The Road to En-dor

by E. H. Jones

  And now an incident occurred which both amused and impressed the Commandant. One of the most capable officers in the camp got an idea which he no doubt fondly imagined would regain us our liberty. He acted on it with the promptitude for which he was renowned. He informed the Commandant, through the Interpreter, that Jones and Hill were a pair of infernal practical jokers, that they were lazy beggars who disliked cooking and had thrown the trouble of it on the camp in general and Posh Castle in particular, and that therefore they were confounded nuisances. There was no manner of doubt, he said, but that they were simply pulling the Commandant’s leg in order to live a life of ease, and his obvious plan was to send them back to the camp and let their fellow prisoners deal with them as they deserved, or to make them do their own cooking.

  Had the Commandant not been ‘in the know’ our friend’s tactics might well have resulted in our being sent back to the camp. As it was, Kiazim Bey was vastly tickled at the theory of a leg-pull against himself, and pointed out to us with immense joy that the boot was on the other foot, and that he had successfully pulled the camp’s leg. Moreover, the episode redounded to the credit of the Spook, who had promised to send this very officer to complain about the trouble of sending us food. (We had received a hint that he might do so, but of that hint the Turks were, of course, in complete ignorance.) The Commandant was firmly convinced that his visitor had been acting under the Spirit’s control, as promised, and he was correspondingly impressed. When questioned about it the Spook modestly admitted responsibility, but explained that from now on It wished to do as little as possible of this ‘outside control work’ in order to avoid ‘loss of force’ which would be more usefully employed in finding the treasure.

  At the end of the second séance, which also was devoted to soothing the Commandant’s difficulties and fears, there was a scene. The Pimple announced that he also had some private difficulties on which he wished to consult the Spook. So private were they that he had written them out, and would not utter them aloud. The Spirit would no doubt read the paper and answer them privately. Before I could formulate an excuse Hill, to my surprise, assented, and asked Moïse to place the paper of questions under the spook-board in the usual way. Moïse put his hand in his pocket, and then sprang to his feet in wild excitement, and began a search through all his pockets.

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ he cried. ‘I am spooked! It is gone!’ He rushed about the room, looking under the table, in the cupboards, in the teapot – everywhere possible and impossible. Then he went through his pockets again and sank half hysterical on to my bed.

  ‘Oh, mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!’ he cried. ‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’

  ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ I was completely puzzled.

  ‘My questions! Oh, my questions! They are gone! I am spooked!’

  It was a difficult task not to laugh. I knew Hill was sitting with a face like a blank wall, but I dared not look at him

  ‘Are you sure you brought them?’ I asked.

  The Pimple jumped up again. ‘I wrote them in the office,’ he cried, dancing with excitement, ‘and then I came here! Certainly I brought them!’

  There was a sudden crash and two distinct thumps on the landing outside. The noise sounded very loud in the empty house. We all looked at one another.

  ‘What was that?’ the Pimple whispered.

  ‘It’s the Spooks, I think,’ said I. ‘We often hear noises at night. But I’ll see.’ I took up a spare candle and lit it.

  ‘Be careful!’ said Hill solemnly.

  ‘Oh, be careful!’ echoed the Pimple, who was badly scared.

  I knew no more than the others what the noise could be, and I felt curiously nervous as I opened the door. The Pimple’s fear was infectious.

  Outside on the landing we had a high shelf where we kept our bread. Owing to some unknown cause – it may have been the Pimple’s agitated dancing in our room – a loaf had fallen off the shelf and bumped down two of the steps of our wooden stair. I picked it up and replaced it quietly.

  ‘There was nobody to see,’ I said very solemnly, coming back into the room, ‘but one thing I know and will swear – that noise was not human! There’s danger abroad tonight!’

  ‘I knew I was spooked,’ groaned the Pimple. ‘Oh, what shall I do?’

  ‘You may have left your questions in the office, where you wrote them,’ Hill suggested.

  This scared the Pimple worse than ever. He grabbed his Enver cap and started for the door. The blackness of the night outside stopped him. He came back and looked at us appealingly.

  ‘You say there is danger abroad tonight: would you mind – do you think you could –’

  ‘Come with you, Moïse? Certainly!’ I picked up the candle and went with him as far as the gate, whence he legged it for the office as fast as he could go. I returned to our room, and Hill.

  ‘He won’t be back tonight,’ I said. ‘The poor little fellow is frightened half out of his wits.’

  ‘Say, Bones, what was the noise? How did you work it?’

  ‘I didn’t – it worked itself. A most inhuman loaf!’ I told him about it, and we laughed together, and discussed the séance.

  ‘I wonder what was in those questions he was so excited about?’ I said at last.

  Hill grinned at me.

  ‘Read ’em for yourself,’ said he, handing me a slip of paper.

  ‘How the dickens did you know he had ’em?’ I gasped.

  ‘Saw him fidgetin’ with a bit of paper early in the evening – picked his pocket when I got the chance. Read it!’

  This is what I read as soon as I recovered from my surprise:

  Répondez-moi si vous voulez par la même voie miraculeuse que la lettre écrite sur ma tête. Les questions que j’ai vous poser et dont je suis anxieux d’avoir les réponses sont les suivants:

  1. La difficulté que j’ai eu avec A – à propos de sa femme mercredi matin dernier en êtes vous la cause?

  2. Quelles sont les pensées ou sentiments du Commandant à mon égard?

  3. Aurai-je encore des histoires au sujet de la femme A –?

  4. A propos de la dame de B – aurai-je des histoires?

  5. Je suis sans profession ou connaissances pratiques quelconques; j’ai le désir de devenir quelqu’un ou quelque-chose; je suis prêt a entreprendre l’etude que vous préferez me convenir; vous êtes d’une intelligence remarquable, merveilleuse. Veuillez me conseiller sur la carrière que vous croyez être meilleure pour moi et sur les moyens de travailler ou à parvenir à me créer une destination. Je vous prie aidez-moi.

  MOÏSE TOKENAY.

  Pardonnez-moi si parfois j’oublie d’éxécuter vos ordres tout de suite; ce n’est nullement par désobeisance mais par étourderie ou désaccord avec mon chef.35

  I copied out the questions for filing in our secret records, made a tiny mark on the back of the original so as to be able to recognize it when met with, and handed it back to Hill.

  ‘Your job, Mr. Sikes,’ I said, ‘is to get that back into the Pimple’s possession without his knowing we have seen it.’

  Hill thought for a moment. ‘Will it do if he gets it before he comes in tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ I said. ‘Shove it back in his pocket when he calls tomorrow morning. You can’t do it before that, with the place ringed with sentries.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ said Hill. He held the paper of questions under my nose. ‘Now you see it – houp là – now you don’t!’ It had vanished. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Up your sleeve, or something. Go to bed,’ said I.

  ‘Wrong again.’ Hill laughed, and rolled up his sleeves for inspection. ‘You’ll find out tomorrow where it is.’

  The night was already far spent. We turned in.

  ‘Which is the Spook going to make him – a quelqu’un or a quelquechose?’ asked Hill, as he snuggled under the blankets.

  ‘Take your choice,’ said I. ‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor –’

  ‘Silk, satin
, muslin, rags,’ Hill murmured; ‘we’ll count the spuds we get for dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘What for?’ I asked sleepily.

  ‘The end of the War. This year, next year, some time, never! Goodnight, old chap.’

  Some hours later I woke. Hill’s bed was empty. I wondered drowsily what he was up to, and went to sleep again.

  When next I opened my eyes it was morning. Hill was sleeping in his bed, very soundly. I reached for a book and read for half an hour, then the Pimple came in. He was humming a French song to himself, and sounded very happy.

  ‘Ach, Hill, you grand paresseux! Awake!’

  Hill opened one eye.

  ‘I have good news for you both,’ the Pimple went on. ‘The questions – I have them!’ – he tapped his pocket – ‘and I am glad! To have lost them would have been dangersome. They are most private.’ Then he went on to talk of other matters.

  ‘Has he really got the questions?’ I asked Hill, after the Pimple had gone.

  ‘Oh yes,’ laughed Hill.

  ‘How did you do it, old chap? I noticed your bed was empty about 2 a.m.’

  ‘Very simple!’ he chortled. ‘I – no, I won’t tell you. S’pose you find out for yourself. Of course,’ he added maliciously, ‘you can ask the Spook if you like.’

  And there the matter rested. It is Hill’s secret. Perhaps the reader can solve it?

  At the next séance the Pimple produced his questions. We recognized our identification mark on the paper as he slipped it under the board, and took the risk that he had not altered anything inside.

  ‘Now, sir,’ said the Pimple to the Spook, ‘answer, please.’

  He got his answers, and thought we were ignorant of what was said. Here they are:

  1. No.

  2. Be careful.

  3. Be careful.

  4. Be most careful.

  5. Your ambition is praiseworthy. Study languages and the Art of Government. Your greatest opportunity lies in Egypt. Seize the first chance you get of going there. Either Jones or Hill can lead you to fame if you earn their joint friendship. By my help Jones’s father raised Lloyd George to his present supreme position. He started more humbly than you.

  The Pimple refused to tell us about the questions or answers. He did not for a moment suspect that we knew anything of either. But at the end of the séance, after a great deal of camouflage talk about the camp and the War and other matters, he led the conversation round, cleverly enough, to Lloyd George, by telling us that an Irishman had attempted to assassinate him. He asked if I knew him. This was what we wanted. I showed him a photograph of the Prime Minister and my father together. The Pimple examined it with minute care.

  ‘Your father – he is a spooker, too?’ the Pimple asked.

  ‘All Welshmen are, more or less,’ said I, ‘and he used to be top-hole at it. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wondered if perhaps he and Lloyd George had ever experimented together.’

  ‘They’re continually at it,’ said I.

  ‘Ha!’ (the Pimple was quite excited) ‘and what was Lloyd George to begin with, when your father first knew him?’

  ‘I believe he was what some people call a “pettifogging attorney”.’

  ‘And by spooking your father did much for him perhaps?’

  ‘I much regret, Moïse, I can’t tell you.’

  ‘It’s a secret, perhaps?’

  ‘Very much so,’ said I. ‘Let’s talk of something else.’

  Then the Pimple told us about the Armenian massacres at Yozgad. He was a clever little rascal in his way! For in five minutes he was telling us how a few families had escaped to Egypt which, he had always heard, was a wonderful country. Was it not so? Did we know anything of Egypt?

  We didn’t – but we told him quite a lot about the country of his ‘greatest opportunity’. He went away very happy.

  ‘He has swallowed the pill without winking,’ said Hill, ‘and what’s more, it is working! But what’ll Lloyd George think of it? How did you get that photograph? Does he really know your father?’

  It was my turn to be malicious.

  ‘S’pose you find out for yourself,’ said I. ‘Of course, you can ask the Spook, if you like.’

  Chapter XIV

  Which Introduces OOO and Tells Why the Pimple Got His Face Smacked

  After we had been a week in solitary confinement the Spook decided we were sufficiently ‘in tune’ to begin the treasure hunt. The Commandant, now that his fears of the consequences from the telepathy trial were at rest, had begun to show a little impatience. It was time to throw him a sop. Besides, we had now reconnoitred the ground, and had gained a good idea of the character of the man with whom we had to deal. We were ready for the next fence.

  To the Turks the important part of the séances that followed was the treasure story. To us, the treasure story was only the jam that hid the pill. The séances were really an exposition of what goes on in all cases of conversion to spiritualism – the development of a theory of spooking which the Turk (quite unconsciously) made his own. We were building up, for Kiazim Bey, the Pimple, and the Cook, an experience of spooking which would give them the proper point of view when the time came to propose our migration from Yozgad. For, whatever the reader may think to the contrary, the Turk is a rational animal who, like everyone else, judges any new idea in the light of his own previous knowledge; and so, with infinite caution, we set to work to stuff him with the fallacious experience that was the necessary basis for the conclusion we wished him to reach. Had he shared the knowledge as well as the faith of some British spiritualists, it would have saved us a great deal of time and trouble. But as things were he had first to be taught the ABC of spiritualism, without realizing that he was being taught anything.36

  Our first treasure séance in the Colonels’ House took place on the 14th March between 5.30 and 10 p.m. After the usual preliminary greetings, the Spook said it would explain a few things. I quote the séance record:

  SPOOK: ‘Death is like birth. For some time after death a person is unable to communicate. Gradually he learns how to do so, like a child learning to talk. Now, the more violent the death, the longer it takes to learn; do you understand?’

  MOÏSE: ‘Yes, we understand.’

  SPOOK: ‘Well, we do not use voice sounds in this sphere; we simply send thoughts, and just as you can stop your voice from sounding, so we can stop our thoughts from going out. Very few humans can read thoughts among themselves; on the other hand, very few of what you call ‘spirits’ can make their voices heard to human ears, and none can read human thoughts except by entering into a medium. Do you understand?’

  MOÏSE: ‘I think we have understood everything except the last part of the sentence.’

  SPOOK: ‘By “entering into a medium” I mean, for example, to read thoughts I must do it through Jones or Hill, and my success or failure depends as much on their powers as on mine. I can put thoughts into a person’s head, but I cannot take them out. Do you understand?’

  MOÏSE: ‘Yes.’

  SPOOK: ‘Well, when it becomes a question of reading human thoughts, I am as ignorant of what I read as the mediums are until it is read out, and all I do is to communicate certain movements to the mediums, who in turn communicate them to the glass. That is to say I myself act as an intermediary medium to a control in a still higher sphere. So you see thought-reading demands that not only should the two human mediums be in tune between themselves, but also with me, and the difficulty of keeping in tune varies as the square of distance between the two human mediums, and the human whose thoughts have to be read.’

  MOÏSE: ‘Explain more, please.’

  SPOOK: ‘This has never yet been understood by humans; it is very difficult. Listen, please, I will try again. In ordinary cases you use two mediums, Jones and Hill. In these cases I take complete control, and it is I who give the answers. In these cases I know what to do and what I am saying. But when it is necessary to thought-read a human brain you have three medi
ums – of whom I am one. Do you understand?’

  MOÏSE: ‘Yes.’

  SPOOK: ‘Now to explain about distance. First, distance has no meaning to me, but it affects the human mediums. When you think a thought you cause certain ethereal movements. Now, my powers are such that distance does not affect me, but with humans it is different. The further away the humans are from the thinker, the harder it becomes for them to notice the ethereal movements. If too far away they are not affected at all, and to keep in tune they must be affected by the movement. Therefore distance is important.’

  MOÏSE: ‘It is good.’

  SPOOK: ‘Let me explain further. When you ask a question aloud, your asking it at once puts the mediums in tune with one another, because they hear the same thing at the same time. But if you are working with three mediums, and I catch the ethereal movements while the two human mediums do not catch them, then I and the humans are not in tune, so you cannot get anything. “The strength of a chain is that of its weakest link.” Now you know something never before revealed in your sphere. Do you understand all I said?’

  MOÏSE: ‘Yes, go on, please. Thank you for this great revelation.’

  SPOOK: ‘I said I would tell my difficulties. First difficulty is that OOO closes his thoughts to me. He has not yet shaken off the hatred of your sphere and refuses to benefit those he hates.’

  MOÏSE: ‘Who is OOO, please? What did you mean by OOO?’

  SPOOK: ‘That is his name here.’

  MOÏSE: ‘The name of whom?’

  SPOOK: ‘OOO.’

  MOÏSE: ‘Who is he there?’

  SPOOK: ‘The one whose wealth you seek. He is here now.’

  MOÏSE: ‘Go on, please.’

  SPOOK: ‘He says, if I understand him rightly (as yet he is not very good at conveying thoughts), that if you are friends he can reveal now.’