The Door of the Unreal

by Gerald Biss

  I was more precise, if possible, in detail and more definite than I had been even at Scotland Yard, keeping my eyes on his dear honest, stolid face, even repeating myself in places, where I felt, if I did not actually see, scepticism: but in the main his face, as in the ordinary way, was a mask, and his jaw obtruded truculently. Once he gave a short, harsh little laugh; and then, instead of feeling the least offended, I realized how deeply he was moved.

  And so I plodded through my thankless task incisively, and with no meretricious comment or pleading for conviction, to its ungracious end.

  “Never, my dear Burge,” I concluded, introducing the human note for the first time, “has a more damnably thankless or unwelcome job been thrust upon an unwilling guest in his happiest surroundings: and I beg you, therefore, to give the matter all the more serious consideration when you realize how much against the grain it all has been and is.”

  He nodded and lit another cigar.

  “I do,” was all his comment. His voice was repressed and concentrated; and he had got himself wonderfully in hand. It was what I had hoped for—expected, I may say—for I have a great respect for Burgess’s wonderful sanity and balance of character.

  Manders poured me out a drink and passed it without a word: and I thanked him. I needed it badly.

  “You must give me time to grasp it all,” went on Burgess. “My grip of things is not so quick as that of your trained intellects; but I know, Linc, that you would never have put this up to me seriously if it had not been devilish serious to you, and you know that I, on my side, have the most complete confidence in you and your judgment.”

  It was the most grateful and gratifying moment of my life, and—well, I’m a bit reserved, too, but something almost bowled me over for once.

  “The old friendship, Burge,” I said, lifting my glass: and by the commonplace I saved myself from making an emotional ass of myself.

  Then dear old Manders, a champion right-hand man I would recommend confidently to anybody, took up the tale.

  “Now, Clymping,” he broke in, in his wonderfully convincing manner, which has decided the verdict of many a dozen good men and true in the courts, “it is up to me to confirm in the most cold-blooded fashion every word Lincoln Osgood has said, and to tell the story of my littleÆneid and its results, undertaken because I was, in the first instance, convinced by Osgood, who is one of the very few men who can speak of these things with any authority; and, secondly, because it so happened that I had touched the fringe of them myself in the Near East in his company only a few months ago. Furthermore, fate pitchforked me last full moon into the very heart of the whole business; and I felt, and now feel more keenly than ever, a strong moral obligation to do anything in my power to see things through to the end and help to eradicate this anachronistic pest, which has so strangely obtruded itself in the twentieth century into the very heart of my own country. Apart from everything else, I should be criminally lacking in patriotism and a sense of personal responsibility, if I did not. Hence my presence here to-night as your uninvited guest.”

  “None the less a very welcome one always,” said Burgess with his old-fashioned courtesy, so rare in these casual, happy-go-lucky days.

  “Thank you,” said Manders in acknowledgment: and then he proceeded to detail most carefully and impressively all that he had discovered upon his sudden journey, building up a very convincing case out of the past history of the ill-omened old Professor and Anna Brunnolf. “You will notice,” he concluded, “that Miss Wolff does not in any way appear to be under suspicion.

  "In fact, she is hardly mentioned: and from what I can gather she has not been with her father very much or for very long. It is the one crumb of comfort in the whole ghastly story. As to the other two, I have no more doubt that they are nothing more or less than werewolves than of the fact that I am sitting here: and our duty is plain and obvious. They must be destroyed.”

  He spoke coolly and incisively: and Burgess started at his last words. His own mind had not so far travelled to the conclusion of things. He was only groping his way through the initial darkness and trying to find light. The tenseness of the present had, up to this point, excluded the claims of the future.

  Then Blenkinsopp took his turn, giving the official touch.

  “When Osgood and Manders sprung this extraordinary story upon the Chief and myself at the Yard only yesterday, though it now seems centuries ago,” he said quietly, “I was as dumbfounded and knocked over mentally as you are now; and it was only natural after all, as, even at headquarters, we are not accustomed to anything quite so weird and startling. Somehow the whole thing gripped and fascinated me from the very start, so much so that it hardly occurred to me to doubt it: but the Chief told me afterwards that he was incredulous to the point of all but being irritated to begin with, and that it was only the fact that Manders here and his work were so well-known to him that kept him from cutting the consultation abruptly short, and writing Osgood down as a polite, if not a dangerous, lunatic.”

  I could not refrain from smiling.

  “It is what I feared all along,” I said; “and that is why I walked warily and took every precaution I could against an anticlimax.”

  Blenkinsopp nodded and went on; “However, I confess that before Osgood was half through his statement he had got him thoroughly interested and into a neutral, non-committal frame of mind, if nothing more. When Manders and he had both had their say—on the lines you have just heard for yourself—he was practically won over, he admitted to me later on, though at first he could hardly bring himself to admit it, even to himself: and we spent all yesterday evening and a large part of last night over the two statements, which be has retained at the Yard for reference, discussing every detail and even turning up a number of books upon the subject, which we had fetched from the British Museum. This morning’s cross-examination clinched matters: and that is why I have his permission to be down here in a semiofficial capacity with large discretionary powers.”

  Burgess had been sitting for some time with his head in his hands; but, when Blenkinsopp had concluded, he looked up. His face was drawn and ghastly white, like a man with a sick soul. It was as though it had penetrated him more deeply, if with more difficulty, than any of us. There was no disbelief—merely horror—written on his face.

  “Thank you,” he said in an odd, strained voice, “thank you one and all, old friends and new alike. Do not, for God’s sake, think that I am in any way ungrateful—only a bit flattened out. It is apt to knock the stuffing out of the toughest of us to hear such a tale in his own house of people not unconnected with him, and of such horrors on his own little estate. I… I…”

  There he stopped, as though something had stuck in his throat and the words would not come out, swallowing hard twice.

  Manders once more poured out a drink—a good stiff one—and this time passed it to him: and he took a big gulp eagerly, a thing foreign in every way to his habit.

  “I think I will go out on the terrace for a few minutes and get some air,” he said a little huskily, “if you chaps will excuse me. Linc, will you come with me?”

  III

  I rose without a word and opened one of the long windows. It was a glorious spring night, and the moon was shining white and clear and cold, only a small portion invisible, and on the verge of coming to fullness—a bare four nights before Walpurgis Nacht. Grimly I hooked up at it in the sky, ill-omened and portentous; and I never loved the moon less, loathing it for those subtle undefined qualities that draw out the worst in the elemental world, and affect the spiritual side of humanity so strangely. Lovers may rave about the moon and write odes, little realizing her harsh cynicism and utter lack of human sympathy: but I shall always have an instinctive horror and dislike of that cold white face in the sky, luring on the unsuspecting to the things beyond.

  We stepped out on to the terrace and walked right to the far end in silence. Then suddenly Burgess turned and gripped my arm with a force that almost made me win
ce.

  “Linc,” he asked in a curious strangled voice, “what about Dorothy? For God’s sake tell me the worst—or the best.”

  I turned and faced him, my heart full of pity and a deeper sympathy than I had ever dreamt of.

  “Poor old man,” I said in a quiet voice, “you needn’t tell me how things are with you. I have guessed it from the very first time I ever saw you and Dorothy together: and Ann knows it, too. You will have to be brave and face possibilities; but there is hope, and you must not give up hope while it still exists. Of one thing I am certain—that Dorothy has never yet suffered metamorphosis, that so far she is a young girl pure and simple, and has never taken wolf-shape or been any party to these ghastly raids.”

  “Ah,” breathed Burgess deeply, a strange deep breath of relief and anguish combined.

  “Moreover,” I continued, laying my hand on his arm sympathetically, “she shows no signs whatever to my eyes or understanding of inherited lycanthropy. There is some mystery behind the whole thing: but she does not suggest it in any single detail, however trifling, nor does she seem in any way part of the old Professor. She impresses me as being wholly of her mother, not only physically, but by nature. However, there are two types of lycanthropy—inherited and acquired: and what makes me the more sure that she is not lycanthropic by heredity, is that there are obvious signs that Professor Wolff—and, probably, Anna Brunnolf as well—is clearly trying to impregnate her—not, I fear, without a certain measure of success.” Burgess started, and I heard him swear under his breath.

  “Steady, old chap,” I went on; “it’s no good cursing these foul hybrid obscenities. We shall want all our wits to pit against them, if we are to win through and save the dear girl’s immortal soul. That is part of the high stakes we are playing for; and we have to face facts frankly. Before God, Burge, I swear that, if it be humanly possible, I will save her for your sake as well as for her own: but I shall want all your help—your coolest and best brains and nerves.”

  And I explained to him in detail the signs I had seen of the attempts to impregnate the girl, culminating in the episode of the horrible orange flower with the black pustules and the deadliness of its moral significance—an episode which, up to that moment, had been kept a dead secret between Dorothy and myself, by instinct on her side, by deliberate intent on mine.

  Then I went further, detailing the points that were symptomatic of success—the increasing vividness of the red of her lips; the strange narrowing of her eyes; her susceptibility to the influence of fur, her growing fondness of it, and the habit of wearing it almost as a natural thing; and, finally, her increasing distaste for sweet things, and her growing liking, openly confessed, for meat in its raw state—all little things, but horribly suggestive, each in its own significant way, and in combination wellnigh conclusive to my mind.

  “We cannot say definitely,” I concluded judicially, “how far the poison has worked, or how far the damage has been done: but I fear the worst, to be candid. My own idea is that the Professor, in his devilish mind, is trying to time her first metamorphosis for Walpurgis Nacht, next Tuesday that ever is.”

  “Oh, God,” exclaimed Burgess in that horribly strangled voice so foreign to him, “oh, God, can nothing be done?”

  I shook my head.

  “At the moment nothing, old friend. Indeed we might defeat our own purpose by any premature action. We have got to prove our conclusions, however deeply we may ourselves believe and bank on our premises. Nevertheless, there is one strong gleam of hope in the situation for you, for all of us—if lycanthropy be acquired by extraneous means, such as I have detailed to you, such acquired lycanthropy can be equally exorcised with the will and consent of the impregnated person, and the impregnation can be purged. Keep that before your mind: and let us hope while there is hope. Now do you not agree with me, with Manders, that this hell-brood must be destroyed, wiped out, and put beyond the pale and possibility of further harm and deeds of ghastliness?"

  “Indeed I do,” said Burgess fervently, with as much determination as ever a man put into his voice, “indeed I do. I am master of myself again, Linc—you will be the first to understand and forgive this momentary weakness—and I will fight with every fibre of my being to save the soul and, I trust, the future life of Dorothy: for, as you have guessed, I love her.”

  I nodded and gripped his hand, as we stood on the terrace in the bright, baleful moonlight: and I heard, with a little shiver, the old blue clock over the entrance to the stable-yard strike midnight. It was the hour that we are ever most up against the unknown elementals, and the conditions were all favourable to them: but I intended to win against all the powers of evil arrayed against us, including the Prince of the Powers of Darkness himself, whatever the grim cost.

  “Show me how to do it,” he said simply, as the last of the twelve notes of the old clock died away.

  “Come inside, and we’ll go into the details of my plans,” I answered, taking his arm and retracing our steps along the wide terrace, white in the silver light of the hard-hearted moon.

  IV

  We re-entered the library through the open window, which I closed behind me; and I marvelled at Burgess’s wonderful recovery of control. Apparently he was as cool as though it were a normal evening and nothing untoward had been even mentioned. But his face was set, his lips compressed, and his indicative jaw pushed out—a fine firm, strong face, but one with which no one at the moment would have cared to play the fool or take liberties.

  Manders and Blenkinsopp were in deep consultation, standing on the old Persian rug in front of the open wood fire.

  A drink all round, I think,” said Burgess, proceeding to play host, “and then to business. You fellows must excuse my absence, but the room was getting a bit hot for an open-air yokel like myself. Osgood here has been good enough to put me wise upon certain essential details; and I am now completely at your disposal without reservation. In fact, I am only too anxious, now that I am in with you, to pull my full weight in the boat. I may add that I accept fully, and am convinced of the horrible reality and truth of every word that has been spoken here in this room tonight. I cannot say more. Now, Linc, what are your plans?” he asked, motioning us to our seats: and I was glad to see him light a cigar by instinct, as I knew that it would soothe his strained nerves.

  We all resumed our chairs: and I set the ball rolling.

  “My plans are largely subject to Blenkinsopp,” I said, “but I trust that we shall see eye to eye.” He made a gesture of assent. “I do not frankly anticipate active trouble of any sort before next Tuesday night—Walpurgis Nacht that is, coupled with full moon, an irresistible combination for such elementals and superphysicals—and my own view is that they are saving themselves up for a grand orgy on that notable occasion with, I frankly fear, the first metamorphosis of Miss Dorothy as part of their devilish programme, if she be sufficiently impregnated by then. At the new moon and at the first quarter the mutilation of sheep which has taken place, and is of itself characteristic of werewolf ‘playfulness,’ is all in keeping with my theory of heading up to a climax, which I anticipate with no small feeling of certainty at full moon, especially taking into consideration its conjunction with the great night of the year for all elemental and superphysical orgies—not least of all, human sacrifice. Therefore, I am laying my plans to meet and counter what will otherwise assuredly happen on that night. I anticipate a fresh raid that night from the Dower House, probably shortly before midnight: but, of course, we must be upon the spot earlier ourselves in case it should be earlier or the venture be planned farther afield than heretofore. Nothing must be left to chance.”

  “I propose,” I went on, speaking calmly, but emphatically, “to shoot anything in animal form that emerges from the Dower House, and not only to shoot, but to shoot to kill—“I saw poor old Burgess start and clench his hand—“that is, in the case of two. If there be three werewolves, I shall plan, in the case of the third and smallest one, to shoot only to disable
, preferably in the foot. I have all ready and waiting in this house half a dozen Winchester repeaters and the same number of Brownings; and I emphasize that at all hazards in the case of the two big wolves, which I anticipate with no small certainty, it must be death.

  “As for the shooting-party, of course, Blenkinsopp, as official referee, must stand aside—”

  “Unfortunately, damn it,” he broke in most unofficially.

  “But,” I went on, “there will be Manders, Burgess, and myself.”

  “I will take the smallest wolf,” struck in Burgess with a prompt determination, which I fully appreciated. “It must be left to me.”

  “It shall,” I said emphatically, realizing his reason: “so don’t worry any more on that score. I will take the biggest myself.”

  “Père Garou,” interpolated Manders, with his ever cynical little touch. “And old Anna, the gaunt she-wolf, who might have been foster-mother to Romulus and Remus, thus falls to my bow and arrow?”

  “Of that I am not altogether sure,” I interrupted. “We must have a shooting squad at the front-door, and an auxiliary one to cover a possible exit at the back, though I fancy myself that the sortie will take place from the front and through the gap in the hedge. That has not been repaired yet, has it?” I asked, turning to Burgess.