“No, I haven’t. I told you the other day that I didn’t think it was influenza or any similar disease. That he might have been given some kind of drug. Well, I still think that, though I haven’t identified the drug as yet and I’ve no idea how more could have been given to him. On the other hand, he could merely be reacting to the original dose.”
“Does that happen?” asked Andrew.
“It can, just as a patient with a high fever can have a remission and be normal for a day or so and then have the fever again.”
“And what shall we do in the meantime, doctor?” asked Mrs. Wiggins. “Do you have any special instructions for us?”
“No. I would go light on his food, but give him plenty of liquids and continue with the medication I left for him. I’ll try to see him again this evening. If I can’t, I’ll be here tomorrow morning. And if he’s no better, I’ll want him back in hospital.”
He left, and Mrs. Wiggins told Sara and Andrew to go out for a walk or do something and she’d go in and stay with Beasley. Sara and Andrew went downstairs, but they did not go out for a walk; and when Mrs. Wiggins came down about an hour later, she said she had been able to get Mr. Beasley to take some beef tea and he was now asleep. Andrew was a little dubious about this. He had noticed that when their friend did not want to talk, he closed his eyes and pretended to be napping.
About four-thirty, Sean arrived. He was explaining that he was too worried about Beasley to stay in the shop when Bannerji was shown in. They both wanted to know how Beasley was, and Sara and Andrew told them about his worsening condition and what Dr. Reeves had said about it. Frowning, Bannerji asked if anything unsual had happened during the night, and Andrew told him about the flowers on the door knobs. Reacting to Bannerji’s frown, Sean asked if the flowers were significant.
“Yes, they were,” said Bannerji. “We are all worried about our friend, and I assure you that we have reason to be.”
“Why?” asked Sean. “Do you know what’s behind everything that’s going on?”
“I have some idea of what it’s about,” said Bannerji. “Would it be possible to see Mr. Beasley? If it is, I’d like to talk to him.”
“Let’s see,” said Sara.
She led the way upstairs, looked into Beasley’s room and, finding him awake, talked to him for a moment and then ushered the others in. Sean and Bannerji both greeted him, and it was clear that they were both shocked by his appearance.
“Mr. Beasley, sir,” said Bannerji, “I do not know if you are prepared to think of me as a friend. I have not known you for as long—nor of course do I know you as well—as Mr. O’Farrell and the two young people here. Nevertheless, I hope you are assured of my good will. That being so, I think the time has come to speak frankly. Dr. Reeves has said that he does not believe that your condition is the result of illness or natural causes. That has been my feeling from the beginning.”
“What do you think is wrong with him, then?” asked Sean.
“It may be that he has been given drugs of some sort as Dr. Reeves suggested. But, on the other hand, he may have been exposed to strong mental influences about which you in the West know very little.”
“You mean a spell, something like that?” asked Andrew.
“You can call it that if you like. As you know, we in the East have several disciplines—like yoga—that have been practiced for centuries with very interesting results. In any case, much as I deplore it, I believe that Mr. Beasley has angered some of my countrymen and they are responsible for what is happening to him. Does that sound logical to you, Mr. Beasley?”
Sitting up in bed, his face pale and waxy, Beasley nodded.
“Does it have anything to do with that statue of Kali?”
“I don’t think so,” Beasley said hoarsely.
“Does it have something to do with something else? Something we don’t know about?”
“I don’t know.”
“You mean you have no idea why they have been persecuting you? Whether it’s revenge they want or something else?”
“No.”
“That’s strange. If it’s something they want, I would have expected them to communicate with you. On the other hand, they may think you know what they want. And, in fact, you may without being aware of it.”
“I don’t,” said Beasley, shaking his head.
“Are you interested in finding out whether you do or don’t?”
“How?”
“I talked before about yoga, about which, I regret to say, I know very little. On the other hand, I know a good deal about a western discipline that is not unlike it. I studied in Paris under a disciple of Dr. Janet.”
“You’re talking about hypnotism?” said Andrew.
“Yes. As you probably know, under hypnosis, one can remember things that one cannot remember in a waking state. What do you say, Mr. Beasley? Would you consider letting me hypnotize you?”
Andrew looked at Beasley. His feelings about Bannerji’s suggestion were strangely mixed. He had never seen anyone hypnotized and was very interested in how it was done. At the same time, there was something about Bannerji’s doing it that he found worrying. And apparently he wasn’t alone in feeling that way.
“I don’t know,” said Beasley.
“Does the thought of it make you anxious?”
“A little.”
“It does most people. But I assure you that there is no danger, nothing to fear. Not only that, but your friends here will be watching to make sure that no harm comes to you.”
“They can all stay?”
“They not only can, I insist that they do. I can only hypnotize you if you trust me, and I suspect you will only be willing to trust me if you feel you are safe, protected.”
“You’re right,” said Beasley. He looked at Sara, Andrew, and Sean, then back at Bannerji. “All right. You can hypnotize me.”
“Good,” said Bannerji. “First of all, I’d like to darken the room a little.” He drew all the curtains, then lit the gas jet over Beasley’s bed. “Second, I’d like the three of you to move back a little so the sight of you will not distract Mr. Beasley.”
Andrew moved back until he was standing in the corner behind the table on which the barber had left his gear, and Sara and Sean did the same.
“Now,” said Bannerji, seating himself near the foot of Beasley’s bed, “I want you to get comfortable, as comfortable as you can make yourself.” He waited while Beasley slid down a little and adjusted the pillow under his head. “Are you comfortable now?”
“Yes,” whispered Beasley.
“Splendid,” said Bannerji. He took out his albert, the chain to which his gold watch was attached. A flat, round crystal, something like a lens, was fastened to the other end of the chain. “As I said before, faith—confidence—is necessary if the hypnosis is to be successful. You must be willing to submit your will to mine. Are you willing to do that?”
Beasley nodded.
“Very good,” said Bannerji. He held up the crystal and began to spin it, turning it to the right, then to the left, then back to the right again. And as it turned, it flashed in the gaslight. “Relax. Relax completely, emptying your mind of all thought, all feeling, and look at this spinning crystal. Concentrate on it. That’s it. It’s going to make you sleepy; I can see your eyes becoming heavy already and wanting to close; that is good because you are tired, sleepy, and of course you have nothing to fear because your friends are here, watching over you.” Bannerji continued talking in a quiet, reassuring voice; and watching the crystal spinning, first one way and then the other, focusing the light of the gas jet and then breaking it up, Andrew felt himself getting sleepy.
“You are now in the first stage of hypnosis,” said Bannerji. “A stage in which you can hear me perfectly but no longer have any control over your body. For instance, although you can move your left hand, you cannot move your right. Isn’t that so? Try to move your right hand.”
Beasley strained—Andrew could see him trying to move his right hand—b
ut it remained motionless on the bed.
“Very good,” said Bannerji. “We are now ready to begin. Is it true that you are in danger, threatened by someone?”
“Yes,” whispered Beasley.
“Do you know who it is that is threatening you?”
“Yes.”
“Is it, as I have suggested, a group of my compatriots—in other words, Indians?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why they are a danger to you, threatening you?”
“Yes.”
“Is it because of something that you have and they want: that statue of Kali, for instance?”
“No.”
“Is it because of something you have done, then?”
“No. At least … not in the way you mean.”
“Is it, then, because of something you know? A piece of information?”
“Yes,” said Beasley. He was breathing a little faster now, speaking with more difficulty.
“Is it perhaps a place? A place where something is hidden?”
“No.”
“Is it a name, then? A name that you know and the men about whom we have been talking want you to tell them?”
“Yes.” Sweat had broken out on Beasley’s forehead and upper lip. His left hand was clenching and unclenching, and even the right one—the one he could not move—was twitching.
“What is the name?”
“It’s …” He swallowed. “I can’t tell you.”
“You must tell me!”
“I can’t! I promised I never would! I—” He broke off, clearly in the grip of some powerful emotion.
“I repeat, you must tell me the name!”
“I tell you, I can’t! I … I …”
Something happened to Andrew. Half hypnotized himself, fascinated by what was taking place, nevertheless he suddenly could not let the process go on, could not let Beasley continue to be subjected to pressure that was making him writhe as if he were in physical pain. With a sudden movement, he pushed first the large brass basin and then the small one off the table. They fell to the floor, one after the other, rattling and ringing, filling the small room with their metallic clangor.
Beasley stiffened and sat up as if cold water had been dashed in his face. Then, as Bannerji turned with an exclamation and glared at Andrew, Beasley said, “What is this? What are you all doing in here?”
“Mr. Bannerji hypnotized you,” said Sara. “Don’t you remember?”
“No. Why did he do that?”
“To get to the bottom of what’s been happening to you,” said Sean. “To try to find out who the Indians that have been after you are and what they want.”
“It’s none of his business! Or yours either! Now get out of here—all of you!”
“May I remind you of who we are, Mr. Beasley?” said Bannerji. “We are your friends—all of us—and concerned about you.”
“I don’t care who you are! I want you all out of here!”
Sean looked at the others, then stood up.
“All right, Mr. Beasley. Just as you say.” He led the way out. “I’m sorry,” he said to Mr. Bannerji.
“Please,” said Bannerji, raising a forgiving hand. “One does the best one can. With your approval, I tried to help. If it was to no avail, it was not my fault, for we were close—very close—to the answer. As for his hostility toward me, that is very common in a posthypnotic state.”
“Well, it was too bad!” said Sara. “I’m sure he’ll be sorry about it when he’s better.”
“I’m sure he will, too. But, in the meantime, I will go. May I come back to see how he is tomorrow?”
“Of course,” said Sara.
Bowing to them, Bannerji left and, turning, Sean looked at Andrew.
“You’re very quiet,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Something is wrong,” said Sara. “Are you upset because you knocked over those basins?”
“No.”
“No?” She looked at him curiously. “I wondered if you’d done it on purpose. Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t like what was going on.”
“I know,” said Sean. “It was rough on old Beasley, but Bannerji was trying to help.” He paused. “Or don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know,” said Andrew irritably. “I didn’t like what was going on then, and I don’t like what’s going on now. The truth is, I’m worried!”
“We all are, Andrew,” said Sara reasonably. “But the truth also is that we don’t know what to be worried about.”
“I know that, too. What do you think is making me so shirty? I’ve got a feeling that things are coming to a head. That’s why … well, I don’t think we should leave Beasley alone tonight.”
Sara didn’t argue with Andrew. She had learned to respect his instincts as he respected hers. But surprisingly, Sean seemed willing to accept what he said, too.
“We could do it easily if the three of us took turns watching him,” he said. “I don’t think we should worry your mother,” he told Sara, “but why don’t you invite me to stay for supper so I can see what Dr. Reeves says when he comes back? And, after that, you can suggest that since it’s so late, I should stay overnight. Then we can make our own arrangements about who stays with him when.”
“And if Dr. Reeves doesn’t come back?” asked Andrew.
“We won’t be sure about that until about nine or ten o’clock, which will be late enough so that there’ll be all the more reason for me to stay.”
“Will you stay for supper, Sean?” Sara asked with no change of expression. “We’re having one of Mrs. Simmons’ specialties, Wiltshire gammon with Cumberland sauce, which I happen to know you like.”
“I love any kind of ham, Sara,” said Sean, his face as expressionless as hers, “but I love Wiltshire gammon best of all. Thank you very much.”
7
The Vigil and After
As often happens when you’ve made careful plans, things worked out even better than the three expected. Mrs. Wiggins herself invited Sean to stay for supper, was delighted at his enthusiasm for the ham and, when Dr. Reeves had not come back to look at Beasley again by nine-thirty, suggested that he stay overnight instead of going home.
She settled him in the second guest room, went in to look at Beasley and give him the medicine Dr. Reeves had left for him, then went to bed herself. They had arranged that Sara would take the first watch, Andrew the second, and Sean the last. Andrew heard Sara slip into Beasley’s room shortly after her mother had left; then he fell asleep and did not wake again until Sara shook him a little after midnight.
“How is he?” he whispered.
“He seems all right. He was asleep when I went in, and he’s still asleep.”
“Nothing else happened?”
“No.”
“Good.” He put on his robe and slippers. “See you in the morning.”
Beasley was still asleep when Andrew went into the room and sat down in the big armchair near the window, but he seemed to be sleeping more quietly, breathing more easily, than he had earlier in the day.
The room was fairly dark, the only light the glow of the gaslight out in the street, and for a moment Andrew wondered if he dared bring in a candle so he could read. But he decided he’d better not. It was important that Beasley sleep, and any additional light in the room might wake him. However, he’d have to be careful that he didn’t fall asleep, or the whole purpose of their vigil would be defeated.
He sat there in the faint breeze that came in through the open window, peering through the half darkness at the figure in the bed and listening to his breathing. And, as he had when he and Sara had been at Beasley’s house, he thought about the change that had come over their old friend. He could not help but believe that if old Beasley was afraid—Beasley who had been equal to any situation, no matter how difficult—then there must be good reason for it.
He didn’t know when
he fell asleep. He wasn’t even conscious of feeling sleepy; but suddenly, sitting up with a start, he knew that he had been asleep and that Beasley, now sitting up in bed, was awake.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello. It’s Andrew, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Keeping an eye on you. You’ve been sick, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Was Sara in here before?”
“Yes. And Sean’s coming in later. He’ll be with you until morning.”
“Why? Are you afraid something may happen to me?”
“Something like that. Some pretty strange things have been going on.”
“Yes, they have, strange as a whistling pig, they’ve been.”
“Do you know what’s behind it? What it’s all about?”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. But if I do, it’s better if you don’t. In fact, the less you know, the better.”
“All right.”
“When’s the inspector coming back?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Is that definite?”
“As definite as these things can be. On the one hand, he’s coming back from the continent and there are railroad schedules and channel steamers to be concerned about. On the other hand, he’s due at the Yard, and I’m sure he won’t want to be late there.”
“No. You want to know something? You’re all right, Andrew. You and Sara and Sean. You’re all all right, have been all through these last few days, and I won’t forget it.”
“Oh, sure.” He put on his best Cockney accent. “We’ave been blooming wonders, we have. Three right ream and rorty coves.”
“Well, you have been—in spite of that shoful accent that you shouldn’t even try.”
“All right, I won’t. Now can I give you or get you anything?”
“No. I’m going back to sleep. See you in the morning.”
He was soon snoring quietly, and he continued to sleep soundly for the rest of Andrew’s watch. When the grandfather clock out in the hall struck three, Andrew went in to wake Sean and, though he himself had awakened almost immediately when Sara shook him, he didn’t have such an easy time of it with Sean. In fact, he had such a difficult time, shaking him and telling him to wake up, that Sara came into the room to see what the trouble was.
The Case of the Indian Curse (Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt Book 8) Page 5