Haggopian and Other Stories (19 page)

“But surely you had the solution?” I cut in. “It was right there in that passage from Alhazred.”

“I had the means to destroy him, Henri, yes—but I did not have the means of delivery! The only thing I could be sure of was that he was still in this country, at his centre of operations. But how to get near him, now that he knew me?”

“He knew you?”

Crow sighed. “My face, certainly, for we had now met. Or almost. And if I knew my quarry, by now he might also have discovered my name and particulars. Oh, yes, Henri. For just as I have my means, be sure Magruser had his. Well, obviously I could not stay at Blowne House, not after I realised how desperate the man must be to find me. I must go elsewhere, and quickly.

“And I did go, that very night. I drove up to Oxford.”

“To Oxford?”

“Yes, into the very lion’s den, as it were. In the morning I found a suitable hotel and garaged my car, and a little later I telephoned Magruser.”

“Just like that?” Again I was astonished. “You telephoned him?”

“No, not just like that at all,” he answered. “First I ordered and waited for the arrival of a taxi. I dared not use my Mercedes for fear that by now he knew both the car and its number.” He smiled tiredly at me. “You are beginning to see just how important numbers really are, eh, Henri?”

I nodded. “But please go on. You said you phoned him?”

“I tried the plant first and got the switchboard, and was told that Mr. Magruser was at home and could not be disturbed. I said that it was important, that I had tried his home number and was unable to obtain him, and that I must be put through to him at once.”

“And they fell for that? Had you really tried his home number?”

“No, it’s not listed. And to physically go near his estate would be sheer lunacy, for surely the place would be heavily guarded.”

“But then they
must
have seen through your ruse,” I argued. “If his number was ex-directory, how could you possibly tell them that you knew it?”

Again Crow smiled. “If I was the fellow I pretended to be, I would know it,” he answered.

I gasped. “Your friend from the ministry! You used his name.”

“Of course,” said Crow. “And now we see again the importance of names, eh, my friend? Well, I was put through and eventually Magruser spoke to me, but I knew that it was him before ever he said a word. The very sound of his breathing came to me like exhalations from a tomb! ‘This is Magruser,’ he said, his voice full of suspicion. ‘Who is speaking?’

“‘Oh, I think you know me, Sturm Magruser,’ I answered. ‘‘Even as I know you!’”

V

“There was a sharp intake of breath. Then: ‘Mr. Titus Crow,’ he said. ‘You are a most resourceful man. Where are you?’

“‘On my way to see you, Magruser,’ I answered.

“‘And when may I expect you?’

“‘Sooner than you think. I have your number!’

“At that he gasped again and slammed the phone down; and now I would discover whether or not my preliminary investigation stood me in good stead. Now, too, I faced the most danger-fraught moments of the entire business.

“Henri, if you had been Magruser, what would you do?”

“Me? Why, I’d stay put, surrounded by guards—and they’d have orders to shoot you on sight as a dangerous intruder.”

“And what if I should come with more armed men than you? And would your guards, if they were ordinary chaps, obey that sort of order in the first place? How could you be sure to avoid any encounter with me?”

I frowned and considered it. “I’d put distance between us, get out of the country, and—”

“Exactly!” Crow said. “Get out of the country.”

I saw his meaning. “The private airstrip inside his plant?”

“Of course,” Crow nodded. “Except I had ensured that I was closer to the plant than he was. It would take me fifteen to twenty minutes to get there by taxi. Magruser would need between five and ten minutes more than that…

“As for the plant itself—proudly displaying its sign, Magruser Systems, UK—it was large, set in expansive grounds and surrounded by a high, patrolled wire fence. The only entrance was from the main road and boasted an electrically operated barrier and a small guardroom sort of building to house the security man. All this I saw as I paid my taxi fare and approached the barrier.

“As I suspected, the guard came out to meet me, demanding to know my name and business. He was not armed that I could see, but he was big and heavy. I told him I was MOD and that I had to see Mr. Magruser.

“‘Sorry, sir,’ he answered. ‘There must be a bit of a flap on. I’ve just had orders to let no one in, not even pass-holders. Anyway, Mr. Magruser’s at home.’

“‘No, he’s not,’ I told him, ‘he’s on his way here right now, and I’m to meet him at the gate.’

“‘I suppose that’ll be all right then, sir,’ he answered, ‘just as long as you don’t want to go in.’

“I walked over to the guardroom with him. While we were talking, I kept covert watch on the open doors of a hangar spied between buildings and installations. Even as I watched, a light aircraft taxied into the open and mechanics began running to and fro, readying it for flight. I was also watching the road, plainly visible from the guardroom window, and at last was rewarded by the sight of Magruser’s car speeding into view a quarter mile away.

“Then I produced my handgun.”

“What?” I cried. “If all else failed you planned to shoot him?”

“Not at all. Oh, I might have tried it, I suppose, but I doubt if a bullet could have killed him. No, the gun had another purpose to serve, namely the control of any merely human adversary.”

“Such as the security man?”

“Correct. I quickly relieved him of his uniform jacket and hat, gagged him and locked him in a small back room. Then, to make absolutely certain, I drove the butt of my weapon through the barrier’s control panel, effectively ruining it. By this time Magruser’s car was turning off the road into the entrance, and of course it stopped at the lowered barrier. There was Magruser, sitting on my side and in the front passenger seat, and in the back a pair of large young men who were plainly bodyguards.

“I pulled my hat down over my eyes, went out of the guardroom and up to the car, and as I had prayed Magruser himself wound down his window. He stuck out his hand, made imperative, flapping motions, said, ‘Fool! I wish to be in. Get the barrier—’

“But at that moment I grabbed and held on to his arm, lowered my face to his, and said, ‘Sturm Magruser, I know you—and I know your number!’

“‘What? What?’ he whispered—and his eyes went wide in terror as he recognised me.

“Then I told him his number, and as his bodyguards leapt from the car and dragged me away from him, he waved them back. ‘Leave him be,’ he said, ‘for it’s too late now.’ And he favoured me with such a look as I shall never forget. Slowly he got out of the car, leaning heavily upon the door, facing me. ‘That is only half my number,’ he said, ‘but sufficient to destroy me. Do you know the rest of it?’

“And I told him the rest of it.

“What little colour he had drained completely from him and it was as if a light had gone out behind his eyes. He would have collapsed if his men hadn’t caught and supported him, seating him back in the car. And all the time his eyes were on my face, his pink and scarlet eyes which had started to bleed.

“‘A very resourceful man,’ he croaked then, and, ‘So little time.’ To his driver he said, ‘Take me home…’

“Even as they drove away I saw him slump down in his seat, saw his head fall on one side. He did not recover.”

After a long moment I asked, “And you got away from that place?” I could think of nothing else to say, and my mouth had gone very dry.

“Who was to stop me?” Crow replied. “Yes, I got away, and returned here. Now you know it all.”

“I know it,” I answered, wetting my lips, “but I still don’t understand it. Not yet. You must tell me how you—”

“No, Henri.” He stretched and yawned mightily. “The rest is for you to find out. You know his name and you have the means to discover his number. The rest should be fairly simple. As for me: I shall sleep for two hours, then we shall take a drive in my car for one hour; following which we shall pay, as it were, our last respects to Sturm Magruser V.”

• • •

Crow was good as his word. He slept, awakened, breakfasted and drove—while I did nothing but rack my brains and pore over the problem he had set me. And by the time we approached our destination I believed I had most of the answers.

Standing on the pavement outside the gardens of a quiet country crematorium between London and Oxford, we gazed in through spiked iron railings across plots and headstones at the pleasant-seeming, tall-chimneyed building which was the House of Repose, and I for one wondered what words had been spoken over Magruser. As we had arrived, Magruser’s cortege, a single hearse, had left. So far as we were aware, none had remained to join us in paying “our last respect”.

Now, while we waited, I told Crow, “I think I have the answers.”

Tilting his head on one side in that old-fashioned way of his, he said, “Go on.”

“First his name,” I began. “Sturm Magruser V. The name Sturm reveals something of the nature of his familiar winds, the dust devils you’ve mentioned as watching over his interests. Am I right?”

Crow nodded. “I have already allowed you that, yes,” he said.

“His full name stumped me for a little while, however,” I admitted, “for it has only thirteen letters. Then I remembered the V, symbolic for the figure five. That makes eighteen, a double nine. Now, you said Hitler had been a veritable Angel of Death with his 99999…which would seem to make Magruser the very Essence of Death itself!”

“Oh? How so?”

“His birth and death dates,” I reminded. “The 1st April 1921, and 4th March 1964. They, too, add up to forty-five, which, if you include the number of his name, gives Magruser 9999999. Seven nines!” And I gave myself a mental pat on the back.

After a little while Crow said, “Are you finished?’” And from the tone of his voice I knew there was a great deal I had overlooked.

VI

I sighed and admitted: “I can’t see what else there could be.”

“Look!” Crow said, causing me to start.

I followed his pointing finger to where a black-robed figure had stepped out onto the patio of the House of Repose. The bright wintry sun caught his white collar and made it a burning band about his neck. At chest height he carried a bowl, and began to march out through the garden with measured tread. I fancied I could hear the quiet murmur of his voice carrying on the still air, his words a chant or prayer.

“Magruser’s mortal remains,” said Crow, and he automatically doffed his hat. Bareheaded; I simply stood and watched.

“Well,” I said after a moment or two, “where did my calculations go astray?”

Crow shrugged. “You missed several important points, that’s all. Magruser was a ‘black magician’ of sorts, wouldn’t you say? With his demonic purpose on Earth and his ‘familiar winds’, as you call them? We may rightly suppose so; indeed the Persian word
magu
or
magus
means magician. Now, then, if you remove Magus from his name, what are you left with?”

“Why,” I quickly worked it out, “with
R
,
E
,
R
.
Oh, yes and with
V
.”

“Let us rearrange them and say we are left with
R, E, V
and
R,”
said Crow. And he repeated, “
R
,
E
,
V
and
R
. Now, then, as you yourself pointed out, there are thirteen letters in the man’s name. Very well, let us look at—”

“Rev. 13!” I cut him off. “And the family Bible you had on your desk. But wait! You’ve ignored the other
R.”

Crow stared at me in silence for a moment. “Not at all,” he finally said, “for
R
is the
eighteenth
letter of the alphabet. And thus Magruser, when he changed his name by deed poll, revealed himself!”

Now I understood, and now I gasped in awe at this man I presumed to call friend, the vast intellect which was Titus Crow. For clear in my mind I could read it all in the eighteenth verse of the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Revelations.

Crow saw knowledge written in my dumbfounded face and nodded. “His birthdate, Henri, adds up to eighteen—666, the Number of the Beast!”

“And his ten factories in seven countries,” I gasped. “The ten horns upon his seven heads! And the Beast in Revelations rose up
out of the sea
!”

“Those things, too,” Crow grimly nodded.

“And his death date, 999!”

Again, his nod and, when he saw that I was finished: “But most monstrous and frightening of all, my friend, his very name—which, if you read it in reverse order—”

“Wh-what?” I stammered. But in another moment my mind reeled and my mouth fell open.

“Resurgam!”

“Indeed,” and he gave his curt nod. “I shall rise again!”

Beyond the spiked iron railings the priest gave a sharp little cry and dropped the bowl, which shattered and spilled its contents. Spiralling winds, coming from nowhere, took up the ashes and bore them away…