The dream detective: being some account of the methods of Moris Klaw (25 page)

better than we do, Miss Brearley," said Fairbank. "Do you mean that it involves worship of Isis?"

"He has always avoided a direct answer when I have asked him that," she said. "But it is only reasonable to suppose that it does. His translation of the writing I have never seen. But he has been dieting in a most extraordinary manner for nearly a year! Since the workmen completed it, no one but himself has been inside the chamber which he has had constructed at the end of his study; and he spends hours and hours there every day—and every night!"

Her anxiety became more evident with each word.

"You saw that he ate nothing at dinner," she continued, "and taxed him with faddism. But it is something more than that. Why has he sent the servants away to-night? Oh, Doctor Fairbank! I have a dreadful foreboding! I am so afraid!"

The light in her eyes, suddenly upturned to him in the vague half-light, the tone in her voice, the appeal in her attitude—were unmistakable. Fair-bank had been abroad for three years, and I could see that between these two was an undeclared love, and almost I felt that I intruded. Moris Klaw looked away for a moment, too. Then—

"My dear young lady," he rumbled, paternally, "do not be afraid. I, the old know-all, so fortunately am here! Perhaps there is danger—yes, I admit it; there may be danger. But it is such danger as dwells

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iere"—he tapped his yellow brow—''it is a danger )f the mind. For thoughts are things, Miss Brearley —that is where it lies, the peril—and thought things :ankilir

"Ailsa! Fairbank! Mr. Klaw!" came Brearley's /oice. "We have none too much time!"

"Proceed, my friends," rumbled Moris Klaw; "I im with you." And, oddly enough, I was comforted >y his presence; so, it was evident, were the girl and :he doctor; for Moris Klaw, beneath that shabby, amshackle exterior, Moris Klaw, the Wapping curio lealer, was a man of power—an intellectual ark of -efuge.

In the Egyptologist's study all appeared much the >ame as when last I had set foot there. The cases illed with vases, scarabs, tablets, weapons, and the lundred-and-one relics of the great dead age with -vhich the student had surrounded himself; the sarcophagi; the frames of papyri—all seemed familiar.

Brearley sat at the huge writing table, littered, as )f yore, and in picturesque confusion.

"We must begin almost immediately!" he said, as fve entered.

A danger spot burned lividly upon either pale cheek. His eyes gleamed brilliantly. The prolonged excitement of his strange experiment was burning the man jp. His nerve centres must be taxed abnormally, I knew.

Brearley glanced at his watch,

"I must be very brief," he explained, hurriedly, "as it is vitally important that I commence in time. Beyond the bookcase, there, you will see that a part of the room has been walled off."

We looked in the direction indicated. Although it was not noticeable at first glance I now saw that the apartment was, indeed, smaller than formerly. The usual books covered the new wall, giving it much the same aspect as the old; but, where hitherto there had been nothing but shelves, a small, narrow door of black wood now broke the imposing expanse of faded volumes.

"In there," Brearley resumed, "is the Secret Place described by Khamus!"

He placed his long, thin hand upon a yellow roll that lay partly opened on the table.

"No one but myself may enter there—until after to-night, at any rate!" with a glance at Moris Klaw. "To the most minute particular"—patting the papyrus—"it is equipped as Khamus describes. For many months I have prepared myself, by fasting and meditation, as he prepared! There was, as no doubt you know, a widespread belief in ancient times that for any but the chosen to look upon the goddess was death. As I admit the possibility of Isis existing, I must also admit the possibility of this belief being true—the more so as it is confirmed by Khamus! Therefore none may enter with me."

"One moment, Mr. Brearley," interrupted Klaw;

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"in what form does Khamus relate that the goddess appeared?"

A cloud crossed Brearley's face.

"It is the one point upon which he is not clear," was the reply. "I do not know, in the least, what to expect!"

"Go on!' ; I said, quickly. Although I seriously doubted my poor friend's sanity, I began to find the affair weirdly, uncannily fascinating.

Brearley continued:

"The ritual opens with a chant, which I may broadly translate as 'The Hymn of Dedication.' Its exact purport is not very clear to me. This hymn 1 is the only part of the ceremony in which I am assisted. It is to be 'sung by a virgin beyond the door/ That is, directly I have entered yonder it must be sung out here. Ailsa has composed a sort of chant to the words, which, I think, is the proper kind of setting. Have you not, Ailsa?"

She bowed her graceful head, glancing, under her lashes, toward Fairbank.

"She has learned the words—for, of course, it must be sung in Egyptian "

" But have no idea of their meaning," said his sister, softly.

"That is unnecessary," he went on, quickly. "After this, I want you all just to remain here in this room. I am afraid you will have to sit in the dark! Any sounds which you detect, please note. I will

not tell you what to expect, then imagination cannot deceive you. I will be back in a moment."

With another hasty glance at his watch, he went out in high excitement.

"Please," began Ailsa Brearley, the moment he was gone, "do not think that because I assist him I approve of this attempt! I think it is horrible! But what am I to do? He is wrapped up in it! I dare not try to check him!"

"We understand that," said Fairbank; "all of us. Do as he desires. When he has made the attempt, and failed—as, of course, he must do—the folly of the whole thing will become apparent to him. Do not let it worry you, Miss Brearley. Your brother is not the first man to succumb, temporarily, to the glamour of the Unknown."

She shook her head sadly.

"It is an unpleasant farce," she said. "But there is something more in it than that."

Her blue eyes were full of trouble.

"What do you mean, Miss Brearley?" asked Moris Klaw.

"I hardly know, myself!" was the reply; "but for the past two months an indefinable horror of some kind has been growing upon me."

With a deep sigh, she turned to a tall case and took from it a kind of slender harp. The instrument, of which the frame, at any rate, was evidently an-

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cient Egyptian work, rested upon a claw-shaped pedestal.

"Do you play this? Yes? No?" inquired Moris Klaw, with interest.

1 "Yes," she said, wearily. "It comes from the tomb of a priestess of Isis and was played by her in the temple. It is scaled differently from the modern harp, but any one with a slight knowledge of the ordinary harp, or even of the piano, can perform upon it with ease. It is sweet toned, but—creepy!"

She smiled slightly at her own expression, and I was glad to see it.

Brearley returned.

He wore a single loose garment of white linen, and thin sandals were upon his feet. Save for his long, fair hair, he looked a true pagan priest, his eyes bright with the fire of research that consumed him, his features gaunt, ascetic.

Some ghost of his old humorous expression played, momentarily, about his lips as he observed the astonishment depicted upon our faces. But it was gone almost in the moment of its coming.

"You wonder at me, no doubt," he said; "and at times I have wondered at myself! Do not think me fanatic. I scarcely hope for any result. But remembering that the writing is authentic and that there prevails, to this day, a widespread belief in the occult wisdom of the Egyptians, why should not this prob-

lem in psychics receive the same attention from me that one in physics would receive f om you, Fair-bank?"

There was reason in his argument and in his manner of advancing it. Fairbank glanced from Brearley to the girl sitting with her white hands listlessly caressing the harp strings. The silence of the great empty house grew oppressive. Suppose the ancients indeed possessed the strange lore attributed to them? Suppose in those Dark Continents, the Past and the Future, somewhere in the vast unknown, there existed a power, a being, a spirit, named by the Egyptians, Isis?

Those were my thoughts, when Moris Klaw said suddenly:

"Mr. Brearley, it is not yet too late to turn back! This sensitive platte"—he tapped his forehead— "warns me that some evil thought thing hovers about us! You are about to give form to that thought being. Be wise, Mr. Brearley—abandon your experiment !"

His tone surprised everyone. Otter Brearley looked at him with an odd expression and then glanced at the watch upon the writing table.

"Mr. Klaw," he said, quietly, "I had hoped for a different attitude in you; but if you really disapprove of what I am about to attempt, I can only ask you to withdraw; it is too late for further arguments."

"I remain, my friend! I spoke not for myself—

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my life has been passed in this coping with evil things; I spoke for others."

None of us entirely understood his words, but Brearley went on, impatiently:

"Listen, please. I rely upon your cooperation. From now onward I require absolute silence. What-ver happens make no noise."

"I shall not be noisy, I, my friend!" rumbled Moris Klaw. "I am the old silent; I watch and wait—until I am wanted."

He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, significantly.

"Good!" said Brearley, and his voice quivered with excitement; "then the experiment, the final experiment, has begun!"

in

He suddenly extinguished the light.

Passing to a window, he looked up to the moon, and, a moment later, lowered the blind. Dimly visible in his white garment, he crossed the room. He might be heard unfastening the door of the inner chamber, and a faint, church-like smell crept to our nostrils. The door closed.

Immediately the harp sounded.

Its tone was peculiar—uncomfortable. The strain which Ailsa played was a mere repetition of three notes. Then she began to sing.

Our eyes becoming more accustomed to the gloom,.

we could vaguely discern her now; the soft outlines of her figure; the white, ghost-like fingers straying over the strings of the instrument. The music of the chant was very monotonous, and weird to a marked degree. The sound of that ancient tongue, dead for many ages, chanted softly by Ailsa Brear-ley's beautiful voice, was almost incredibly eerie. I found myself gripped hard by a powerful sense of the uncanny.

No other sound was audible. Throughout the rambling old house intense silence prevailed. A slight breeze stirred the cedars outside. Every now and again it came—like a series of broken sighs.

How long the chant lasted I cannot pretend to state. It seemed interminable. I became aware of a curious sense of physical loss. I found myself drawn to high tension, as though the continuance of the chant demanded a vast effort on my part. Though I told myself that imagination was tricking me, the music seemed to be draining my nerve force!

Ailsa's voice grew louder and clearer, until the queer words, of unknown purport, rang out passionately, imperatively.

She ceased.

In the ensuing silence I could hear distinctly Moris Klaw's heavy breathing. A compelling atmosphere of mystery had grown up about us. Repel it how we might, it was there—commanding acknowledgment.

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Fairbank, who sat nearest, was the first to see Ailsa Brearley rise, unsteadily, and move in the direction of the study door.

Something in her manner alarmed us all, and the doctor quietly left his seat and followed her. As she quitted the room, he came out behind her; and in the better light on the landing, as he told us later, saw that she was deathly pale.

"Miss Brearley!" he said.

She turned.

"Ssh!" she whispered, anxiously, "it is nothing— Doctor Fairbank. The excitement has made me rather faint, that is all. I shall go to my room and lie down. Believe me, I am quite well! ,,

"But there is no servant in the house," he whispered, "if you should become worse "

"If I need anything I shall not hesitate to ring," she answered. "It is so still, you will hear the bell. Please go back! He has hoped for so much from this."

Fairbank was nonplussed. But the appeal was so obviously sincere, and the situation so difficult, that he saw no alternative. Ailsa Brearley passed along the corridor. Fairbank slipped back into the study, where Moris Klaw and I anxiously awaited him.

From the inner room came Brearley's voice,, muffled.

The long vigil began.

I found myself claimed by the all-pervading spirit

of mystery. For some little time I listened in expectation of hearing Ailsa Brearley returning. But soon the strange business of the night claimed my mind, to the exclusion of every other idea. I found myself listening only for Brearley's muffled voice. Although the half-audible words were meaningless, their sound assumed, as time wore on, a curious significance. They seemed potent with a strange power proceeding not from them, but to them.

Then I heard a new sound.

Fairbank heard it—for I saw him start, and Moris Klaw muttered something.

It did not come from the trees outside, nor from the inner room. It was somewhere in the house.

A faint rattling it was, bell-like but toneless.

Brearley's voice had ceased.

Again the sound rose—nearer.

I turned my head toward Fairbank, and seemed to perceive him more clearly. I had less difficulty in distinguishing the objects about.

Again it came—the shivering, bell-like sound.

Even the strings of the harp were visible now.

"Curse me!" came Moris Klaw's hoarse whisper; "it seems to grow light! That is a delusion of the mind, my friends—repel it—repel it!"

Fairbank drew a quick, sibilant breath. A half-suppressed exclamation from Klaw followed; for the high-pitched rattle came from close at hand! The sense of the supernormal had grown unbearable.