any light.
Mac left, in another ten minutes, passing with his old man’s gait through the anteroom in which was the adipose lady with the Pekingese. He was just an average, if exceptionally intelligent, human being; so—he left. Had he been the seventh son of a seventh son and gifted with supernatural powers, he would have stayed. For right after he had gone, some weird things happened.
The doctor was about to call for the nurse to send in the sole remaining patient in his anteroom. But he stopped with his mouth still open for the call—and stayed silent and motionless!
In the anteroom, the yapping of the Pekingese suddenly changed to a sharp, pained howling. That went on for ten or fifteen seconds while the fat lady tried to quiet the beast. Then the howling stopped, and the doctor moved again.
He went to a cabinet and got out his black medical bag, moving with a curious, volitionless obedience. His head went to one side as if he were listening. Then he went to a cabinet containing paraphernalia, and got out a crystal ball. It was the type used by clairvoyants. But, also, crystal balls often are used by brain specialists as an aid to healing hypnotism.
His head was still in the listening attitude. And though no words sounded in the ominously quiet office, an observer would have known that an actual voice was directing real commands to the man.
The doctor put on hat and topcoat and went out, carrying his little bag. The nurse started to say something to him, but stopped at the preoccupied look in his eyes. Markham went right past her and the patient and into the hall, without glancing at either.
The nurse glanced nervously at the patient before venturing the excuse that the doctor had had an emergency call and wouldn’t be able to care for her today.
The nurse was nervous because she thought she was hearing things. She thought she had heard a voice—a very odd, secret voice, whispering, “Don’t let that bag out of your sight.”
But she knew there could have been no voice because there was no one in the inner office, now that Markham had left.
At the curb in front of the building in which was Markham’s office suite, was a new station wagon. On its door was lettered:
CRANLOWE HEIGHTS
There was a young man in livery at the wheel. He stepped out smartly, opened the door, and Markham got in.
The car went rapidly out to Cranlowe’s guarded estate. And as it rolled, the doctor sat with his head a bit to one side, as if listening—listening! Hence he did not notice that the chauffeur drove with one eye on the speedometer and the other on the dash-clock, as if he were following some very definite schedule of time and speed.
There was no delay at the gate. The guard there telephoned the house, and Cranlowe said: “Oh, yes. Dr. Markham. His co-worker phoned and asked if he might see me. Bring him to the house.”
The guard escorted Markham, carrying his little bag, to the iron-studded front door. The guard didn’t know any more than Cranlowe, that Markham had no co-worker in his office, that he worked absolutely alone.
The man who looked like Poe shook hands briefly with the doctor and went into the study with him. There, the inventor ran nervous fingers through his lank dark hair.
“As you perhaps know,” he said. “I am not in the habit of permitting anyone to enter this place, save my trusted guards and oldest friends. I would not have allowed you to enter, save that you said you wanted to ask me some things that might shed light on poor Blandell’s fate. If that can be cleared up—”
“I think it can be,” said the doctor. “I have been checking on the things he did and the places he visited, just before that strange mental lapse of his. I found out that first thing in the morning, before he had his attack, he visited a spiritualist medium to—”
“Blandell did that?” Cranlowe snorted. “Impossible! He didn’t believe in that kind of thing.”
“If he did, no one would ever know,”
Mac left, in another ten minutes, passing with his old man’s gait through the anteroom in which was the adipose lady with the Pekingese. He was just an average, if exceptionally intelligent, human being; so—he left. Had he been the seventh son of a seventh son and gifted with supernatural powers, he would have stayed. For right after he had gone, some weird things happened.
The doctor was about to call for the nurse to send in the sole remaining patient in his anteroom. But he stopped with his mouth still open for the call—and stayed silent and motionless!
In the anteroom, the yapping of the Pekingese suddenly changed to a sharp, pained howling. That went on for ten or fifteen seconds while the fat lady tried to quiet the beast. Then the howling stopped, and the doctor moved again.
He went to a cabinet and got out his black medical bag, moving with a curious, volitionless obedience. His head went to one side as if he were listening. Then he went to a cabinet containing paraphernalia, and got out a crystal ball. It was the type used by clairvoyants. But, also, crystal balls often are used by brain specialists as an aid to healing hypnotism.
His head was still in the listening attitude. And though no words sounded in the ominously quiet office, an observer would have known that an actual voice was directing real commands to the man.
The doctor put on hat and topcoat and went out, carrying his little bag. The nurse started to say something to him, but stopped at the preoccupied look in his eyes. Markham went right past her and the patient and into the hall, without glancing at either.
The nurse glanced nervously at the patient before venturing the excuse that the doctor had had an emergency call and wouldn’t be able to care for her today.
The nurse was nervous because she thought she was hearing things. She thought she had heard a voice—a very odd, secret voice, whispering, “Don’t let that bag out of your sight.”
But she knew there could have been no voice because there was no one in the inner office, now that Markham had left.
At the curb in front of the building in which was Markham’s office suite, was a new station wagon. On its door was lettered:
CRANLOWE HEIGHTS
There was a young man in livery at the wheel. He stepped out smartly, opened the door, and Markham got in.
The car went rapidly out to Cranlowe’s guarded estate. And as it rolled, the doctor sat with his head a bit to one side, as if listening—listening! Hence he did not notice that the chauffeur drove with one eye on the speedometer and the other on the dash-clock, as if he were following some very definite schedule of time and speed.
There was no delay at the gate. The guard there telephoned the house, and Cranlowe said: “Oh, yes. Dr. Markham. His co-worker phoned and asked if he might see me. Bring him to the house.”
The guard escorted Markham, carrying his little bag, to the iron-studded front door. The guard didn’t know any more than Cranlowe, that Markham had no co-worker in his office, that he worked absolutely alone.
The man who looked like Poe shook hands briefly with the doctor and went into the study with him. There, the inventor ran nervous fingers through his lank dark hair.
“As you perhaps know,” he said. “I am not in the habit of permitting anyone to enter this place, save my trusted guards and oldest friends. I would not have allowed you to enter, save that you said you wanted to ask me some things that might shed light on poor Blandell’s fate. If that can be cleared up—”
“I think it can be,” said the doctor. “I have been checking on the things he did and the places he visited, just before that strange mental lapse of his. I found out that first thing in the morning, before he had his attack, he visited a spiritualist medium to—”
“Blandell did that?” Cranlowe snorted. “Impossible! He didn’t believe in that kind of thing.”
“If he did, no one would ever know,”
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