In another flat de Richleau found an elderly woman with a nasty wound in her shoulder which had been caused by the splinter of an anti-aircraft shell. He sent her to sleep also, but her astral proved to be a dull, almost sightless replica of herself which stood naked and ugly, peering at him suspiciously; upon which he promptly left her and returned to see how Captain Fennimere was getting on.
It proved that the Duke had judged his time well, as the Captain’s charming guest was in the process of dressing and the Captain, who was not in the room, returned shortly afterwards with a mirror which he held for her while she tidied her hair. After she had put herself to rights they had a whisky-and-soda and a cigarette apiece, ate some biscuits and embraced with care so that the lady’s make-up should not suffer in the process. De Richleau observed with some surprise that as the Captain saw her to the hall door he did not put on his cap and coat but let the girl pass out and stood there smiling ‘good-night’ as she went down in the lift.
‘This is strangely ungallant conduct in a naval man,’ thought the Duke, ‘and he certainly does not deserve his good fortune.’ A moment later, however, he realised that he had misjudged the Captain most unfairly, as the lift did not descend to the ground-floor but stopped two floors below, and the girl got out. Prompted by idle curiosity, de Richleau slid down after her and followed her through the door of a flat which was obviously her home. In the drawing-room an elderly man was sitting reading, and the Duke was considerably amused to hear the Captain’s girl friend say brightly as she came in:
‘Hullo, Daddy! I do hope you weren’t anxious about me but my taxi took simply ages getting across London in the black-out. Anyhow, Muriel and I spent hours practising on each other with those beastly bandages so I think we’ve both got a good chance of passing our First-Aid exam, tomorrow.’
‘First-Aid,’ murmured the Duke inaudibly. ‘First-Aid, indeed—you little minx!’ Then he left the lovely liar to pass through the ceiling and the flat above into Captain Fennimere’s abode.
The Captain was partially undressed and splashing about at the fixed wash-basin in his bathroom. Five minutes later he was in bed and, apparently untroubled by any pangs of conscience over his illicit affair with his neighbour’s daughter or by anxieties over Britain’s shipping losses, he was very soon asleep.
As he began to snore gently, his astral rose through the bedclothes and de Richleau saw at once that the Captain had reached a much more advanced state than the Admiral. Fennimere’s astral immediately took the form of an extremely good-looking woman with a broad forehead and well-modelled chin which denoted intelligence and determination. She was dressed in flowing garments not unlike those that de Richleau himself was wearing and her dark hair was done high on her head in hundreds of small curls, as was the fashion in Roman times.
The Duke turned his face away so that he should not be recognised, but after one swift glance in his direction the Captain’s astral made a swift and purposeful exit. From what followed, the Duke knew that they were journeying back in time. When the mist cleared, the lady with the flowing robes was walking in the garden of a Roman villa surrounded by tall cypresses and above a rocky beach which was gently lapped by the blue waters of the Mediterranean. De Richleau instantly lifted himself to a higher level of consciousness so that he would be invisible but remained in the vicinity of the moss-patched balustrade that ran along the terrace, while he kept an eye upon his quarry.
Evidently the Captain’s Roman incarnation had been a particularly happy one so he returned to it as the woman he had then been, to renew his mental strength and tranquility of mind; but the Duke felt certain that he would not stay there for very long, as there is always work waiting for those who have knowledge, and such spirits are not apt to be self-indulgent.
His guess proved correct. After sauntering a little among the ilex and sweet-smelling flowering shrubs, while she gazed out with a thoughtful look across the lovely bay, the Roman lady shook herself slightly, the whole scene disappeared and they came back through time to a very different one.
The crump of bombs and the crashing of anti-aircraft guns suddenly rent the silence and the Duke found that they were above a large city. It was not London, and for the moment he had no means of identifying it, but he assumed that it was somewhere in the Provinces. The Captain’s astral went, without hesitation, to a spot where a land-mine had just exploded, and with others who were moving from the upper sphere in that direction he began to help in the work of assisting the newly-dead to find their bearings.
De Richleau saw that the Captain had now taken the form of a hospital nurse, so evidently he liked himself best as a female, but the form he had chosen was admirably suited to his present activities, as for some time after they have been struck down those who have just died nearly always fail to realise that they are dead. Unless they are possessed of the Old Wisdom they know nothing except that they seem to have sustained a severe shock and are very cold, so they lend themselves to the ministrations of a nurse more readily than to any other person and gladly accept the hot soup and warm garments which are provided for them, without having the faintest idea that these are just as much of an astral nature as they themselves.
Judging that as the Captain was obviously a practised helper he would spend the best part of his night at this work of mercy, the Duke decided that the best thing he could do was to employ himself in a similar manner, so he clothed himself in the white garments of a surgeon and set about the business.
It was near dawn when the nurse whom de Richleau was keeping under observation ceased her labours. With other helpers they had gone from one bombed building to another during the night, and for hours after the bombing ceased had busied themselves with the mortally-wounded who passed from Earth life in First-Aid Posts and hospitals.
At last the martyred provincial city faded and the Duke was aware that Captain Fennimere was once more going back in time. When he caught up with him it was to find the Captain, now in male form and dressed with the richness of a wealthy merchant of the eighteenth century, entering a long music-room in a big, well-furnished house. It then became apparent that in one of his incarnations— and probably the last—the Captain had been a most accomplished musician, or possibly even a composer. He sat down at a piano and without hesitation began to play certain soothing and delightful pieces, evidently with the intention of restoring calm to his spirit after the horrors it had witnessed during the night.
Having played for about half an hour, Captain Fennimere stopped abruptly and returned with lightning speed to his mortal body. De Richleau followed, entering the flat at North Gate just in time to see the maid set down the Captain’s morning-tea at his bedside as he raised himself sleepily on one elbow. Two minutes later the Duke was back at Cardinals Folly and waking by his own will to tell Richard that all was well with him but that his night’s journey had again proved fruitless.
Unlike the previous morning, de Richleau felt unrefreshed by his sleep, as is always the case after a night which one’s astral has been working instead of merely amusing itself. On reaching his room, therefore, he turned in and slept for another couple of hours, this time renewing his strength by idling in those pleasant places which he could reach at will.
Later that day, after the Duke had recounted his night’s adventures to the others, Richard remarked: ‘How strange it is that the Admiral, who appears to be such a devoted husband in this world, should promptly rush off in his astral for fun and games with a little bit of Chinese nonsense, while the Captain, who is evidently a bright lad here, devotes himself to good works when he’s on the other side.’
‘There’s nothing particularly strange in that,’ replied the Duke. ‘A person may be in a comparatively low state of spiritual development yet through energy and singleness of purpose achieve a position of considerable authority during one of his lives on Earth, just as the Admiral has done. On the other hand, however advanced people may be in their true selves, each time they are born again their knowl
edge is obscured by the flesh; so until their consciousness about the eternal truths is awakened through some fresh contact they may behave as though they were still in the lowest form—sometimes they even die without apparently having achieved any further progress.’
‘That sounds an awful waste of time,’ protested Rex.
‘Oh, no, it’s not; because in every life one pays off certain debts and learns something. I once knew an old ploughman who could not even read or write, yet he was in his last Earthly incarnation and due to ascend to the Buddhaic sphere. He had no idea of that at all while in his body, but I knew it because I used to seek guidance from him on the astral. He had only one lesson left to learn—that of humility—and of his own free will he had deliberately elected to be born as a poor peasant to whom all knowledge of the Old Wisdom should be denied during his last life on Earth.’
‘Didn’t realise one could choose the state one would like to be born in,’ Simon commented.
‘You cannot until you’re nearing the end of your Earthly lives and have very little left to learn. It is then granted to you to select such incarnations as will enable you to master those last lessons most rapidly—just as an advanced student at a university is allowed considerable latitude in the choice of the subjects he wishes to take and his hours of work. Our Lord, for example, took the extreme step of electing to bear the pains and penalties of his last three lives in one incarnation. In the short space of thirty years he paid off every remaining debt that he had incurred during his many lives on this, the material plane, and with an unsurpassed display of fortitude supported all the resulting suffering so that he might free himself from the flesh for ever.’
‘He obviously had true memory, though,’ remarked Marie Lou. ‘Any number of his sayings bear witness to it.’
‘Certainly. Most people who are well on the upward path are reawakened some time in each Earthly incarnation. The chance of acquiring knowledge comes to many, either through someone they meet or through a book. Those who are not ready refuse to accept it, but those who are ready instinctively realise at once that all other faiths contain only a portion of the truth, because every single one of them embodies inconsistencies which cannot be got over; whereas the true wisdom is absolutely logical and completely just. No-one who has knowledge ever endeavours to force it on anyone else, because to do so is sheer waste of time; but whenever anyone is ready to receive it, steps are taken to ensure that he shall do so.’
‘I wonder if I was really ready when, some years ago, you first brought it to us?’ said Richard. ‘I believed all right, because everything you’d ever told us fitted in, and the law of Karma, by which one reaps exactly what one sows, not an atom more nor an atom less, is so obviously fair. It does away once and for all with the hoplessly unsatisfactory teaching that after one short life—a life of only a few years for those who die in childhood—a soul is either given entry to Heaven or damned to rot in Hell for all eternity. No thinking person can possibly subscribe to a belief which is based on such an absurd travesty of justice. But except on very rare occasions I’ve never succeeded in remembering my dreams and at one time both Marie Lou and I tried very hard indeed. She succeeded comparatively easily, whereas I could make no headway at all.’
‘That, Richard, is because Marie Lou had trained herself in past lives and at one time she was what is called a “looker” in a temple, so it was easy for her to pick up again. You, on the other hand, although you probably don’t realise it, are a “healer”, as for a long time past you have steadily been cultivating your powers in that direction.’
‘That’s interesting,’ Richard smiled. ‘If Marie Lou gets a headache I can certainly take it away by just a few minutes’ massage.’
De Richleau nodded. ‘If you started to train again you could probably do quite a lot in the way of taking pain from people who had toothache, rheumatism, and so on, as well. In any case, it is only by pure chance that Marie Lou happens to be more advanced than you are, and the fact that she remembers her dreams with unusual clarity has nothing whatever to do with it.’
‘Where do I come in?’ asked Simon. ‘I can remember bits of my dreams every morning—that is if I concentrate when I wake up—but I’ve never been able to achieve continuity.’
‘You’re fairly well on the road, as in past lives you trained as a neophyte.’
‘And me?’ Rex inquired.
‘You, Rex, are much the youngest soul among us and that, perhaps, is why you’re so successful with all modern things on the material plane, such as handling racing-cars and aeroplanes. You have only just reached the stage at which it was time for you to be given your first opportunity to achieve wisdom. That, undoubtedly, is the reason why it was decreed that you and I should become friends.’
There was a little silence, then Simon said: ‘Er—getting back to the business in hand—it seems that you’re stymied with both the Admiral and the Captain, so what’s the drill now?’
‘I shan’t bother any more with the Captain,’ replied the Duke. ‘From his performance last night it’s clear that he is a regular helper and quite definitely one of us. I don’t suppose he remembers his dreams—unless at some time he has trained himself to do so—but on the astral he obviously has full consciousness of his past lives and is well set upon the upward path. It’s quite unthinkable that anyone so advanced would be led into betraying his country unconsciously, and I’m sure that he could put up sufficient resistance on his own account to prevent any evil entity forcing him into anything that he didn’t wish to do. I’ll have to give the Admiral a little more supervision, though, as his astral life definitely still lacks continuity, and there may be periods when he is got hold of by our enemies without his understanding what is happening to him.’
In consequence, for the next seven nights de Richleau again accompanied the Admiral upon what were undoubtedly unplanned journeys to a great variety of places. The old boy was trying very hard to master the art of regaining his lost youth but as yet he evidently had only the most rudimentary notions as to how this could be done. Once he succeeded too well and de Richleau was amused to find him enthusiastically bowling a hoop in Kensington Gardens, while on another occasion, although apparently well advanced in years, he appeared in a sloe-eyed Spanish dancer’s bedroom dressed in an Eton suit. But in spite of these slight misadventures he brought all the vigour of his indestructible true personality to the full enjoyment of his nights. His lady-friends were many and varied. Innumerable sets of tennis were played with one group of acquaintances or another, he took frequent occasion to swim, with a great spluttering, and appeared to find particular delight— which the Duke by no means shared—in going to sea in the various ships that he had commanded, preferably in the roughest possible weather.
After a week of nights in the Admiral’s company, during which nothing that could be regarded as in the least suspicious had occurred, the Duke formed the definte opinion that his hardy sailor could not be the unconscious means through which the Nazis were getting their information, so he decided that he must adopt a different line of investigation and went up to London to see Sir Pellinore.
He did not describe to the elderly Baronet the astral doings of the Admiral or the Captain, as he felt quite convinced that if he did Sir Pellinore’s original scepticism would immediately return; it would have been asking too much of him to accept such apparently fantastic happenings, however natural they might be on the astral plane. Instead, the Duke gave a dry, business-like almost scientific report to the effect that during the past ten days he had utilised his powers to examine the subconscious of the two naval officers while they slept and had formed the opinion that neither was in any way responsible for the leakage.
‘Then, if they’re not, who the devil is?’ grunted Sir Pellinore.
‘Goodness knows,’ replied the Duke. ‘We are now up against exactly the same problem as we were when you originally vouched for the integrity of these two officers. They are the only people who know all the routes
given to various convoys, and it is outside all reason to suppose that the captain of each convoy which goes out is a traitor who has means of communicating with the enemy when he is already several hundred miles from his port of departure.’
‘Perhaps your theory is entirely wrong, then, and there is in the Admiralty, all unsuspected, a Nazi agent who has some means of photographing Fennimere’s instructions to convoys after they’re written out?’
De Richleau shrugged. ‘But the Admiral himself told us that immediately the writing of them is finished Fennimere seals them up in their weighted envelopes and locks them away in his steel despatch-box. In addition, we have Fennimere’s word for it that the despatch-boxes are never unlocked again before he hands them over to the various captains commanding convoy escorts, and I am quite prepared to take his word as to that.’
Sir Pellinore’s blue eyes narrowed. ‘I meant that the convoy instructions might be photographed by some new X-ray process through Fennimere’s despatch-box, either while they are still at the Admiralty or while he is en route for one of the ports.’
‘No,’ de Richleau shook his head. ‘Even if an X-ray apparatus has been invented which would photograph through steel, it’s quite certain that the handwritten instructions are folded up before they are inserted into their envelopes; therefore the writing on them would come out in the photograph as an oblong of incredibly confused strokes owing to several lines of writing being photographed one on top of the other. I feel convinced that it would be quite impossible to decipher such a document—or at least, sufficient of it to make sense.’
‘Damme!’ exclaimed Sir Pellinore, ‘you’re right there. But we must get to the bottom of this business somehow. It’s frightful—utterly shattering! We lost another hundred thousand tons last week. Britain’s shipping losses in the Atlantic have become the crux of the whole war. If we can defeat the Nazis there everything else will take care of itself in due course; but if not, we’ll never be able to build up an Air Force big enough to smash the enemy, we’ll be faced with starvation and—and God knows what unthinkable fate may overtake us all.’
Strange Conflict Page 8