Strange, Tony thought, as they climbed up to the Abbey, silently for very want of breath, how different this was from his first coming to Kestrel, two days ago. Then he had felt desolate, unhappy at the thought of his father’s strange affliction, oppressed by the dark threat of the fortress-like pile above them; a prisoner being led to his doom. Now he was confident, happy almost, secure in the genial comradeship of the man beside him, bringing hope and, he believed, salvation to this father.
Lorrimer met them at the inner door, and respectfully welcomed the man who had come to save his master. His wife was hovering in the background, and, as soon as she was able, bore off the visitor to his room, smiling all over her homely features.
As soon as Gaunt had disappeared up the staircase Dr. Pellew came out of the library, and listened gloomily to Tony’s panegyric of the newcomer’s virtues.
“As I’ve said before, my boy,” he stated, “if anyone can do more for your father than I’ve done, he’s welcome to try, but for my part, I don’t believe it’s possible.”
But when Gaunt reappeared, and Tony introduced the two doctors, he was secretly amused to note how Dr. Pellew’s hardly veiled animosity disappeared before the other’s tact and courtesy.
“My dear sir,” Gaunt said, “you G.P.s are the backbone of our profession. Your general knowledge is profound. You yourself, for instance, could deal with hundreds of cases in which I should be worse than helpless. Obstetrics, for example, a subject of which I know practically nothing, whereas you bring dozens of children safely into the world every year: a most admirable achievement. But in this realm of the mind strange cases occur once in a while, and that is where I and my fellow psycho-practitioners come in. We have the special knowledge necessary to deal with matters right outside ordinary medical practice.”
Dr. Pellew, beaming with simple pleasure, replied:
“You are perfectly right, Doctor. Never in all my experience have I seen a case like Sir Anthony’s. My villagers indulge in a variety of complaints, but their minds are too simple, bless ’em, to go astray as his has done.”
After outlining his diagnosis and treatment of the case so far Dr. Pellew took his colleague up to see the patient, leaving Tony alone.
Sir Anthony lay as he had done since his last outburst, the solitary candle by the bedside throwing his angular features into sharp relief. Gaunt approached, took the lean wrist, and felt his pulse. Then he peered narrowly into the half-closed eyes and shook his head. Motioning Dr. Pellew to accompany him, he left the room. Once outside, he said:
“I can do nothing until the effect of your last injection has worn off. That will be at about noon tomorrow, will it not?”
The other assented, and they went down the broad staircase to where Tony was anxiously waiting in the hall below.
“There is absolutely nothing to worry about, Mr. Lovell,” Dr. Gaunt told him. “I cannot commence my treatment until Sir Anthony has recovered from the effects of the drug which Dr. Pellew has, quite rightly, been using. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Leave everything to me.”
Shortly after dinner Dr. Pellew retired for the night, saying that he wished to leave the island early in the morning and return to his neglected practice at Pentock.
“Not that anything urgent will have happened, you know, except possibly for a few cuts and bruises. I’m expecting no babies this month,” he said with a smile as he bade them good night.
When he had gone Dr. Gaunt gave Tony his private opinion.
“We must not delude ourselves, Mr. Lovell. Your father is desperately ill — in his mind. Admittedly Pellew’s treatment, the only possible one for a man of his limited knowledge, would have infallibly killed Sir Anthony within a few days. But the only real trouble lies in this mind. My first step will be to induce a state of hypnosis, when he will be quite safe for an indefinite period. Then I shall endeavour to find out what caused this abnormal state of terror, and afterwards, if necessary, erase it utterly from his memory.”
“And you can do this, Doctor? You’re certain of it?”
“Absolutely. I have treated many similar cases — some far worse than your father’s. Trust in me.”
“I do, Doctor — without any hesitation.”
They fell silent for a while, and Tony let his eyes wander round the great hall, with its lofty, timbered roof and stone walls, bare for the most part except for an occasional piece of arras, or a trophy of arms catching the light upon its polished steel. When his absent-minded gaze fell upon the staircase at the farther end he suddenly remembered the trap-door which lay beneath it, beside which his father had been found five days ago. Recalling the strange and dreadful story which Lorrimer had told, he at once began to wonder whether he should tell it to the doctor.
The latter was sitting at his ease in a corner of the deep settee, which stood in front of the fire at right angles to the easy chair which Tony occupied. He was gazing at the glowing embers, apparently lost in reverie; his lean, hawk-like profile, firm lips, and level brows, beneath which the brilliant eyes were now half veiled, still as a bronze statue in the ruddy light.
The young man broke the silence with:
“Doctor, I’ve something to tell you.”
“I’ve been waiting for it, Tony. I knew you had.”
At the easy use of his Christian name Tony felt a queer little glow of warmth about his heart. Eagerly he plunged into the tale, repeating Lorrimer’s story almost word for word.
Gaunt heard it through without comment, his long, sensitive fingers held tip to tip on his knee. Only when Tony had finished did he turn his head and regard him steadily.
“So,” he said, “there is more in this than I at first suspected. Your father’s terror has infected his servant also. But we must not have you under its influence as well. Come, have you a torch?” He rose to his feet.
Tony stood up slowly, trembling. The telling of the weird tale had reawakened all his slumbering fears.
“Why, Doctor? What are you going to do?”
“If you have a portable lamp of any kind you and I are going down into that crypt, and I am going to show you that there is nothing there to be afraid of.”
“No, Doctor, no! I couldn’t — don’t ask me . . . !” Tony’s voice rose to a high note and his lips quivered.
With one stride Gaunt was beside him, gripping both his hands.
“Look into my eyes,” he commanded.
Almost unwillingly Tony obeyed, and as his own faltering gaze met the doctor’s level stare the tide of panic which had threatened to overwhelm him sank and passed away. As if in a dream he heard the words:
“Cast out fear. So that your soul be not afraid, there is no thing in Heaven or earth shall harm you.” And with the words, courage such as he had never known filled the young man’s heart, and without another word he turned to a heavy chest beside the fireplace and took out a small electric torch. He looked back at Gaunt, who nodded, and they crossed the stone flags together, passing under the great staircase.
Here they paused beside one of the flagstones, which differed from the rest in that it had an iron ring at its centre and a bolt at its edge. Tony released the bolt and with a mighty heave swung the ponderous trap up on its pivot, revealing a square well of blackness. Taking his torch he flashed the beam downwards, lighting the top of a steep flight of spiral stairs. With just a little effort of will he began to descend, Gaunt following close behind.
At the bottom of the steps they found themselves in a vaulted chamber, which stretched away far beyond the limits of the torch’s beam.
“I’ve never been down here before,” Tony whispered. “Which way shall we go?”
“Straight ahead, down that line of pillars,” Gaunt replied, in a voice so normal that Tony was almost shocked.
They followed the direction which the doctor had suggested until they reached a wall of natural rock. This they followed round until they came to the foot of the staircase once more. Another circuit of the place convinced Tony that
there was no other exit, and, since there was nothing to be seen save the bewildering lines of pillars supporting the low roof, looking for all the world like trees in a petrified forest, there was nothing for it but to return the way they had come.
After he had lowered the trap into place Tony shot the bolt once more; but if Gaunt noticed the action he made no comment.
When they were back beside the fire, consuming brandy-and-soda, which Tony, at least, felt that he had earned, the doctor spoke:
“You see, Tony, there’s nothing down there to be afraid of.”
“No, there certainly doesn’t seem to be. Was it all imagination, then? On both my father’s part and Lorrimer’s?”
“Very probably. Remember, Lorrimer saw nothing. What he heard was probably the wind. It’s very calm tonight, but when it does blow I should imagine it makes itself heard.”
“That’s very true, Doctor. In a high wind you can hardly hear yourself speak sometimes.”
Soon afterwards they retired to their respective rooms.
Had Tony not been sleeping soundly he might have heard Gaunt leave his room some three hours later and pass along the gallery outside. He might, but even that is doubtful, for the doctor was wearing felt-soled shoes, and moved with infinite caution. He carried a flash-lamp, with which he lit his way down the staircase, the stone treads of which must have rejoiced his heart, had he ever attempted to descend wooden steps in silence.
It took him quite five minutes to raise the trap, so intent was he upon making no sound; but when it was open he wasted no more time, but passed swiftly down the spiral stairs and straight along the centre of the crypt. Half-way across he paused, consulted a pocket compass, and struck off towards the east. Twenty paces brought him to the place he was seeking, at a point which he and Tony had never touched in their perambulations round the walls. Here, in an open space, where one of the pillars would normally have been, stood a great oblong block of stone, raised upon three low steps. This was nothing less than the ancient crypt altar of the Abbey, and for a few moments Gaunt stood regarding it with satisfaction.
Then he mounted the steps and shone his lamp upon its upper surface. As he did so he noticed a curious thing. The five small crosses which must have been incised upon it when it was consecrated had been carefully removed, leaving depressions in the stone. Nodding to himself, as if at the confirmation of some theory, he set his torch carefully on the step beside him and, seizing the edge of the single block of granite which formed the altar-top, heaved violently upwards. Nothing happened; and after some minutes of futile struggling he desisted and sat down on the upper step, wiping the sweat from his face, for it was very close in that silent place.
After a while he got up and, taking his torch, began to go carefully round the edge of the slab. At a point on the back he stopped and inserted a probing finger. There was a sharp click, and he stood up with a faint sigh of satisfaction. Once more he essayed to lift the stone, and this time he was successful, for the entire altar-top swung upwards on a pivot, revealing a yawning cavity within.
A rush of foul air blew in Gaunt’s face as he peered over the side, flashing his lamp within, but, apparently undismayed, he swung a leg over and lowered himself into the depths.
Perhaps an hour passed before he reappeared, dripping with sweat and gasping for breath; but he was smiling as he gently lowered the counterbalanced slab into place.
Tony did not hear the doctor go back to his room, for he was still asleep; and if Sir Anthony heard, he never told, though he lay awake staring at the canopy of his bed with drug-clouded eyes.
When the grey dawn came creeping through the narrow, mullioned windows of Gaunt’s room the doctor was sleeping like a child, but on his lips there was still a smile, which, in the circumstances, was a curious thing.
II
A week later Hamilton received a long letter from Tony. It was post-marked Pentock, and ran thus:
Kestrel,
c/o P.O., Pentock,
Cornwall.
April 15th.
My dear John,
Thanks so much for finding Dr. Gaunt for me and sending him down here. He’s an awfully decent fellow, and we all like him immensely.
The Lorrimers can’t do enough for him. He knows his job too; the improvement in Dad’s condition is simply amazing. As you must have gathered, he was in a pretty bad way when I came down here. The local G.P. — one of the best, if a trifle antique — couldn’t make him out at all. He’d had an awful shock, that was evident, and it threatened to send him off his rocker, so the beggar could think of nothing better to do than to dope him with some infernal concoction which would have killed him in a week. But Gaunt’s changed all that.
He waited till the last dose had worn off and then he spent an hour with Dad, alone. I’ve no idea what he did, but when he fetched me, there was the old chap, sitting up in bed, still very weak, of course, but as sane as you or I, drinking beef-tea like a two-year-old, and as happy as can be.
He’s getting up for a while tomorrow, and we expect he’ll be quite fit in another week at the outside.
Of course, he doesn’t remember what happened to him; that’s part of Gaunt’s treatment — he’s washed out the memory somehow. But personally I don’t think that anything did happen, outside his own imagination.
Lorrimer found him beside the entrance to the crypt, and I fancy he’d been poking round down there and lost his lamp or something, and then got the wind up and bolted. Gaunt thinks so too. We went down there the other night, and there’s nothing alarming at all. Bit creepy, of course, and I can well imagine Dad having a fit of the horrors, without a light.
As for me, I’m feeling awfully fit, and seriously thinking of taking your advice and staying here. It’s a delightful spot, and in the summer it will be superb. You must come down for a week or two, John, or as long as you like. We could get as much bathing and fishing as you want.
Gaunt’s staying on for a while until Dad’s quite fit.
Do write and let me know if you can come, and when. How’s London looking? Pretty grim, I guess.
Yours,
Tony.
Hamilton folded the letter with a smile. Dear old Tony! Never the same for two consecutive minutes. Now he’d forgotten all his fears, and was in love with his old nightmare!
Not a bad idea, though, to go down and see him when the summer came. He sat down and wrote to his friend, telling him he’d come in a couple of months’ time. Holiday jaunts at a moment’s notice were not for hard-working fellows like himself, he thought. But he was glad Tony was happy again.
Chapter V
The weeks passed by, and life on Kestrel pursued its even tenor. Sir Anthony, restored to his former health and vigour, with all recollection of his terrible experience erased from the tablets of his memory, was very happy in the newly discovered companionship of his son, who found his own life beginning anew in the ancient home of his family.
Dr. Gaunt was still with them, for Sir Anthony had taken a great fancy to the man who had saved his reason, if not his very life, and insisted that he must stay with him as a sort of resident physician. Tony was only too pleased with this arrangement, for the two were firm friends.
They spent much of their time in the open, clambering about the island, bathing from the sheltered beach, fishing in the launch, and making occasional trips across to the mainland. And when outdoor activities began to pall they ransacked the library, and, in company with Sir Anthony, spent many an hour delving into that treasury of ancient learning. Gaunt’s knowledge of all subjects was profound, and in this, as in every occupation, he proved a delightful companion.
Tony’s manservant, Johnston, had come down from London at his master’s bidding, and with this addition to their staff, as well as Tom Tregellis, the Lorrimers found they could serve the little party right royally.
The Abbey itself seemed to respond to the happiness within its walls, whose very outlines appeared to soften their ancient grimness and put
on a new coat of mellow beauty under the glorious sunshine of that early Cornish summer. The gulls flashed white about the rugged towers, dark against the flawless blue above, and the waves lapped gently at the foot of the tremendous cliffs.
It was a happy time, and when stark tragedy came bursting in upon it the shock was all the greater.
Gaunt and Tony had been out on a fishing expedition, and as they climbed the long stairway to the Abbey they were talking breathlessly of their day’s sport. Tony was just saying, “You should have seen the one that got away!” and the doctor was laughing at him, when Tom Tregellis burst out of the wicket in the great gate above him and came running headlong down the worn steps, shouting as he came:
“Mr. Tony! Doctor! Come quick! The master . . .”
He reached them babbling something incoherent about the library. Without waiting for further explanation they both began to run, Gaunt easily outstripping the younger man.
When Tony came to the library, a long, low room beyond the great hall, he found the doctor bending over the crumpled figure of his father. Lorrimer was standing by the table, a blood-stained cloth in his hand, and his wife was near by, wringing her hands and weeping silently. An overturned step-ladder, and a heap of books, fallen from a gap in one of the upper shelves, told their own story.
“Is he badly hurt, Doctor?” Tony gasped.
Gaunt’s delicate fingers were exploring the dreadful bloody patch on the back of the grey head. He did not look up.
“The skull is fractured; badly, I fear,” he said gravely. “He must have hit the table in falling. Come, help me get him upstairs.”
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