“Now,” he said firmly, “start counting.”
Hesitant at first and then gaining confidence, Robert began to count. As Caligari predicted, by the time he had reached one, the glaze of the trance had left his eyes and his body shifted into a more natural posture. He blinked in puzzlement at his captor.
“Have I been asleep?”
Caligari nodded. “For a brief while.”
“My hand. There is blood…”
“Just a little accident with a knife.”
“A knife?” Robert’s eyes widened. “Where did that come from?”
“Never you mind. All is well. The wound is minor.”
“When can I leave here? I want my freedom. I thank you for your hospitality but… I am in a prison.”
Caligari gave an indulgent smile. “You will come to no harm here. I will see to that. At the moment you are not strong enough to leave and it is not safe for you to be on your own. See how you’ve cut yourself without realising it. Be patient. Trust me, I know best. I am a doctor. Your mind – it is injured and I will heal it. All will be well in a short time.”
“All will be well? What does that mean? How short a time?”
“Be patient, young Robert. Be patient. There is nothing to fear.”
* * *
Some time later, Caligari sat before the fire in his sitting room, smoking a cigar and pondering. He was pleased with his first experiment. All had gone according to plan. Robert was an excellent subject, so responsive to hypnotic suggestion. And what made him all the more special was that small flame of violence within him. He had the facility to kill with brutal efficiency. That was to the good. That flame needed no fanning.
Caligari had a more dangerous and challenging test before he could move on to the next stage. If it worked well, then he was ready to unleash Robert into the world to carry out his wishes.
* * *
After repeating the knife experiment with slight variations to test that Robert was indeed under his control, four days later he performed a more daring experiment on his prisoner. He now habitually drugged Robert’s food so that he was more amenable to being hypnotised, and with the same ease placed him in a trance. Then he went to the door and retrieved from the landing a small sack. He opened it up and brought out a kitten, which mewed and wriggled once it was out in the light. He took it to Robert and held it up before him.
“A present for you, my boy. A sweet little kitten. It is now your little pet. Take it gently and stroke its soft fur.”
Robert reached out and took the kitten from Caligari, before beginning to stroke it.
“Enjoy its softness and its warm life beneath your fingers. Is that good?”
Robert turned to his master, his pupils dilated and a concerned frown wrinkling his forehead.
“Yes, you may speak. You may tell me what you feel.”
Robert looked puzzled for a moment and then turned his attention back to the kitten wriggling gently in his grasp. “Yes, yes,” he muttered, his voice dry and harsh from lack of use. “It is good. I like.”
“I am pleased. Your master is pleased,” said Caligari, patting Robert on the shoulder.
“Good. Good,” repeated the youth, his eyes still focused on the kitten.
Caligari waited a while before offering up his next instruction. “Now, Robert, I have to tell you that this kitten is a diseased wretch and deserves to die. I want you to kill the kitten. Twist its head round until it snaps, until you take the life out of it.”
Robert moved awkwardly in his chair, obviously very unsettled by the order. He cast a bewildered look at Caligari, his lips trembling with uncertainty and disturbed emotion.
“Do as I say. Kill the kitten. Break its neck. It is an order. You will obey me.”
Robert nodded. “Obey,” he said softly, as the word burrowed into his brain. Slowly he lifted the kitten up and placed his right hand over the creature’s face. It meowed noisily and struggled, its lower limbs swinging wildly, claws extended. And then with a swift, ferocious turn of his hand, Robert twisted the head of the frightened creature in a clockwise direction. There was a gentle snap as the vertebrae broke. The meowing ceased and the kitten became limp in his hands.
He dropped the lifeless creature to the floor.
“Obey,” he muttered and lifted up his hands as though to examine them.
Caligari smiled. “You have done well, Robert. You are a good fellow.”
Robert smiled. “Done well,” he repeated.
“Now go to your bed, lie down and sleep. When you awake you will remember nothing of what has happened just now.”
In his somnambulistic state, Robert moved mechanically to his bed and lay down, sleep overtaking him as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Caligari beamed and even allowed himself a gentle chuckle as he scooped up the dead kitten and left the room, bolting the door on the outside.
As he dined alone that evening, Caligari tried to contain his excitement. He wished to remain scientifically objective about what he had achieved, but he kept returning to the image of Robert twisting the neck of the kitten and the satisfying sound as its neck snapped. It thrilled him and confirmed his triumph. He had created his own puppet who was totally under his control. Robert now had no conscience, no morality; he was merely a vessel, ready to obey Caligari’s commands. He would even kill for him.
Kill for him.
One more successful experiment, this time with a live puppy, convinced Gustav Caligari that Robert was ready for the final test. If only old Bruner had been around to share his success. That was his only disappointment in this whole venture. There was no one with whom he could share his great achievement. No friend, no confidant, no fellow explorer of the dark realm into which he was travelling and whose boundaries he was breaking. So be it. That was how things must be. Secrecy was essential. No one must know of his experiments and the power he had achieved over the human mind. Genius was a solitary state.
And so now he had to repeat the tests, with the addition of a new drug he had prepared, to be absolutely certain and to prepare Robert for his first great challenge.
Chapter Eight
It was at a society party that Caligari had met the person whom he decided would be his first victim. The woman fascinated him greatly. She was a tall willowy creature with fine, pale, delicate features and entrancing blue eyes. There was an air of sadness about her expression which appealed greatly to Caligari; but when she smiled, which was not often, her whole face radiated not only beauty but a kind of raw passion which stirred his soul. Their encounters were brief and desultory. It was clear to Caligari that the lady took no interest in him whatsoever, yet this actually increased his fascination with her.
At numerous artificial functions, held in the grand houses of the city, he observed her closely. He saw how she quickly detached herself from her pompous husband and flitted like an errant butterfly from group to group. He also saw how she eventually gravitated to a small cluster which included a young dark-haired fellow with handsome but cruel features. The gentleman’s large, expressive eyes seemed to reflect his constant amusement with the world. It was clear to Caligari that he and the lady were lovers. They exchanged furtive glances and the way she occasionally stroked the sleeve of the fellow’s jacket told him as much.
On one occasion, he caught sight of the couple alone, secreted in a palm-fronded alcove. He could not get near enough to catch their conversation, but from the tone of their voices and their gestures, it was clear to Caligari that their exchange was of a passionate and intimate nature. He became determined to find out more and so he waited until he might catch the lady alone. Towards the end of the evening, she was making her way across the room when he intercepted her.
“May I have a private word?” he said, adopting his most charming manner.
At first she seemed taken aback by his approach. Her innate comportment and decorum overcame her natural instinct to ignore his request. She had encountered the man before and unli
ke so many ladies in her circle, she did not care for him. It was not merely that he was far from good-looking; there was something sinister about him. His heavy features and a face that seemed always to be damp with perspiration were unpleasant to behold, but it was his eyes, which seemed to hold a fierce cruel fire, that repelled her the most.
“Very well,” she replied softly.
Caligari took her arm and led her gently to a quiet corner of the room.
“What is it you wish to say?” asked the lady with some apprehension. What on earth did this strange foreigner want with her?
“As you may know, madam, I am a mind doctor…”
The lady shook her head. “No, I did not know. And I cannot say I know what a mind doctor is.”
Caligari gave a gentle smile. “I am not surprised. I am perhaps the only one in the world. I cure human ailments, both physical and mental, by means of neuro-hypnotism. When the body is released from the restraints of wakefulness, it can be manipulated in such a way that whatever traumas are affecting it can be eliminated.”
“By hypnotism, you mean mesmerism.”
Caligari shook his head. “No, no. That is a fairground trick. This is a medical process which can bring both physical and psychological relief.”
“Why are you telling me this?” the lady asked, looking around desperately, keen to escape from the man’s company.
“Because I know that you are a troubled woman. You hide your suffering well, but I have gifts that allow me to see beneath the surface of such behaviour. There is pain and distress in your eyes.”
At first, this statement chilled her, but swiftly her temper asserted itself. “How dare you make such assumptions, sir? Your approach to me is totally reprehensible.”
“You cannot deny that I speak the truth.”
“You, sir, are not only talking nonsense but offensive nonsense.”
“Come to see me. Come to my surgery. I can relieve your mind.”
He offered her one of his cards. She tore it in half and threw it on the floor.
“This interview is at an end,” she snapped.
She moved to leave, but he took hold of her sleeve.
“You see, such agitation speaks denial, maybe self-denial. I can ease your burden, I assure you.”
“Either you are mad or some kind of charlatan. You are certainly no gentleman. Now take your hands off me, sir, or I shall see to it that you are thrown out into the street.” She pulled her arm free and hurried away.
“Self-denial,” murmured Caligari, an amused smile touching his lips. “Oh, Lady Damury, you will be so very sorry you rebuffed me so harshly. You are unaware of the great powers I possess.” He sniffed the carnation in his lapel and his smile grew broader, while his eyes were hooded with a cold intensity. “But you will, my dear. You will.”
* * *
The interview with Lady Damury gave Caligari the impetus to advance to the next stage of his plans. It was time to progress. Having bided his time and prepared the path with care and restraint, he was ready to move forward. In order for this to happen he had to secure himself a stooge, a puppet, an instrument. It was then that the pleasure and entertainment could really begin.
Chapter Nine
Robert had now lost all remnants of his previous life and character. He was utterly under the control of Gustav Caligari, possessing no independent thoughts of his own. His brain was permanently wrapped in a fog, which not only blurred his perception of the world but chained him to the whims and desires of Caligari: his master. He was no longer an individual, but a mere appendage of the man who controlled him. He remained comatose for most of the time and when awake he was held in a state of hypnotic trance. So conditioned was he that Caligari had no need to administer drugs before commencing the hypnotic process. It was as though Caligari had removed all the personal workings of the inner man and left only an empty, biddable shell.
A few weeks after the death of the kitten, Caligari took Robert out on to the darkened streets of London. It was the first time Robert had breathed fresh air and experienced the outside world since the night he had first encountered Caligari, but now he was unconscious of the fact. His mind was no longer able to register such things.
Caligari had bought him a new dark suit and overcoat and a large black fedora, and together they walked the misty thoroughfares of the city as the evening made its way towards midnight. Caligari needed the young man to grow used to the environs beyond the confines of his room. He did not want Robert to be distracted by his new environment, and was aware that soon he would have to place great trust in his powers when he sent Robert out on his own.
At length, the pair came upon an elegant row of houses. Caligari stopped outside the entrance to one of these, and automatically Robert followed suit.
“This is the place, Robert,” Caligari said softly but very clearly. “Carisbroke House. It is the home of the person I want you to destroy. Look at it. Memorise it. You will come here again.”
Robert turned his gaze on the darkened building and gave a gentle nod.
Making sure there were no other pedestrians about, Caligari led his charge down the side of the house to the small garden at the rear. There was a light in one of the upper windows and a distinctive figure was seen passing by the shade. Caligari grinned. What luck, he thought. That was obviously Lady Sarah Damury’s boudoir, and that shadow was the lady herself.
“See that room, Robert. The lighted window.”
“Yes. I see it.”
“When you return here on your own, that is the room you must enter. The occupant is a lady. She is to be your victim. Do you understand?”
Robert’s brow creased. “Victim.”
“Yes. You will silence her. End her life. Twist her head until it snaps – just like the kitten and the puppy. Do you understand?”
Robert’s eyes widened and in the moonlight Caligari thought that a smile almost registered on those pale gaunt features. “I understand,” came the reply.
* * *
Now it was time for Caligari to do some detective work, in order to find out when it was likely that Lady Damury would be at home alone, apart from the servants. He was meticulous in his preparations, for he had no wish to be placed in a similar situation to that which had caused him to leave Prague so abruptly. He watched the house for a few days, noting the various comings and goings. On the second morning he observed her ladyship leave the house with two women; some kind of lady’s maid and another servant, no doubt. He followed them and discovered they were on a shopping expedition, visiting several high-class drapers and milliners; they returned with a number of packages, which the younger maid carried behind her mistress like a prancing pet poodle. It was this little creature that would provide him with the information that he needed.
He watched and waited. As dusk fell, his diligence was rewarded and the maid emerged from the house on her own. Caligari grinned and followed her. As she turned down a deserted, poorly lit street, he made his approach.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said.
She jumped. “Crikey, you didn’t half give me a fright, mister.”
Caligari lit a match and held it before his face. “I simply wanted to ask you something. To ask you something. You don’t mind if I ask you something, do you?” He spoke softly, mellifluously, while he moved the bright flame of the match from side to side.
The girl found it difficult to speak. She merely nodded her head in response.
He took a step nearer so that she could see his eyes, illuminated by the match. “You are sleepy, are you not? Very sleepy. Tiredness is coming in waves like the sea crashing on the shore. You are very sleepy; you can hardly keep awake. There is no need to keep awake. Let yourself surrender. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to sleep – so go to sleep.”
The girl’s body relaxed and her eyes fluttered erratically as Caligari’s influence took hold.
“That’s right. You go to sleep, my dear. Sleep. It is a great comfort. I will see that you are safe
.” He eased the girl backwards so that her body was resting against a low wall. “You now will answer all that I ask you. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded gently.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.” The voice was tiny and high-pitched.
“That is good. What is your name?”
“Freda.”
“Now, Freda, you work for Lady Damury.”
“Yes.”
“Are you one of her personal maids?”
“Yes.”
“Does she treat you kindly?”
There was a pause. “I suppose so.”
“You help her dress for parties and private functions…”
“Yes, I lay out her shoes, while Miss Agatha sorts out her dress and her jewels and so on.”
“And you know in advance when she will be going out for the evening.”
“I do, ’cause that means I have to be on duty. When she comes back I have to be there to help her disrobe.”
“So she is not going out tonight?”
“No, not tonight. But she is having a visitor.”
“Who is that?”
There was a flickering hesitation before she replied. “It is her gentleman caller.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I… I am not sure.”
“Who is this ‘gentleman’?”
“I don’t know. I have never seen his face.”
“Is he her lover?”
“I… I think so.”
“You have never seen his face – but you know who he is, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
“Tell me his name. I command you.”
There was a pause and then the girl spluttered out the name. “Godfrey Forbes.”
Caligari could not help himself. He chuckled. So he had been correct. The disdainful lady was involved in an adulterous relationship with that arrogant fellow he had seen in her company at the party, when she had rebuffed his advances. How delicious. It rendered the prospect of her imminent demise all the more pleasurable.
The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--The Instrument of Death Page 5