The War Terror

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE PSYCHIC CURSE

  There came a sudden noise--nameless--striking terror, low, rattling. Istood rooted to the spot. What was it that held me? Was it an atavisticjoy in the horrible or was it merely a blasphemous curiosity?

  I scarcely dared to look.

  At last I raised my eyes. There was a live snake, upraised, his fangsstriking out viciously--a rattler!

  I would have drawn back and fled, but Craig caught my arm.

  "Caged," he whispered monosyllabically.

  I shuddered. This, at least, was no drawing-room diablerie.

  "It is Ophis," intoned Rapport, "the Serpent--the one active form inNature that cannot be ungraceful!"

  The appearance of the basilisk seemed to heighten the tension.

  At last it broke loose and then followed the most terrible blasphemies.The disciples, now all frenzied, surrounded closer the priest, thegargoyle and the serpent.

  They worshiped with howls and obscenities. Mad laughter mingled withpale fear and wild scorn in turns were written on the hectic facesabout me.

  They had risen--it became a dance, a reel.

  The votaries seemed to spin about on their axes, as it were, uttering alow, moaning chant as they whirled. It was a mania, the spirit ofdemonism. Something unseen seemed to urge them on.

  Disgusted and stifled at the surcharged atmosphere, I would have triedto leave, but I seemed frozen to the spot. I could think of nothingexcept Poe's Masque of the Red Death.

  Above all the rest whirled Seward Blair himself. The laugh of thefiend, for the moment, was in his mouth. An instant he stood--theoracle of the Demon--devil-possessed. Around whirled the franticdevotees, howling.

  Shrilly he cried, "The Devil is in me!"

  Forward staggered the devil dancer--tall, haggard, with deep sunkeneyes and matted hair, face now smeared with dirt and blood-red with thereflection of the strange, unearthly phosphorescence.

  He reeled slowly through the crowd, crooning a quatrain, in a low,monotonous voice, his eyelids drooping and his head forward on hisbreast:

  If the Red Slayer think he slays, Or the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep and pass and turn again!

  Entranced the whirling crowd paused and watched. One of their numberhad received the "power."

  He was swaying slowly to and fro.

  "Look!" whispered Kennedy.

  His fingers twitched, his head wagged uncannily. Perspiration seemed toooze from every pore. His breast heaved.

  He gave a sudden yell--ear-piercing. Then followed a screech of hellishlaughter.

  The dance had ended, the dancers spellbound at the sight.

  He was whirling slowly, eyes protruding now, mouth foaming, chestrising and falling like a bellows, muscles quivering.

  Cries, vows, imprecations, prayers, all blended in an infernal hubbub.

  With a burst of ghastly, guttural laughter, he shrieked, "I AM theDevil!"

  His arms waved--cutting, sawing, hacking the air.

  The votaries, trembling, scarcely moved, breathed, as he danced.

  Suddenly he gave a great leap into the air--then fell, motionless. Theycrowded around him. The fiendish look was gone--the demoniac laughterstilled.

  It was over.

  The tension of the orgy had been too much for us. We parted, withscarcely a word, and yet I could feel that among the rest there was asort of unholy companionship.

  Silently, Kennedy and I drove away in the darkened cab, this time withSeward and Veda Blair and Mrs. Langhorne.

  For several minutes not a word was said. I was, however, much occupiedin watching the two women. It was not because of anything they said ordid. That was not necessary. But I felt that there was a feud,something that set them against each other.

  "How would Rapport use the death thought, I wonder?" asked Craigspeculatively, breaking the silence.

  Blair answered quickly. "Suppose some one tried to break away, torenounce the Lodge, expose its secrets. They would treat him so as tomake him harmless--perhaps insane, confused, afraid to talk, paralyzed,or even to commit suicide or be killed in an accident. They would putthe death thought on him!"

  Even in the prosaic jolting of the cab, away from the terriblemysteries of the Red Lodge, one could feel the spell.

  The cab stopped. Seward was on his feet in a moment and handing Mrs.Langhorne out at her home. For a moment they paused on the steps for anexchange of words.

  In that moment I caught flitting over the face of Veda a look ofhatred, more intense, more real, more awful than any that had beeninduced under the mysteries of the rites at the Lodge.

  It was gone in an instant, and as Seward rejoined us I felt that, withMrs. Langhorne gone, there was less restraint. I wondered whether itwas she who had inspired the fear in Veda.

  Although it was more comfortable, the rest of our journey was made insilence and the Blairs dropped us at our apartment with manyexpressions of cordiality as we left them to proceed to their own.

  "Of one thing I'm sure," I remarked, entering the room where only a fewshort hours before Mrs. Blair had related her strange tale. "Whateverthe cause of it, the devil dancers don't sham."

  Kennedy did not reply. He was apparently wrapped up in theconsideration of the remarkable events of the evening.

  As for myself, it was a state of affairs which, the day before, Ishould have pronounced utterly beyond the wildest bounds of theimagination of the most colorful writer. Yet here it was; I had seen it.

  I glanced up to find Kennedy standing by the light examining somethinghe had apparently picked up at the Red Lodge. I bent over to look atit, too. It was a little glass tube.

  "An ampoule, I believe the technical name of such a container is," heremarked, holding it closer to the light.

  In it were the remains of a dried yellow substance, broken up minutely,resembling crystals.

  "Who dropped it?" I asked.

  "Vaughn, I think," he replied. "At least, I saw him near Blair,stooping over him, at the end, and I imagine this is what I sawgleaming for an instant in the light."

  Kennedy said nothing more, and for my part I was thoroughly at sea andcould make nothing out of it all.

  "What object can such a man as Dr. Vaughn possibly have in frequentingsuch a place?" I asked at length, adding, "And there's that Mrs.Langhorne--she was interesting, too."

  Kennedy made no direct reply. "I shall have them shadowed to-morrow,"he said briefly, "while I am at work in the laboratory over thisampoule."

  As usual, also, Craig had begun on his scientific studies long before Iwas able to shake myself loose from the nightmares that haunted meafter our weird experience of the evening.

  He had already given the order to an agency for the shadowing, and hisnext move was to start me out, also, looking into the history of thoseconcerned in the case. As far as I was able to determine, Dr. Vaughnhad an excellent reputation, and I could find no reason whatever forhis connection with anything of the nature of the Red Lodge. TheRapports seemed to be nearly unknown in New York, although it wasreported that they had come from Paris lately. Mrs. Langhorne was adivorcee from one of the western states, but little was known abouther, except that she always seemed to be well supplied with money. Itseemed to be well known in the circle in which Seward Blair moved thathe was friendly with her, and I had about reached the conclusion thatshe was unscrupulously making use of his friendship, perhaps was notabove such a thing as blackmail.

  Thus the day passed, and we heard no word from Veda Blair, althoughthat was explained by the shadows, whose trails crossed in a mostunexpected manner. Their reports showed that there was a meeting at theRed Lodge during the late afternoon, at which all had been presentexcept Dr. Vaughn. We learned also from them the exact location of theLodge, in an old house just across the line in Westchester.

  It was evidently a long and troublesome analysis that Craig was engagedin at the laboratory, for it was some hours after dinner that nightwhen he
came into the apartment, and even then he said nothing, butburied himself in some of the technical works with which his librarywas stocked. He said little, but I gathered that he was in great doubtabout something, perhaps, as much as anything, about how to proceedwith so peculiar a case.

  It was growing late, and Kennedy was still steeped in his books, whenthe door of the apartment, which we happened to have left unlocked, wassuddenly thrown open and Seward Blair burst in on us, wildly excited.

  "Veda is gone!" he cried, before either of us could ask him what wasthe matter.

  "Gone?" repeated Kennedy. "How--where?"

  "I don't know," Blair blurted out breathlessly. "We had been outtogether this afternoon, and I returned with her. Then I went out tothe club after dinner for a while, and when I got back I missedher--not quarter of an hour ago. I burst into her room--and there Ifound this note. Read it. I don't know what to do. No one seems to knowwhat has become of her. I've called up all over and then thoughtperhaps you might help me, might know some friend of hers that I don'tknow, with whom she might have gone out."

  Blair was plainly eager for us to help him. Kennedy took the paper fromhim. On it, in a trembling hand, were scrawled some words, evidentlyaddressed to Blair himself:

  "You would forgive me and pity me if you knew what I have been through.

  "When I refused to yield my will to the will of the Lodge I suppose Iaroused the enmity of the Lodge.

  "To-night as I lay in bed, alone, I felt that my hour had come, thatmental forces that were almost irresistible were being directed againstme.

  "I realized that I must fight not only for my sanity but for my life.

  "For hours I have fought that fight.

  "But during those hours, some one, I won't say who, seemed to havedeveloped such psychic faculties of penetration that they were able tomake their bodies pass through the walls of my room.

  "At last I am conquered. I pray that you--"

  The writing broke off abruptly, as if she had left it in wild flight.

  "What does that mean?" asked Kennedy, "the 'will of the Lodge'?"

  Blair looked at us keenly. I fancied that there was even somethingaccusatory in the look. "Perhaps it was some mental reservation on herpart," he suggested. "You do not know yourself of any reason why sheshould fear anything, do you?" he asked pointedly.

  Kennedy did not betray even by the motion of an eyelash that we knewmore than we should ostensibly.

  There was a tap at the door. I sprang to open it, thinking perhaps,after all, it was Veda herself.

  Instead, a man, a stranger, stood there.

  "Is this Professor Kennedy?" he asked, touching his hat.

  Craig nodded.

  "I am from the psychopathic ward of the City Hospital--an orderly,sir," the man introduced.

  "Yes," encouraged Craig, "what can I do for you?"

  "A Mrs. Blair has just been brought in, sir, and we can't find herhusband. She's calling for you now."

  Kennedy stared from the orderly to Seward Blair, startled, speechless.

  "What has happened?" asked Blair anxiously. "I am Mr. Blair."

  The orderly shook his head. He had delivered his message. That was allhe knew.

  "What do you suppose it is?" I asked, as we sped across town in ataxicab. "Is it the curse that she dreaded?"

  Kennedy said nothing and Blair appeared to hear nothing. His face wasdrawn in tense lines.

  The psychopathic ward is at once one of the most interesting and one ofthe most depressing departments of a large city hospital, harboring, asit does, all from the more or less harmless insane to violentalcoholics and wrecked drug fiends.

  Mrs. Blair, we learned, had been found hatless, without money, dazed,having fallen, after an apparently aimless wandering in the streets.

  For the moment she lay exhausted on the white bed of the ward, eyesglazed, pupils contracted, pulse now quick, now almost evanescent, facedrawn, breathing difficult, moaning now and then in physical and mentalagony.

  Until she spoke it was impossible to tell what had happened, but theambulance surgeon had found a little red mark on her white forearm andhad pointed it out, evidently with the idea that she was suffering froma drug.

  At the mere sight of the mark, Blair stared as though hypnotized.Leaning over to Kennedy, so that the others could not hear, hewhispered, "It is the mark of the serpent!"

  Our arrival had been announced to the hospital physician, who enteredand stood for a moment looking at the patient.

  "I think it is a drug--a poison," he said meditatively.

  "You haven't found out yet what it is, then?" asked Craig.

  The physician shook his head doubtfully. "Whatever it is," he saidslowly, "it is closely allied to the cyanide groups in its rapaciousactivity. I haven't the slightest idea of its true nature, but it seemsto have a powerful affinity for important nerve centers of respirationand muscular coordination, as well as for disorganizing the blood. Ishould say that it produces death by respiratory paralysis andconvulsions. To my mind it is an exact, though perhaps less active,counterpart of hydrocyanic acid."

  Kennedy had been listening intently at the start, but before thephysician had finished he had bent over and made a ligature quicklywith his handkerchief.

  Then he dispatched a messenger with a note. Next he cut about theminute wound on her arm until the blood flowed, cupping it to increasethe flow. Now and then he had them administer a little stimulant.

  He had worked rapidly, while Blair watched him with a sort offascination.

  "Get Dr. Vaughn," ordered Craig, as soon as he had a breathing spellafter his quick work, adding, "and Professor and Madame Rapport.Walter, attend to that, will you? I think you will find an officeroutside. You'll have to compel them to come, if they won't comeotherwise," he added, giving the address of the Lodge, as we had foundit.

  Blair shot a quick look at him, as though Craig in his knowledge wereuncanny. Apparently, the address had been a secret which he thought wedid not know.

  I managed to find an officer and dispatch him for the Rapports. Ahospital orderly, I thought, would serve to get Dr. Vaughn.