The Crack of Doom
costume was more in the nature of the divided skirt than the plain
knickerbockers of the previous day. She accosted me cheerfully by my
surname, and not to be outdone by her, I said coolly:
"How d'ye do, Metford?"
"Very well, thanks. I suppose you expected Natalie? You see you have
only me."
"Delighted," I was commencing with a forced smile, when she stopped me.
"You look it. But that can't be helped. Natalie saw you going out, and
sent me to meet you. I am to look after you for an hour or so. You join
the Society this evening, I hear. You must be very pleased--and
flattered."
I could not assent to this, and so remained silent. The girl chattered
on in her own outspoken manner, which, now that I was growing accustomed
to it, I did not find as unpleasant as at first. One thing was evident
to me. She had no idea of the villainous nature of Brande's Society. She
could not have spoken so carelessly if she shared my knowledge of it.
While she talked to me, I wondered if it was fair to her--a likeable
girl, in spite of her undesirable affectations of advanced opinion,
emancipation or whatever she called it--was it fair to allow her to
associate with a band of murderers, and not so much as whisper a word of
warning? No doubt, I myself was associating with the band; but I was not
in ignorance of the responsibility thereby incurred.
"Miss Metford," I said, without heeding whether I interrupted her, "are
you in the secret of this Society?"
"I? Not at present. I shall be later on."
I stopped and faced her with so serious an expression that she listened
to me attentively.
"If you will take my earnest advice--and I beg you not to neglect
it--you will have nothing to do with it or any one belonging to it."
"Not even Brande--I mean Natalie? Is she dangerous?"
I disregarded her mischief and continued: "If you can get Miss Brande
away from her brother and his acquaintances," (I had nearly said
accomplices,) "and keep her away, you would be doing the best and
kindest thing you ever did in your life."
Miss Metford was evidently impressed by my seriousness, but, as she
herself said very truly, it was unlikely that she would be able to
interfere in the way I suggested. Besides, my mysterious warning was
altogether too vague to be of any use as a guide for her own action,
much less that of her friend. I dared not speak plainer. I could only
repeat, in the most emphatic words, my anxiety that she would think
carefully over what I had said. I then pretended to recollect an
engagement with Brande, for I was in such low spirits I had really
little taste for any company.
She was disappointed, and said so in her usual straightforward way. It
was not in the power of any gloomy prophecy to oppress her long. The
serious look which my words had brought on her face passed quickly, and
it was in her natural manner that she bade me good-morning, saying:
"It is rather a bore, for I looked forward to a pleasant hour or two
taking you about."
I postponed my breakfast for want of appetite, and, as Brande's house
was the best example of Liberty Hall I had ever met with, I offered no
apology for my absence during the entire day when I rejoined my host and
hostess in the evening. The interval I spent in the woods, thinking
much and deciding nothing.
After dinner, Brande introduced me to a man whom he called Edward Grey.
Natalie conducted me to the room in which they were engaged. From the
mass of correspondence in which this man Grey was absorbed, and the
litter of papers about him, it was evident that he must have been in the
house long before I made his acquaintance.
Grey handed me a book, which I found to be a register of the names of
the members of Brande's Society, and pointed out the place for my
signature.
When I had written my name on the list I said to Brande: "Now that I
have nominated myself, I suppose you'll second me?"
"It is not necessary," he answered; "you are already a member. Your
remark to Miss Metford this morning made you one of us. You advised her,
you recollect, to beware of us."
"That girl!" I exclaimed, horrified. "Then she is one of your spies? Is
it possible?"
"No, she is not one of our spies. We have none, and she knew nothing of
the purpose for which she was used."
"Then I beg to say that you have made a d--d shameful use of her."
In the passion of the moment I forgot my manners to my host, and formed
the resolution to denounce the Society to the police the moment I
returned to London. Brande was not offended by my violence. There was
not a trace of anger in his voice as he said:
"Miss Metford's information was telepathically conveyed to my sister."
"Then it was your sister--"
"My sister knows as little as the other. In turn, I received the
information telepathically from her, without the knowledge of either. I
was just telling Grey of it when you came into the room."
"And," said Grey, "your intention to go straight from this house to
Scotland Yard, there to denounce us to the police, has been
telepathically received by myself."
"My God!" I cried, "has a man no longer the right to his own thoughts?"
Grey went on without noticing my exclamation: "Any overt or covert
action on your part, toward carrying out your intention, will be
telepathically conveyed to us, and our executive--" He shrugged his
shoulders.
"I know," I said, "Woking Cemetery, near Saint Anne's Chapel. You have
ground there."
"Yes, we have to dispense with--"
"Say murder."
"Dispense with," Grey repeated sharply, "any member whose loyalty is
questionable. This is not our wish; it is our necessity. It is the only
means by which we can secure the absolute immunity of the Society
pending the achievement of its object. To dispense with any living man
we have only to will that he shall die."
"And now that I am a member, may I ask what is this object, the secret
of which you guard with such fiendish zeal?" I demanded angrily.
"The restoration of a local etheric tumour to its original formation."
"I am already weary of this jargon from Brande," I interrupted. "What do
you mean?"
"We mean to attempt the reduction of the solar system to its elemental
ether."
"And you will accomplish this triviality by means of Huxley's comet, I
suppose?"
I could scarcely control my indignation. This fooling, as I thought it,
struck me as insulting. Neither Brande nor Grey appeared to notice my
keen resentment. Grey answered me in a quiet, serious tone.
"We shall attempt it by destroying the earth. We may fail in the
complete achievement of our design, but in any case we shall at least be
certain of reducing this planet to the ether of which it is composed."
"Of course, of course," I agreed derisively. "You will at least make
sure of that. You have found out how to do it too, I have no doubt?"
"Yes," said Grey, "we have found out."
CHAPTER VI.
A TELEPATHIC TELEGRAM.
I left the room and hurried outside without any positive plan for my
movements. My brain was in such a whirl I could form no connected train
of thought. These men, whose conversation was a jargon fitting only for
lunatics, had proved that they could read my mind with the ease of a
telegraph operator taking a message off a wire. That they, further,
possessed marvellous, if not miraculous powers, over occult natural
forces could hardly be doubted. The net in which I had voluntarily
entangled myself was closing around me. An irresistible impulse to
fly--to desert Natalie and save myself--came over me. I put this aside
presently. It was both unworthy and unwise. For whither should I fly?
The ends of the earth would not be far enough to save me, the depths of
the sea would not be deep enough to hide me from those who killed by
willing that their victim should die.
On the other hand, if my senses had only been hocussed, and Messrs.
Brande and Grey were nothing better than clever tricksters, the park
gate was far enough, and the nearest policeman force enough, to save me
from their vengeance. But the girl--Natalie! She was clairvoyante. They
practised upon her. My diagnosis of the strange seeing-without-sight
expression of her eyes was then correct. And it was clear to me that
whatsoever or whomsoever Brande and Grey believed or disbelieved in,
they certainly believed in themselves. They might be relied on to spare
nothing and no one in their project, however ridiculous or mad their
purpose might be. What then availed my paltry protection when the girl
herself was a willing victim, and the men omnipotent? Nevertheless, if I
failed eventually to serve her, I could at least do my best.
It was clear that I must stand by Natalie Brande.
While I was thus reflecting, the following conversation took place
between Brande and Grey. I found a note of it in a diary which Brande
kept desultorily. He wrote this up so irregularly no continuous
information can be gleaned from it as to his life. How the diary came
into my hands will be seen later. The memorandum is written thus:--
_Grey_--Our new member? Why did you introduce him? You say he cannot
help with money. It is plain he cannot help with brains.
_Brande_--He interests Natalie. He is what the uneducated call
good-natured. He enjoys doing unselfish things, unaware that it is for
the selfish sake of the agreeable sensation thereby secured. Besides, I
like him myself. He amuses me. To make him a member was the only safe
way of keeping him so much about us. But Natalie is the main reason. I
am afraid of her wavering in spite of my hypnotic influence. In a girl
of her intensely emotional nature the sentiment of hopeless love will
create profound melancholy. Dominated by that she is safe. It seems
cruel at first sight. It is not really so. It is not cruel to reconcile
her to a fate she cannot escape. It is merciful. For the rest, what does
it matter? It will be all the same in--
_Grey_--This day six months.
_Brande_--I believe I shivered. Heredity has much to answer for.
That is the whole of the entry. I did not read the words until the hand
that wrote them was dust.
Natalie professed some disappointment when I announced my immediate
return to town. I was obliged to manufacture an excuse for such a hasty
departure, and so fell back on an old engagement which I had truly
overlooked, and which really called me away. But it would have called
long enough without an answer if it had not been for Brande himself, his
friend Grey, and their insanities. My mind was fixed on one salient
issue: how to get Natalie Brande out of her brother's evil influence.
This would be better compassed when I myself was outside the scope of
his extraordinary influence. And so I went without delay.
For some time after my return to London, I went about visiting old
haunts and friends. I soon tired of this. The haunts had lost their
interest. The friends were changed, or I was changed. I could not resume
the friendships which had been interrupted. The chain of connection had
been broken and the links would not weld easily. So, after some futile
efforts to return to the circle I had long deserted, I desisted and
accepted my exclusion with serenity. I am not sure that I desired the
old relationships re-established. And as my long absence had prevented
any fresh shoots of friendship being grafted, I found myself alone in
London. I need say no more.
One evening I was walking through the streets in a despondent mood, as
had become my habit. By chance I read the name of a street into which I
had turned to avoid a more crowded thoroughfare. It was that in which
Miss Metford lived. I knew that she had returned to town, for she had
briefly acquainted me with the fact on a postcard written some days
previously.
Here was a chance of distraction. This girl's spontaneous gaiety, which