CHAPTER XIII.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7417, 31 May 1902, Page 1

CHAPTER XIII.

HOW WE RESOLVED TO FIGHT, BUT FOUND A FOBTBESS. . i I laid the manuscript on the table and leant back in my chair, thinking out the whole question to a definite conclusion. Faversbam was right. This tale was a possible solution. Once given the fact that it was in the power of this man to transmit life, and there was no difficulty in finding the link between Alice Borrodaile and Elaine Rawlins. Alice Borrodaile had died. This man had stolen her body and transferred to it the life which was in his gift. Once admit this fact, and the whole thingi was clear; but could anything- so comtcary to Nature be admitted as a fact? !fb.e cold reasoning of the scientist replied in the negative, and yet, after all, science was progressive, and the impossibilities of one age were the accepted facts of the next. Our knowledge of the origin of life is still in its infancy. There are few scientists who would dare to say that such> a transmission of life is absolutely impossible, for life, like electricity, is an invisible force, and is pnly known to us by its manifestations. Those who talk of protoplasm and say they have discovered the secret of life might as well say that electricity is, a piece of copper wire. I recalled the reasoning I had read so carefully in. the Persian book I had picked up in Paris, the clear cold reasoning of a scientist, yet, as it now appeared, written by the very man who held in v 'his hands the manifestation *of its' truth. I went over, to" the bookshelf, and, ' taking down the translation of the book, referred to several passages again. I remembered how at the time I first read it I was struck with the fact that the author was discussing the actual'occurrence ahd^not a, mere theory. The explanation was obvious to me now. Here in my hands was the narration of the ■act wrapped 1 up in the. guise of a story, with all those details which would attract and hold the reader's fancy." It was, doubtless, for publication after Dacobra's death. Yet, assuming the truth.of the tale, Dr Rawlihs had still to be identified with Dacobra.. _ The identity was obvious to my 1 ayrn ' mmd x, .iin,<LJPay'ersham,: Sad Jafc- ©he*. jumped jto the,"Same conclusion. Doctor .Raw Uns had not it, and even the perfect control he had' kept over his features 'had broken down when Faversham accused him bluntly face to face. Besides, the Accumulative evidence was tremendous, i Here was a fact,.and the only fact which explained the identity of Alice Bonpdaile j and Elaine Rawlins. Here was a'man, evidently of Eastern origin, yet bearing an" English name, a man whose whole life had been devoted to a single task, the same as that set by the White Priests of Ahriman —the breaking down of the barrier between he animate and the inanimate in Nature. Here too-, in the' West of Scotland, were the same white animals mentioned in the story, and here the fear of a strong man. i which, could- be readily explained by his i connection with them in the past. The fear-too was obviously not physical, but doubtless owing to the fact that the time was at hand and the lease of life nearly up, and that these animals were the foreJiunners of Him who would claim the life again. ' The White Priest was undoubtedly coming,- if the story 'were aught but a fairy tale. "I am old and thou art young," ne had said, '* bub when thou are old we shall meet again." The story explained everything. No reasonable person could doubt that Dacobra and Dr Rawlins were 'one and the same man. Then I remembered that the man had triumphed, that he had performed the task set him, and that the White Priest would come in vain. A great joy filled my heart, for this child had' become very dear tome. But Fayersham * had • not remembered it. He had said that every.hour she stayed in Balath was at the risk of her life. He had forgotten, or" perhaps he did not grasp the significance •of Dr Rawlin's discovery. Poor Faversham T- I looked at him as he lay asleep in the armchair; his face white and tired, his lips twiiching nervously even in his dreams. What good could come out of this for him? If the girl's life were taken there would only be the renewed and redoubled agony of her death. If she were spared, only the vain longing for the body of the woman he loved, now inhabited by the: life and soul of another. I knew that all fresh efforts to recall the buried past would be in vain, and that never again would he storm that citadel of love. The soul of Zuhrah, the daughter of Sadik the silversmith was set as far from him as the stars. He slept on quietly and showed no signs of waking,. so I did not arouse him for lunch, but took the meal by myself and spent most of the afternoon in the studio carving my name on- the - foot of the statue. It was nearly seven o'clock when Faversham woke. He had a bath, shaved, and changed his clothes for dinner, and when he came down he looked more like his old self, and it was.difficult to imagine that it was the same Faversham who in the morning would have taken the life of a man in cold blood. After dinner we thrashed out the whole question calmly and logically, as we might have discussed, a scientific problem. We read the story over again and studied every word. We strung together all the facts in Dr Rawlins' life that had come within our own knowledge, and reconciled them with the facts in the story. At the end of the discussion there was no doubt in our minds that the story was true, and that Dr Rawlins • and Dacobra were one and the same person. " Well, Faversham," I said, when we had discussed the matter down to a final point, "what is our part in this business?" "To save this girl," he replied. "From whom?" "First, from Dacobra." " Dacobra loves her with all his soul, and would not harm her." Faversham laughed bitterly. "You do not understand, Maxwell," :he said. "If ' Daco'bra haa failed, and if this tale be aught • but a fable, her life will foe taken from her on" Jan. 13 by one against whom Dacobra 'himself, with all his devilries, is I powerless. Dacobra is a man of iron will ; I and determination, end he will cave (her i I soul from this endless slavery at any cost. I

He will stick at nothing. Now if you were in his place what would you do?" I thought for a moment and then saw the trend of his thoughts. " I should take the girl's life," I answered 1 , "and then kill snyBelf." "Naturally," he replied. "This life apparently can only be passed from one to another 'by physical contact. If she were killed, her life would vanish, and it w*uld be. impossible to; pass it into another, and that is why Dacobra will kill her, and that is why we must save tier from him." " The priests would have foreseen so simple an escape as that." "They relied on the man's love of life. He would naturally put off the escape until the last possible moment. While they tooth lived, he knew that the soul was with him. He worships that soul, as a devout map worships his God. He would not curtail his time yritih it by a. single hour- And jio man knows whether his soul will be -witsh the soul of the woman whom he loves when they are both dead. Then the priests would probably rely on his untiring and fruitless efforts to perform, the task they set him Tip to the very last minute. They were right, and if Dacobra has failed to find that single path to safety, he w2l not part with life till the last hour, pei-haps mot till the last minute given to him." " And if we save her from him," I said thoughtfully, "what then. What are we against Dacobra's master?" "Perhaps we are nothing," he replied, "yet we can deal with him afterwards, and if the worst comes to the worst^ we can do what 'Dacobra would 1 have done." "Are you quite sure, Faversham," I said, "that you 'believe in the story? Remember this is plain, prosaic old England, a country of steam power and electricity, of red brick villas and orderly streets. Toe glamour of the East is not on you : there are no gigantic mountains and tablelands, no gloomy gorges and deep precipices ; no mysteries ; nothing that a man can fail to understand if he has intelligence. All is open and plain to the daylight. It is a country of law and order, and the policeman is the symbol of dull and uninteresting safety. It is different in my case. I can believe the tale, for I have been in places fhere nothing seems incredible, and where te things a man cannot fathom are as countless as the sands ; in a land where the dark mysteries and subtle forces of Nature have lain undisturbed through all the centuries. But you have no such aid to the imagination. If I were in your .place, I j should scoff at the whole thing as a fairy tale." " Belief is forced on me," Paversham said quietly. " When a man has seen the dead raised to life, he can believe anything. But let us discuss -the facts. We must fake this-j girl from Balath. ■ What is our plan of action?" ;We spent the rest of the evening discussing our chances of effecting an entrance into the castle and achieving our object. There were a hundred things against us. We 'had first of all 'to get in; then we had to persuade the girl to come with us (it would be impossible if she maintained the same attitude as in the morning) then, if she refused, we should have to take her away 'by force ; and, lastly, we had to get out of the castle. The law, too, was against us, and, in fact, I did not see anything in/ our favour eice.pt. that we were strong cud earnest men, and mrer-a moved by a common determination to effect our object. However, we plotted and planned till far into the night, and finally decided to enter' the castle ,Hy stealth, if (possible, and then, Jto exert such force as' was in our povfer to get out again. _ I myself very much doubted if we should get in at all. Dr Rawlins would certainly be on his guard after Favershatn's conduct, in the morning, and I think the latter began to regret that he had not been silent until an opportunity for striking a decisive blow had arrived. He told me that he had relied upon my assistance; md certainlr, if I had known what I know now I should have been inclined to stand by his side in the matter, although I doubt whether I should have had the courage to use force and detain Miss Rawlins against her will, and, even if we had done so, it is certain that Dr Rawlins would have at once sent | for the police. Our story, if we had been foolish enough to tell it, would have been laughed at, and our hands would probably have been tied just at the moment when we wanted to deal "with the matter. « | It was for this reason that we finally resolved to put off any attempt to enter BalatL until a day or two before Jnuuary the 13th, for a failure would perhaps mean, de- j Etructioa to all our plans. We decided to spend the next few days in recoiv.ioitriiig the place, and not to make any effort to take Miss Rawlins away until the night of January the 12th. ( ' The next" morning I wrote to an old friend .of mine in Glasgow, asking him to, hire a small yacht and crew for three months, if possible. I enclosed an Ordnance map, with, the position of Balath marked clearly on it, and gave detailed instructions. They were to lie off the castle from noon of January the 12th, and put off in a boat when they saw a red light burnt on the shore. The yacht, I said, was to be secured at any price, and a handsome bonus promised to the men. I also earnestly requested any friend to bring his wife with him, saying that I was meditating a trip to j the Mediterranean, and that I hoped they j would make up their minds to be my guests for at least a month. I knew that both loved the sea in all weathers, and the promise of any adventure would bring Alan Steyning from the ends of the earth. During the next few days we had a great deal to arrange. We made one or two ex- j peditions along the beach .to Balath, and txaniine/I the shore carefully for a suitable i landing-place at all states of the tide. We ! also made a thorough inspection of the cliff j at this point, and I chose a placey where it would be just possible for a good climber to ascend or descend, if he were put to it, and marked it at the foot with a large "white stone. This work was not without its dangers. One day we were caught by the tide, and spent several hours on a small ledge of rock with: eight feet of water below us ; and on another occasion a piece of granite, weighing at least half-a-ton, crashed *dc\vn fr^ir the top of the cliff within two feet of Faversham's head. I was .not sure that the fall was altogether accidental, but §aw nothing to coniirm my opinion, beyond the fact that there was a' flat smooth mark on one of the edges of the stone, which looked as if it had been made by some steel instrument. It was not until January 7th that we decided to make our first inspection of the walls of the castle from the top of the cliff. It was impossible to do this in the daytime, and we resolved to ride over there after dinner. J ordered two horses to be saddled, and when they were ready we dashed off along the road to Balath. The moon was shining brightly,, and our path was clear before us. In less than an h»ur we were at the village inn, and the church j clock struck ten as we drew Tein before £he door. We decided to leave our horses there, and walk the rest of the way. The innkeeper looked curiously at us, and hazarded some observation about the lateness of the hour. I did not enlighten him as to our business, but we said we should return shortly, and ordered supper to be. I&.<i1 &.<i for two. * . We : tUen left him, and, skirting the village, walked along the top of the cliff towards the castle, till we saw a dark mass rising against the sky, about half a mile I ahead. There were no lights in any of the windows, and it might almost have been i'■■■ ■ • , ■ ,

a piece of rock standing bfack and silent in the moonlight. We sat down for a moment on a piece of granite, and looked at the gloomy pile of stone. Below us the j sea rolled darkly against the foot of the cliffs. By looking over the top we could see the foam curling along the coast like a thin white snake. "What is that?" Faversham said, pointing towards the castle. I looked, and at : first saw nothing but a dark mass of stone against the sky. Then I noticed a hazy line of something stretching a little to the left of the walls along the ground. It might have been mist, but we could not actually see what it was in the. distance. We moved on carefully and in silence. Thick clouds were now husrying up from the west, and we could hardly see each other's faces. It is wonderful how quickly the light can change to darkness when the mooa goes behind' a cloud. Then suddenly a row. of tall black lines rose dimly before us, and, stretching out my hand, I grasped ! an iron bar at least an inch in thickness. We both stopped and looked »t each other. This was something new — the work of the last few days. .'We were expected, and the place had., been barricaded like a fortress. The moon came out again, and we sank to the ground lest we should be . observed. Then I looked' up, and Pavershaun swore a deep oath. Between us and the -castle walls, now less than a hundred yards distant, rose a palisade of iron railings. ten feet high, and with bars set about six inches from each other. Beyond this, at a distance of ten yards, rose a similar palisade. The railings were crowned with a revolving chevaux-de-frise, and there was no foothold between the top and the bottom. "Great Heavens, Paversham!" I cried;, "the, place is fortified." I looked up at .the windows; the moonlight, instead of reflecting on the glass, shone on the dull black of iron shutters. There were three little' holes in each of these, and from one or two of them shone circular spot* of light. They looked like little yelW eyes winking at us in mockery of our discomfiture. Faversham looked at them in gloomy silence. " Let us examine the place thoroughly," I said. • , We crept along the palisade, feeling every bar of the railings as we went, until we came to the edge of the cliff again on the far side of the qastle. ". There was no break in that line of iron; the railing made a semi-circle, cutting off all access to tine building from the land. On the other side, or, as it were, the diameter of the circle, was the wall, rising, sheer from the top of the cliff to a heigot of forty feet. J There was no entrance of any kind, and I wondered bow the inhabitants were going to get in and out, except by the postern door. We examined with particular care the two extremities of the railings. It was just possible, if they had been only carried to the top of the cliff, that we could have swung round them, but the work had been well done, and Dacoora left no loophole of this sort. . '....■■'.. . . i . . "It certainly looks as if he expected us," I said, " and I have now no doubt about the story. A man- does not fortify his bouse like a prison without a purpose. He intends that there shall be no interruption to bis devilries." Paversham laughed. "You flatter yourself, Maxwell," he said. "He holds us very cheaply in his estimation. It is. not for us that he has prepared this" pleasing reception, but for one whom. l fancy will, make no more of that ;, v alisade than you or I would make of a fivi -barred gate." ' ; ' "We must get in from the beach," I: said;: "the postern door is our' only chance." Paversham looked over the edge of the cliff and shook his head. "It is possible," 1 said, "though I expect you would break your neck if you tried it in the dark ; but i have done a good deal of mountain climbing, and this is child's play to me. I have: been on a place as steep as that and with no jnore secure a foothold than that would! give, and have known that if 1 slipped it meant a fall of a thousand! feet." " And when you have got down?" FaVersham asked. "There is the postern," I said. " Locked, of course." "Yes, probably," I replied); "but one must not neglect a chance. Anyhow, it may be possible to climb the cliff again, and find some way up the wall to a window, or else on to the roof." The chances are against your doing anything of the sort," he replied, " but we can easily get something to -scale the palisade with." v " Every inch of that railing is watched," 1 said, pointing to the windows ; " and now 1 come to think of it, perhaps it is quite as well that we were prevented from entering the castle on tihe land side. Dacobra would not hesitate to shoot us, ! especially as his own life is nothing to him:. He will not think of the wall on the cliff. Only, a very desperate man would attempt to scale that in the dark." . . Faversham gripped me_ by the hand) " This is my work, Maxwell," he said in a low voice. "The girl is nothing to you, and you shall riot risk your life. If I cannot get down the cliif, I will get in some other way." " You could get down with a rope, perhaps," I replied 2 " but you could not scale the cliff again, much less the wall of the castle. I doubt if I can do it, but lam used to this sort o\ thing, and with luck may ' be successful. You can stay at the top and watch the rope, if we want it. If we don't, and: the boat comes, you can swing down and join us." "It is my work, Maxwell," he repeated. "It is any man's work to cave life," I said, and then 1 laid my hands on his shoulder. "Faversham, old chap, remember who this girl is. Alice Borrodaile is dead. This woman is nothing to you. She is Zuhrah,' the daughter of Sa'dik the silversmith, the betrothed' wife of Deva Dacobra. Forget, Faversham, forget. And when we have saved her, never think of her again." He did not answer, and' I saw that his face was ghastly in the moonlight. ■ "It is my work as well as yours, Paversham," I continued^ "and I will risk my life gladly; but I would rather she died than you, my friend, should suffer all your life because of her. That soul can have no sympathy with you. That girl is not the girl you loved. Alice Borrodaile is dead, . and think of her as dead, and only remember when last you looked on her in Spain." He did not answer, and turning away from the edge of the cliff, we made our way back to the village, had supper j aad rode to Ardrachan in the moonlight. ' . (To be continued.)