Perhaps I might even be able to provoke them into doing so.
I motioned to the chaps that they should keep on singing while I modified the phonographs. It was a simple matter, as they were already equipped to run both forward and backward through the sounds on the cylinders. I set them to run backwards, wound them both up, and set them both going at once.
The result was immediate. As if simultaneously drawn and maddened by the noise, the pale millipedes swarmed and rushed, a wall over four feet high of them, dashing themselves against the pentacle, bursting and popping like water drops on a hot skillet.
The valves flared and blazed and the wails of the attacking millipedes were almost drowned out by the screeching whine from my crystals. Wave after wave of attack came. My green valve popped and faded, going dim without warning, and I did not have any spares on me.
First one, then another of the beasts came through, as if squeezing from out of a dashed tight spot. Arkwright stepped over to that side and quickly disposed of them with his poker, then had to move quickly to stop another scuttling through between his legs.
And still the attack came, and the lights blazed and the valves whined and Arkwright stomped and slashed and cursed, loud enough to be heard by us all. The valves whining went up a notch and I knew I was straining the defenses to limits they had never before been tested under. I was starting to fear the worst when another wave of attack was launched. I winced involuntarily as a three feet high wall of squirming, thrashing, millipedes hit the outer protection.
The defensive valves all blew out at once, but in doing so, they all gave out a last burst of light. There was a yellow glare as bright as the sun, and when my eyes adjusted we were alone in the pentacle amid a sea of rainbow vapors and mist that were even now sinking to the floorboards to leave only an oily residue as evidence the millipedes had ever existed.
My plan had worked.
*
It was quite some time before the chaps were calm enough to understand that it was over.
"That was a jolly close call, Carnacki," Arkwright said.
I patted him on the shoulder.
"It would have been a damned sight closer without your help, old man," I replied. "But I think we are safe now. Here, I shall prove it."
I stepped out of the protections. Nothing happened. There was no recurrence of the bugs, no sign of any hum or throb. The only thing left of them was the faintest gleam of oily residue like slug trails across the floor and up the bookcases, but I was glad to see that even that was now fading away into nothingness
I went and fetched more liquor, and five glasses this time, from the parlor, but could not get the chaps to leave the pentacle until they had all smoked a pipe and we had polished off the best part of another bottle of Scotch.
There was still no recurrence of the millipedes, no scuttling from the other rooms. I saw Dodgson eye the doorway with some trepidation as I suggested the coast was clear.
"Are you sure they are all gone?" he said.
I nodded.
"As sure as I can be, and after we get you all home I shall enhance the protections to encompass the whole house, for a while at least, just to be careful."
We finished off the bottle of Scotch between us before I could convince them to step out of the defenses, and when they did so and were not attacked by any more bugs, they were all rather keen to be on their way immediately afterward.
When I finally ushered them out the door I saw by the big clock in the hall that it was almost three in the morning; a much later conclusion to our dinner party than was normal.
Arkwright was the last to leave.
"Are all your adventures this much fun, old chap?" he said. "Because if you need any more beasties hit with a poker, I’m your man for the job."
We laughed then, for the first time in several hours, and I sent him off into the night with a smile.
"Out you go," I said.
An Unexpected Delivery
It had been one of those hot, almost sultry, days of haze and lingering stench that sometimes affects the river and the adjoining streets in high summer. Even the short walk down to 472 Cheyne Walk had me hot and bothered and disgusted by the smell assaulting my nose and throat. The stench was so foul that it made me rush ahead faster than I might have done otherwise. I am ashamed to admit it, but I was somewhat in a sweat when Carnacki opened the door and ushered me inside.
A glass of lightly chilled beer helped, as did the relatively cool air inside the house. I do not know how he manages it, but Carnacki's dining room always remains temperate whatever the weather outside, and by the time we gathered for supper at the table I was starting to feel more like myself.
The fare that night was an unusual combination for most of us, starting with a salad of some small, unidentifiable grain containing several vegetables with which I was completely unfamiliar. The main course was darkish meat that tasted rather like mutton but I suspected was goat, braised in sweet, but not sickly liquor, highly spiced, and served on a bed of wheat, dates and figs.
Arkwright, I could tell, was not too impressed with these foreign offerings, but he was far too polite to make any fuss of it at the table. As for myself, I polished it off, finding the heady spices quite to my liking. There was a most delicious partially frozen yogurt and fruit dessert to follow, and I ate Arkwright's portion after finishing off my own, so that by the time we went through to the parlor for drinks and a smoke I was quite full.
The parlor was equally as cool as the room we had left, and there would be no need for a fire that night. I suspected that if the room did cool any farther, all we would have to do to rectify it would be to open a window and let some of the warmer air in from the outside. Our host had a new bottle of scotch to hand, a peaty island malt that none of us had previously sampled, and it went down very nicely as we got our smokes lit and readied ourselves for a tale.
Carnacki did not disappoint us; he started in immediately.
*
"Our supper tonight was by way of an introduction to the nature of my latest adventure," he began, "for it has a distinctive Egyptian flavor, rather like the goat we have just eaten."
Arkwright looked like he wanted to interject, but that time was passed; it was a house rule that once a story was started, interruptions were most definitely frowned upon. Carnacki continued without a pause.
"It starts early on a Saturday morning with a knock on my front door. This was a month ago now, but you will remember that my tale of the night before had been a long one, and we had all partaken of a tad more scotch than was usual, so I was more fragile than I might have been in other circumstances. I was only recently risen from my bed and not yet ready to face breakfast. Finding an inspector and constable from Scotland Yard on my doorstep did little to make the morning any more palatable.
"The inspector introduced himself as Whittaker of the Yard. He did not offer a name for the man with him, and he asked if he could have a word with me. I could tell by his demeanor that it was something bally serious, so I invited them in and showed them into the library, where I'd been intending to work an a section of the Sigsand until my hangover abated.
"The inspector wasted no time in reaching the point.
"'I believe you know an elderly gentleman by the name of Edwards,' he said. 'A professor of antiquities?'
"'I do indeed,' I replied as I filled a pipe. 'George is an old friend. I have known him for many years and he often has insights into my studies that I do not immediately see for myself.'
"'And these studies of yours,' the inspector said. 'May I ask as to their nature?'
"He was being cagey and still, like a hawk watching for prey. I realized I would have to be careful with my words with this man, for he looked like the type not to miss a trick.
"'My studies are of a historical, spiritual and esoteric nature,' I replied, waving at the shelves around us in the library. 'As you can see from my collection.'
"He s
howed no sign of being interested in the books; his eyes never left mine.
"'Morbidly interested in death, are we, Mr. Carnacki?'
"I knew immediately there was no answer to that question I could give that would satisfy him. Instead I tried to get him to come to the point of his visit.
"'There has not been any trouble, I hope?'
"I saw from the inspector's look that there had indeed been trouble, and from the manner in which he continued to study me, I knew that he suspected that I might be somehow involved. His next question merely confirmed my suspicions.
"'Could you tell me where you were between the hours of eight and midnight last night, sir?' he asked.
"I saw from the look he gave me that the trouble was indeed of a most serious nature. I was jolly glad to have an alibi immediately to hand. If I had not, I do believe I might have been hauled down to a damp cell in Scotland Yard right there and then.
"'I was here at home, entertaining some old friends,' I replied.
"He was somewhat surprised to hear it. I do not think he expected me to be able to explain myself quite so easily, and I took him aback for a second before he asked another question.
"'And these friends of yours will confirm that you were present here the whole evening?'
"'They will indeed, to a man. We have regular Friday meets. Last night was no different to many others.'
"'You're sure they will back you up in this matter? I will need their names, in any case.'
"'Certainly,' I replied, and gave the inspector's constable your names and addresses. I think I quite impressed the man by mentioning such pillars of the community as you fellows. And as none of you have brought it up before tonight, I can take it the inspector never followed up on the matter.
"I think by then he was starting to admit that I was not a suspect, and he loosened up a tad when I offered him a smoke. I eventually got the full story, or at least as much of it as he knew, out of him over a pot of tea."
*
"'I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Carnacki,' he said, and I had guessed his next words before they were spoken. 'There is never an easy way to break this. Your friend Professor Edwards is dead. The old chap was found at his desk this morning.'
"'I gather, given that you are here so soon afterward to question me, that his demise was not brought on by natural causes?'
"Whittaker sighed.
"'That would have made things so much simpler. No, his passing was not a peaceful one, I'm afraid. The old man appears to have been strangled, and rather viciously at that. The only clue left behind at the scene was a hastily scribbled name in his journal that was obviously his last act. There was only the one word, but it was written clear enough there was no mistaking the name, your name…Carnacki.'
"Of course, hearing that gave me quite a turn, and I could see now why the man had found his way to my door. And I was quite distraught at hearing my old friend had met his end in such violent and distressing circumstances.
"'I shall help you out in any way that I can,' I promised the inspector.
"But I had no information to hand that could help the Yard with their investigation. I had not seen the professor for some weeks, and the last time we spoke, he was deep in the investigation of some new artifact that had come into his possession.
"'This artifact,' the inspector asked when I mentioned it. 'It was valuable?'
"I could almost see his thought processes; such an item might be another clue, possibly even a motive that could be investigated further. I had to disappoint him again.
"'I have no idea of its value, nor even what it might look like. He told me that it was old, and middle-eastern I think, or possibly Egyptian, but beyond that the old chap was playing his cards close to his chest and didn't give me any particulars.'
"'And you still cannot think why he might have chosen to write your name as his last act?'
"I had been racking my brains on that same score since the inspector mentioned it, but I could think of nothing that might help him.
"'The professor shared some of my enthusiasms for the arcane,' I replied. 'I can only think that it might be something along those lines, but as for the particulars, I am sorry to say that I am at a complete loss.'
"The inspector looked weary, and sighed again.
"''Thank you for your time, in any case,' he said.
The constable put his notebook away and both officers rose from their chairs.
At least I was not to be taken away for further questioning. The inspector was satisfied with my answers to his questions, and left me with a request to get in touch should I remember anything that might prove pertinent to their investigation.
"After seeing them out, I went back inside and finally managed to eat some breakfast, my hangover having quite vanished during my questioning. After that I sat in the library with a smoke, wool-gathering and mourning an old friend I would never see again. I was rather startled when there was another knock on the main door not half an hour later.
"I thought it might be the inspector, returned having remembered something he had neglected to ask of me, but instead it was a young lad, no more than ten years old. He looked flushed, red in the face as if he had arrived in quite some rush. He carried a shoebox wrapped in brown paper that he held out toward me as if by way of explanation for his presence.
"'Begging your pardon, sir. I was told to deliver this to you last night but I got a bit behind with another job. I am right sorry for being so tardy. The elderly gent said there would be a shilling in it for me, but given my lateness, there is no payment required.'
"I gave him a shilling anyway for his honesty, and sent him on his way before even looking at the package. I knew right away that I should not have sent the lad off so hastily; the Yard might need to have a word with him.
"The well-wrapped package was addressed to me, and I immediately recognized the handwriting as belonging to my old friend, Edwards. If the boy who delivered it was to believed, it had been sent from the professor, the previous evening, at some point not long before he saw fit to write my name again, one last time."
*
"I know that you chaps will all say that I should, by all rights, have got in touch with the Yard there and then, for what I had in my hands was most surely evidence in a case involving violence and murder. But I was curious, mightily so, as to why my name had been the last thought in my old friend's mind, and I believed the contents of the package might shed some light on the matter. I decided that I needed to investigate for myself before bothering the inspector with what might, after all, turn out to be something completely unrelated to the professor's death.
"I could not tell by the weight of the box what might lie inside, and shaking it ran the risk of damaging the contents, so I took it through to the dining room and opened it. I did so carefully, so as not to destroy any of the packaging, lest I incur the wrath of the inspector later.
"Edwards had been at his most meticulous in his wrapping. The package was neatly double layered in crisp, newly purchased brown paper and it had been tied with expensive white twine. Inside there was indeed, as I suspected, a shoebox, for a pair of Oxfords from James and Sons of Bond Street, but there were no shoes inside it. There was, however, an envelope addressed to me, and, wrapped tightly inside several layers of tissue paper, I found a palm-sized locket of some antiquity.
"It was mounted on a heavy, gold chain that looked of similar age to the locket itself. The rear side of the thing was burnished silver and flat and the front was a carving done in deepest black jet, depicting a scarab beetle in intricate detail. The locket was obviously meant to open, for there was a finely wrought hinge on the left-hand side. It felt heavy in the hand, courtesy of the jet, and I could imagine that wearing the bally thing around one's neck for any great length of time would prove to be dashed uncomfortable.
"It appeared I had been made recipient of the same artifact I had so recently been discussing with t
he inspector, and once again I considered whether I should not be handing it over immediately to the Yard as evidence.
"But as I have said, I was mightily curious, and decided that further investigation on my part was still required. On another night I might have broached the hinge there and then. I do not rightly know what stopped me; my old friend's fine hand on the envelope perhaps, or an innate sense of survival. Whatever the case, I opened the envelope first before proceeding any further.
"That single act might have saved my life."
*
Carnacki paused in his story at this point and drew a folded sheet of thick cream-colored paper from his inside jacket pocket.
"I thought it might help, and provide an air of verisimilitude to my tale, if I let you see the letter itself," he said as he opened out the folded paper and read from it.
"My dear Carnacki,
"I must apologize for burdening you with my self-inflicted troubles, but I am afraid that I have been a stupid old fool. I send you this item in the hope it is not too late, and that you might, with your expertise in such matters, be able to avert the fate that even now is reaching for me.
"I shall package it up immediately and send it straight to you. Mayhap it might even save my poor old soul, although I fear matters are already too far along for that.
"I told you I was working on an artifact. What I did not tell you, could not, is that I acquired it by nefarious means.
"The thing you have no doubt by now held in your hand turns up over and over again in the old writings, and I have, over the course of several decades, become a tad obsessed with it. So when I heard a rumor that it had surfaced in our time, I knew it was important, and that I had to have it. I found a man who knew a man who would procure it for me with no questions asked. In doing so I have violated most of the tenets of archaeological research I hold dear, but when you've seen it for yourself, you will understand. I simply had to have it.
Carnacki: The Edinburgh Townhouse and Other Stories Page 6