by Sax Rohmer
I presented myself at the Guest House at half-past eleven. My mentalstate was troubled and indescribably complex. Perhaps my own uneasy,thoughts were responsible for the idea, but it seemed to me that theatmosphere of Cray's Folly had changed yet again. Never before hadI experienced a sense of foreboding like that which had possessed methroughout the hours of this bright summer's morning.
Colonel Menendez had appeared about nine o'clock. He exhibiting notraces of illness that were perceptible to me. But this subtle changewhich I had detected, or thought I had detected, was more marked inMadame Staemer than in any one. In her strange, still eyes I had readwhat I can only describe as a stricken look. It had none of the heroicresignation and acceptance of the inevitable which had so startled me inthe face of the Colonel on the previous day. There was a bitterness init, as of one who has made a great but unwilling sacrifice, and again Ihad found myself questing that faint but fugitive memory, conjured up bythe eyes of Madame de Staemer.
Never had the shadow lain so darkly upon the house as it lay thismorning with the sun blazing gladly out of a serene sky. The birds, theflowers, and Mother Earth herself bespoke the joy of summer. But beneaththe roof of Cray's Folly dwelt a spirit of unrest, of apprehension. Ithought of that queer lull which comes before a tropical storm, and Ithought I read a knowledge of pending evil even in the glances of theservants.
I had spoken to Harley of this fear. He had smiled and nodded grimly,saying:
"Evidently, Knox, you have forgotten that to-night is the night of thefull moon."
It was in no easy state of mind, then, that I opened the gate and walkedup to the porch of the Guest House. That the solution of the grandmystery of Cray's Folly would automatically resolve these lessermysteries I felt assured, and I was supported by the idea that a cluemight lie here.
The house, which from the roadway had an air of neglect, proved on closeinspection to be well tended, but of an unprosperous aspect. The brassknocker, door knob, and letter box were brilliantly polished, whilstthe windows and the window curtains were spotlessly clean. But the placecried aloud for the service of the decorator, and it did not need thedeductive powers of a Paul Harley to determine that Mr. Colin Camber wasin straitened circumstances.
In response to my ringing the door was presently opened by Ah Tsong. Hisyellow face exhibited no trace of emotion whatever. He merely opened thedoor and stood there looking at me.
"Is Mr. Camber at home?" I enquired.
"Master no got," crooned Ah Tsong.
He proceeded quietly to close the door again.
"One moment," I said, "one moment. I wish, at any rate, to leave mycard."
Ah Tsong allowed the door to remain open, but:
"No usee palaber so fashion," he said. "No feller comee here. Sabby?"
"I savvy, right enough," said I, "but all the same you have got to takemy card in to Mr. Camber."
I handed him a card as I spoke, and suddenly addressing him in "pidgin,"of which, fortunately, I had a smattering:
"Belong very quick, Ah Tsong," I said, sharply, "or plenty big trouble,savvy?"
"Sabby, sabby," he muttered, nodding his head; and leaving me standingin the porch he retired along the sparsely carpeted hall.
This hall was very gloomily lighted, but I could see several pieces ofmassive old furniture and a number of bookcases, all looking incrediblyuntidy.
Rather less than a minute elapsed, I suppose, when from some place atthe farther end of the hallway Mr. Camber appeared in person. He wore athreadbare dressing gown, the silken collar and cuffs of which were verybadly frayed. His hair was dishevelled and palpably he had not shavedthis morning.
He was smoking a corncob pipe, and he slowly approached, glancing fromthe card which he held in his hand in my direction, and then back againat the card, with a curious sort of hesitancy. In spite of his untidyappearance I could not fail to mark the dignity of his bearing, and thealmost arrogant angle at which he held his head.
"Mr--er--Malcolm Knox?" he began, fixing his large eyes upon me with alook in which I could detect no sign of recognition. "I am advised thatyou desire to see me?"
"That is so, Mr. Camber," I replied, cheerily. "I fear I haveinterrupted your work, but as no other opportunity may occur of renewingan acquaintance which for my part I found extremely pleasant--"
"Of renewing an acquaintance, you say, Mr. Knox?"
"Yes."
"Quite." He looked me up and down critically. "To be sure, we have metbefore, I understand?"
"We met yesterday, Mr. Camber, you may recall. Having chanced to comeacross a contribution of yours of the _Occult Review_, I have availedmyself of your invitation to drop in for a chat."
His expression changed immediately and the sombre eyes lighted up.
"Ah, of course," he cried, "you are a student of the transcendental.Forgive my seeming rudeness, Mr. Knox, but indeed my memory is of thepoorest. Pray come in, sir; your visit is very welcome."
He held the door wide open, and inclined his head in a gesture ofcurious old-world courtesy which was strange in so young a man. Andcongratulating myself upon the happy thought which had enabled me to winsuch instant favour, I presently found myself in a study which I despairof describing.
In some respects it resembled the lumber room of an antiquary, whilstin many particulars it corresponded to the interior of one of thosesecond-hand bookshops which abound in the neighbourhood of Charing CrossRoad. The shelves with which it was lined literally bulged with books,and there were books on the floor, books on the mantelpiece, and books,some open and some shut, some handsomely bound, and some having thecovers torn off, upon every table and nearly every chair in the place.
Volume seven of Burton's monumental "Thousand Nights and a Night" layupon a littered desk before which I presumed Mr. Camber had been seatedat the time of my arrival. Some wet vessel, probably a cup of tea orcoffee, had at some time been set down upon the page at which thisvolume was open, for it was marked with a dark brown ring. A volume ofFraser's "Golden Bough" had been used as an ash tray, apparently, sincethe binding was burned in several places where cigarettes had been laidupon it.
In this interesting, indeed unique apartment, East met West, unabashedby Kipling's dictum. Roman tear-vases and Egyptian tomb-offerings stoodupon the same shelf as empty Bass bottles; and a hideous wooden idolfrom the South Sea Islands leered on eternally, unmoved by thepresence upon his distorted head of a soft felt hat made, I believe, inPhiladelphia.
Strange implements from early British barrows found themselves in thecompany of _Thugee_ daggers There were carved mammals' tusks and snakeemblems from Yucatan; against a Chinese ivory model of the Temple of TenThousand Buddhas rested a Coptic crucifix made from a twig of the HolyRose Tree. Across an ancient Spanish coffer was thrown a Persian ruginto which had been woven the monogram of Shah-Jehan and a text fromthe Koran. It was easy to see that Mr. Colin Camber's studies must haveimposed a severe strain upon his purse.
"Sit down, Mr. Knox, sit down," he said, sweeping a vellum-bound volumeof Eliphas Levi from a chair, and pushing the chair forward. "The visitof a fellow-student is a rare pleasure for me. And you find me, sir," heseated himself in a curious, carved chair which stood before the desk,"you find me engaged upon enquiries, the result of which will constitutechapter forty-two of my present book. Pray glance at the contents ofthis little box."
He placed in my hands a small box of dark wood, evidently of great age.It contained what looked like a number of shrivelled beans.
Having glanced at it curiously I returned it to him, shaking my headblankly.
"You are puzzled?" he said, with a kind of boyish triumph, which lightedup his face, which rejuvenated him and gave me a glimpse of another man."These, sir," he touched the shrivelled objects with a long, delicateforefinger "are seeds of the sacred lotus of Ancient Egypt. They werefound in the tomb of a priest."
"And in what way do they bear upon the enquiry to which you referred,Mr. Camber?"
"In this way," he rep
lied, drawing toward him a piece of newspaperupon which rested a mound of coarse shag. "I maintain that the vitalprinciple survives within them. Now, I propose to cultivate these seeds,Mr. Knox. Do you grasp the significance, of this experiment?"
He knocked out the corn-cob upon the heel of his slipper and began torefill the hot bowl with shag from the newspaper at his elbow.
"From a physical point of view, yes," I replied, slowly. "But I shouldnot have supposed such an experiment to come within the scope of yourown particular activities, Mr. Camber."
"Ah," he returned, triumphantly, at the same time stuffing tobaccointo the bowl of the corn-cob, "it is for this very reason that chapterforty-two of my book must prove to be the hub of the whole, and thewhole, Mr. Knox, I am egotist enough to believe, shall establish a newfocus for thought, an intellectual Rome bestriding and uniting the SevenHills of Unbelief."
He lighted his pipe and stared at me complacently.
Whilst I had greatly revised my first estimate of the man, my revisionshad been all in his favour. Respecting his genius my first impressionwas confirmed. That he was ahead of his generation, perhaps a newGalileo, I was prepared to believe. He had a pride of bearing which Ithink was partly racial, but which in part, too, was the insignia ofintellectual superiority. He stood above the commonplace, caring littlefor the views of those around and beneath him. From vanity he wasutterly free. His was strangely like the egotism of true genius.
"Now, sir," he continued, puffing furiously at his corn-cob, "I observedyou glancing a moment ago at this volume of the 'Golden Bough.'" Hepointed to the scarred book which I have already mentioned. "It is awork of profound scholarship. But having perused its hundreds of pages,what has the student learned? Does he know why the twenty-sixthchapter of the 'Book of the dead' was written upon lapis-lazuli, thetwenty-seventh upon green felspar, the twenty-ninth upon cornelian, andthe thirtieth upon serpentine? He does not. Having studied Part Four,has he learned the secret of why Osiris was a black god, although hetypified the Sun? Has he learned why modern Christianity is losing itshold upon the nations, whilst Buddhism, so called, counts its disciplesby millions? He has not. This is because the scholar is rarely theseer."
"I quite agree with you," I said, thinking that I detected the drift ofhis argument.
"Very well," said he. "I am an American citizen, Mr. Knox, which istantamount to stating that I belong to the greatest community of traderswhich has appeared since the Phoenicians overran the then known world.America has not produced the mystic, yet Judaea produced the founder ofChristianity, and Gautama Buddha, born of a royal line, establishedthe creed of human equity. In what way did these magicians, for amiracle-worker is nothing but a magician, differ from ordinary men? Inone respect only: They had learned to control that force which we haveto-day termed Will."
As he spoke those words Colin Camber directed upon me a glance fromhis luminous eyes which frankly thrilled me. The bemused figure of theLavender Arms was forgotten. I perceived before me a man of power, a manof extraordinary knowledge and intellectual daring. His voice, which wasvery beautiful, together with his glance, held me enthralled.
"What we call Will," he continued, "is what the Ancient Egyptians called_Khu_. It is not mental: it is a property of the soul. At thispoint, Mr. Knox, I depart from the laws generally accepted by mycontemporaries. I shall presently propose to you that the eye of theDivine Architect literally watches every creature upon the earth."
"Literally?"
"Literally, Mr. Knox. We need no images, no idols, no paintings. Allpower, all light comes from one source. That source is the sun! The suncontrols Will, and the Will is the soul. If there were a cavern in theearth so deep that the sun could never reach it, and if it were possiblefor a child to be born in that cavern, do you know what that child wouldbe?"
"Almost certainly blind," I replied; "beyond which my imagination failsme."
"Then I will inform you, Mr. Knox. It would be a demon."
"What!" I cried, and was momentarily touched with the fear that this wasa brilliant madman.
"Listen," he said, and pointed with the stem of his pipe. "Why, in allancient creeds, is Hades depicted as below? For the simple reason thatcould such a spot exist and be inhabited, it must be _sunless_, whenit could only be inhabited by devils; and what are devils but creatureswithout souls?"
"You mean that a child born beyond reach of the sun's influence wouldhave no soul?"
"Such is my meaning, Mr. Knox. Do you begin to see the importance of myexperiment with the lotus seeds?"
I shook my head slowly. Whereupon, laying his corn-cob upon the desk,Colin Camber burst into a fit of boyish laughter, which seemed torejuvenate him again, which wiped out the image of the magus completely,and only left before me a very human student of strange subjects, andwithal a fascinating companion.
"I fear, sir," he said, presently, "that my steps have led me fartherinto the wilderness than it has been your fate to penetrate. The wholesecret of the universe is contained in the words Day and Night, Darknessand Light. I have studied both the light and the darkness, deliberatelyand without fear. A new age is about to dawn, sir, and a new agerequires new beliefs, new truths. Were you ever in the country of theHill Dyaks?"
This abrupt question rather startled me, but:
"You refer to the Borneo hill-country?"
"Precisely."
"No, I was never there."
"Then this little magical implement will be new to you," said he.
Standing up, he crossed to a cabinet littered untidily with all sortsof strange-looking objects, carved bones, queer little inlaid boxes,images, untidy manuscripts, and what-not.
He took up what looked like a very ungainly tobacco-pipe, made of somerich brown wood, and, handing it to me:
"Examine this, Mr. Knox," he said, the boyish smile of triumph returningagain to his face.
I did as he requested and made no discovery of note. The thing clearlywas not intended for a pipe. The stem was soiled and, moreover, therewas carving inside the bowl. So that presently I returned it to him,shaking my head.
"Unless one should be informed of the properties of this littleinstrument," he declared, "discovery by experiment is improbable. Now,note."
He struck the hollow of the bowl upon the palm of his hand, and itdelivered a high, bell-like note which lingered curiously. Then:
"Note again."
He made a short striking motion with the thing, similar to that whichone would employ who had designed to jerk something out of the bowl.And at the very spot on the floor where any object contained in the bowlwould have fallen, came a reprise of the bell note! Clearly, from almostat my feet, it sounded, a high, metallic ring.
He struck upward, and the bell-note sounded on the ceiling; to theright, and it came from the window; in my direction, and the tiny bellseemed to ring beside my ear! I will honestly admit that I was startled,but:
"Dyak magic," said Colin Camber; "one of nature's secrets not yetdiscovered by conventional Western science. It was known to the Egyptianpriesthood, of course; hence the Vocal Memnon. It was known to MadameBlavatsky, who employed an 'astral bell'; and it is known to me."
He returned the little instrument to its place upon the cabinet.
"I wonder if the fact will strike you as significant," said he, "thatthe note which you have just heard can only be produced between sunriseand sunset?"
Without giving me time to reply:
"The most notable survival of black magic--that is, the scientificemployment of darkness against light--is to be met with in Haiti andother islands of the West Indies."
"You are referring to Voodooism?" I said, slowly.
He nodded, replacing his pipe between his teeth.
"A subject, Mr. Knox, which I investigated exhaustively some years ago."
I was watching him closely as he spoke, and a shadow, a strange shadow,crept over his face, a look almost of exaltation--of mingled sorrow andgladness which I find myself quite unable to describe.
>
"In the West Indies, Mr. Knox," he continued, in a strangely alteredvoice, "I lost all and found all. Have you ever realized, sir, thatsorrow is the price we must pay for joy?"
I did not understand his question, and was still wondering about it whenI heard a gentle knock, the door opened, and a woman came in.
CHAPTER XIV
YSOLA CAMBER