiculous,” suggested Vereker quietly.

“I began to suspect it, so I shut up.”

“How far has the padre got with his excavations?” asked Vereker, after a pause.

“He has partially knocked down the thick brick wall plugging the entrance to the magic tunnel, and had screened off his untidy work with a heavy curtain.”

“Who was the man you were talking to?” asked Vereker eagerly.

“The verger, who appeared in the last scene of the drama, called him ‘Mr. Orton,' and he's evidently one of the church council.”

“I've heard a lot about him. He's a farmer in the district and was a friend of old John Thurlow. What did you make of him, Ricky?”

“Didn't strike me as a farmer. I put him down as a rather cultured man with a pedagogic complex. I may be wrong. He dogmatized under cover of the expression, ‘of course, that's only my opinion.' We gradually drifted into an argument about modern music. I finally shut him up by saying that every man was entitled to his opinion, but that a kind deity ought to prevent some people from expressing theirs. He then got heavily sarcastic about the impertinence of the rising generation and left me to the mercy of the verger. The verger was more interesting. From him I got a long account of some obscure stomach trouble that ailed him. It appears that he has tried every known remedy, from hot water bottles to linseed poultices, to banish his pains. After much experimentation, he has found that mild and bitter ‘do ease 'em best.' I parted with largesse for conversion into his pet anodyne and sauntered back to ‘The Old Walnut Tree.'”

Punctually at eight o'clock the same evening, Vereker and Ricardo arrived at Old Hall Farm, and were shown into John Thurlow's study, where Eileen Thurlow sat reading. She rose and greeted her visitors, and, a few minutes later, all three were talking with the ease that comes of sympathy and understanding. Eileen Thurlow at once broached the subject of police investigations into the tragedy of her uncle's death. It was a subject that Vereker had wished particularly to avoid in order to spare his hostess's feelings, but intuitively guessing the reason for his compunction, she had at once assured him that death, to one of her faith, was merely a passing over from one soul state to another without complete severance of communication. She declared that such a conviction was an intense solace to the grief attendant on the loss of a dear relative. Under this encouragement, Vereker briefly narrated all that had so far been discovered, which was a bald précis of Inspector Heather's investigation. Of his own secret work, he said nothing.

Turning to Ricardo, Miss Thurlow then led the talk on to spiritualism, and soon she and Manuel were involved in an eager exchange of their experiences. Under the warmth of a common enthusiasm, they quickly threw off that reserve which accompanies the meeting of strangers, and were soon laughing and chatting like old friends. Vereker, now silent but observant, sat listening to them with a sensation of being a spectator, unable wholly to share their understanding. He noticed, too, that they spoke of the various manifestations incidental to spiritualistic stances with the complete acceptance of belief. He, himself, could never approach the subject without the introduction of the word “evidential,” a clear admission of the existence in his mind of doubts that required stilling, of questions that demanded answers. The spectacle of these two disciples discussing their common belief set him musing. He was soon mentally remote from their conversation, lost in a maze of wonder at the psychological aspects of belief. What gave rise to this static pose in the process of thought, this complete satisfaction that the mind has found truth? He asked himself the question. His mind reverted to the subject of early teaching, of instruction given with complete assurance, and thence wandered away to Dr. Pavlov and his experiments on dogs. Stimuli and reflexes!

The light of the summer evening faded and shadows stole into the dark, wainscoted room.

“I think we ought to try out our little experiment now, don't you, Mr. Vereker?” suddenly came the question from Miss Thurlow.

“Yes, certainly. I'm quite ready,” replied Vereker, almost with a start, so abrupt had been the arrest of his wandering wits.

“You were miles away, Mr. Vereker,” commented Miss Thurlow, and turning to Ricardo, added: “I don't pose as a fully fledged medium, Mr. Ricardo, so don't be surprised if we fail to get results. I think I'm what is generally called a sensitive, and I hope to improve my gift with practice and experience. I'm convinced, however, that my uncle and I had a spirit manifestation in this room on the night of his disappearance, and I'm sure Mr. Vereker's a bit sceptical about it. I hope it'll happen again just to remove his doubts. I really believe this old house is visited by its past owners.”

“The manifestation was a musical one, I believe,” remarked Ricardo with such gravity that Vereker had some difficulty in suppressing a smile.

‘‘Yes, we both heard an organ playing very faintly but quite distinctly, and my uncle stepped out into the garden to make sure that it was not the church organ we could hear. We have no wireless and no gramophone in the house. To make doubly sure, I asked the organist next day if he had been practising and found that he had not been near the church.”

“And there's not another house within a mile of Old Hall Farm,” concluded Vereker.

“Now I propose we just sit as we are, and I'll try to go off into a trance state. I managed it perfectly on the last occasion and think I'll be successful to-night,” said Miss Thurlow, and asked: “Are you both ready?”

Vereker and Ricardo assented, and Miss Thurlow, lying back in her chair, composed herself as if about to sleep. For about a quarter of an hour there was absolute stillness in the room, except for the soft ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece. Gradually the light outside waned and the room was filled with mysterious shadows. Ricardo sat calm and expectant: for him, a séance was not a new experience, and he accepted it in the matter-of-fact frame of mind which is usual with confirmed spiritualists at a sitting. To Vereker however, the whole occasion was fraught with an irritating sense of the abnormal. Something in his mental make-up suggested that, on his part, any participation in a séance arose from sheer curiosity, the desire to witness a wonder, rather than from any eagerness to come in touch with that mystery to which human death is the portal. And always there hung in his mind a vague mist of doubt which he had so far found impossible altogether to dispel.

All at once his attention was attracted by Miss Thurlow's distressed breathing. Even in the dusk, he saw her frame quiver with sharp muscular paroxysms, and then her breathing became deep and loud. She had evidently passed into a state of trance.

“I feel a cool breeze blowing through the room,” remarked Ricardo, breaking the oppressive silence.

Vereker almost immediately thought he experienced the same sensation and glanced at the windows and doors. They were all closed.

“So do I,” he replied. “What does it signify, Ricky?”

“It's a common occurrence at séances, and has been taken as a sign that the other side is trying to get in touch with us.”

Vereker said no more, but immediately began to wonder whether he had accepted Ricardo's suggestion of that cool breeze as a fact. He was lost in thought about the vagaries of the human mind under the power of suggestion, when a small table in the centre of the room and close to Miss Thurlow, creaked as if subjected to some strong lateral pressure. Almost immediately afterwards, it gave out the sound of a sharp rap and this rap was followed by definite loud raps from various parts of the wainscoted walls.

“Amazing!” exclaimed Vereker, impressed in spite of himself by this strange but indisputable occurrence.

“An excellent beginning,” agreed Ricardo quietly, and he had hardly uttered the words, when the small table near Miss Thurlow moved and then toppled over with a crash.

“Good lord!” exclaimed Vereker. “What's happened?”

“It's all right, don't move, Algernon. The medium is gathering power,” adjured Ricardo.

Vereker relapsed into silence, and for the next ten minutes neither spoke. He was now experiencing a feeling of awe and could have affirmed emphatically that something soft and smooth touched his cheek and then the back of his right hand. No further manifestation occurred, however, and as they sat patiently waiting, they heard Miss Thurlow's heavy breathing slowly grow lighter and lighter till it returned to normal. At length, with a sigh, she raised herself to an upright sitting posture in her chair and was awake.

“Did you hear the music?” she asked immediately.

“No,” replied Ricardo, ‘‘but there was an excellent beginning of spirit rapping. With practice you'd be able to secure messages by the alphabetical method. In any case, you mustn't be disheartened at this early stage, Miss Thurlow. You're undoubtedly a psychic and must persevere. Of course, you were quite unconscious of what was happening?”

“Utterly unconscious,” replied Miss Thurlow, and reaching out her hand, switched on the electric light.

Rising from his chair, Vereker crossed the room and lifting up the occasional table that had fallen with a crash, set it upright on its feet. His inquisitive eye swept the floor in the vicinity of that table, and his hands swiftly passed over its polished surface in uneasy exploration. At the back of his thoughts hovered a disturbing scepticism.

“Good job there was no valuable china on it, Miss Thurlow,” he said as if to cover his bewilderment, “or you would have had to put in a claim for damages against your spirit control.”

“I didn't know the table had been upset,” said Miss Thurlow with genuine surprise. “This is certainly a definite beginning!”

The words were spoken with a rising inflection of delight, and Vereker, his eyes riveted on her face, saw that she spoke with utter sincerity or complete self- deception. He was more disturbed than he would have cared to admit and felt that here he was possibly on the borderland of some new and strange world; that he had touched the fringe of some natural fact or occult human power, hitherto undreamt of by him.

An eager discussion of the incidents of the séance followed and gradually exhausted itself. Miss Thurlow once more expressed her regret that the strange music she herself had heard on former occasions had not recurred and proposed that, when she returned from her visit to London, they should make further experiments to recapture the phenomenon. To this, Ricardo and Vereker willingly agreed.

“When do you propose to leave Yarham, Miss Thurlow?” asked Vereker.

“To-morrow afternoon, and I hope you've not forgotten your promise to come and stay here while I'm away.”

“No. I shall move in to-morrow, if it's convenient.”

“And I hope you'll come with your friend,” she added, turning to Manuel Ricardo.

“I'd love to, Miss Thurlow,” agreed Ricardo, and added gravely, “but I must make one proviso.”

“And what's that?” asked Miss Thurlow with surprise.

“That you leave the key of the wine cellar in my charge.”

“Ah, I'm glad you reminded me,” replied Miss Thurlow with a laugh. “There are some beautiful wines in that cellar. My uncle was a great connoisseur, though on the whole very abstemious. I'll leave the key with you, Mr. Ricardo, and I hope you'll see that Mr. Vereker doesn't take too much of a good thing.”

“That would be impossible in my company,” replied Ricardo. “He'll have to be clever to get his fair share.”

After making further arrangements to take up their residence at Old Hall Farm during Miss Thurlow's absence and thanking her for her hospitality, Vereker and Ricardo bade their hostess good-night and set out for the inn.

For some minutes they paced in step along the road without speaking.

“Well, Algernon, what do you think of it?” asked Ricardo at length.

“Frankly, I don't know what to think, Ricky,” said Vereker, and asked: ‘‘Do you honestly believe that Miss Thurlow didn't knock over that occasional table?”

“My dear Algernon, this is almost blasphemous! Cynic, pagan, unbeliever! How dare you talk like that about an angel? If we were armed with swords, I should ask you to draw and defend yourself. Even if she'd deliberately kicked it over, I'd never admit it. Remember that she's stunningly beautiful and is going to leave the wine cellar key in my charge!”

“You're burking the question, Ricky. Be serious.”

“Well, Algernon, who can say? I didn't see her kick it over,” replied Ricardo. “She was certainly near it, but if she'd touched it, we'd both have been fairly certain about it.”

“Then how do you explain the thing?”

“Well, some mediums have the power to move objects at a distance from them. The power is called telekinesis. At least, that's an attempt at a rational explanation, but don't expect any bright expositions from me. I can't give them. I've seen things that are apparently beyond rational explanation—or rather, they left me guessing feebly.”

“Ah well, to-morrow I'm going to have a jolly good look at that occasional table and I'm going to explore Old Hall Farm thoroughly while we're there. I'm disappointed that we missed an organ recital by some departed musician, aren't you?”

“Rotten luck, I call it. I've heard zithers and banjos twanged, and a few accordion notes played, but never an organ. It would be stupendous, and I'm certain Miss Thurlow didn't imagine it.”

“In your instances the musical instruments were present in the room, weren't they?” asked Vereker sharply.

“Certainly,” replied Ricardo.

“But there's no organ within a mile of Old Hall Farm. This requires some explanation other than telekinesis.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” remarked Ricardo, “but then it's somewhat on a par with the production of three or more different voices in the séance chamber by what is called a direct voice medium.”