When they were comfortably ensconced in the library, their cigarettes alight, Gaunt began:
“All phenomena connected with thought-transference, clairvoyance, mind-reading, and the like, depend upon the existence of a state or dimension known as the astral plane. This is somewhat similar to the imponderable aether of the nineteenth-century physicists. It is a realm which is outside space and time, and yet is very close to us. In this respect it is not unlike the fourth dimension, beloved of science-fiction writers.
“Almost any human mind can, when properly trained, attain a state of consciousness wherein this astral plane is reached, and since the limitations of space are non-existent thereon, two minds can have free intercourse, irrespective of the intervening distance, however great. Similarly the past is accessible, and, to a less extent, the future, since time is without significance on that plane. Do I make myself clear?”
“Admirably,” Tony answered with a wry smile, “if I accept all your premises. And I have no choice. But I suppose I myself, for instance, could not attain to this astral plane for lack of the special training?”
“Not unaided. But I can demonstrate it to you if you wish.”
“Please do, Doctor. It’s amazingly interesting.”
“Very well. Look at me, and make your mind as empty as possible. Give me your hands.”
Tony did as he was bid and looked into the doctor’s brilliant eyes. For a few moments he was only aware of the unwinking stare of the black pupils with their rings of grey iris; then he had a vivid impression of his material surroundings, the soft feel of the upholstered chair under him, the firm grip of Gaunt’s hands. The doctor said something he couldn’t understand, and simultaneously he seemed to fall headlong into the dark pool of the other’s eyes, which miraculously widened until they covered all else. He felt a faint tingling all over his body and at once lost all consciousness of it, becoming a discarnate mind. Everything was black, and he was alone in the blackness. He felt very lonely, and his mind turned towards Hamilton.
Instantly there was a room about him, a vaguely familiar room, full of blue tobacco-smoke and the clattering of a typewriter. John Hamilton sat at his desk, pounding away, pipe in mouth. Behind him the window stood open to the cool night breeze, and the roar of Knightsbridge came pulsing in. Tony tried to speak to his friend, to step forward and touch him, but he could neither move nor make a sound. It was like a nightmare. Hamilton came to the bottom of a page, whipped it out, and sat reading it through. Feverishly Tony tried to attract his attention, and for a moment thought he had succeeded, for the other raised his eyes from his work and looked full at him, speculatively. But he only took another sheet, wound it into the machine, and set to work again.
The room faded, like a dissolving “cut” in a film, and Tony was in darkness once more. He thought of Kestrel, and Gaunt, and immediately felt the doctor’s hands on his. Clutching at them like a drowning man, he struggled to the surface and lay gasping in his chair.
“Satisfied?” smiled the doctor.
Tony nodded dumbly. A thought struck him.
“But was it real,” he asked, “or did you just suggest it to me?”
“It was real enough. Your mind turned to your friend and went to him at once. Write and ask him what he was doing at this hour, if you like. There was no deception.”
“It’s amazing, Doctor. Simply amazing.”
“The powers of the human mind are always amazing to those who know little of them. I could show you things far more astonishing than that. I will, but not tonight. We must be up early in the morning to meet my friend Vaughan at Pentock.”
II
At just after nine o’clock next morning Tony and Gaunt climbed the harbour steps at Pentock and made their way to the Three Fishermen. Outside the inn they found a small crowd of villagers, standing round a long grey car, piled with luggage and covered with dust. The men made way respectfully for them as they approached, touching their caps and greeting the new master of Kestrel with a “Good morning to ’ee, zur!” Tony returned the salute and he and Gaunt passed inside, where they encountered the landlord’s wife, polishing the brass rail of the bar.
She answered Tony’s query as to whether anyone had arrived for the Abbey with a nod of her head towards the back parlour.
“He’s in there, Sir Anthony, having his breakfast. He came about half an hour ago.”
From her tone of voice Tony gathered that the newcomer had not created a good impression, but he thanked her and followed Gaunt into the other room.
At the table was an enormously fat man, of repellent appearance, making short work of a large plate of bacon and eggs. He got up as they appeared and shook hands with Gaunt, who turned to Tony, saying,
“This is Mr. Simon Vaughan, Tony, of whom I told you.”
Tony took the flabby cold hand with a faint feeling of disgust. The man reminded him of a toad he had once seen, sitting in a dark hole in the rocks. The same sleepy, watchful eyes; the same wide mouth and flat, hairless head. He was vaguely surprised by the courteous greeting he was given, but his tone was very cold and formal as he said:
“How do you do, Mr. Vaughan? You had a good run down, I hope?”
“Excellent, thank you, Sir Anthony. I must have averaged close on forty all the way. The car goes very well, Doctor.”
Gaunt nodded. “She’s a good car. Mine, Tony. Care to have a look at her while Mr. Vaughan finishes his breakfast?”
They went out into the sunshine; Tony, at least, with a definite feeling of relief. As he was examining the Bentley with keen interest the doctor spoke of his colleague.
“Don’t be put off by first impressions, Tony. Vaughan is a charming fellow really, and has an amazing mind. His appearance is against him, I know, but when you get to know him you will like him as much as I do. He is probably the only man in England qualified to deal with our particular problem.”
Naturally Tony denied that he had received any bad impression, but in his own heart he knew that his first reaction to Vaughan had been one of repulsion. However, he allowed that he might be mistaken.
The subject of his thoughts presently joined them, smoking a long, thin cheroot, and wearing a great traveling-coat lined with fur. They took the car as near to the jetty as was possible and spent a strenuous five minutes transferring the three huge trunks to the launch.
“Apparatus which I shall need for my investigations, mainly, Sir Anthony,” Vaughan explained, “not personal effects!”
The Bentley was finally stabled at the inn, beside the old Buick belonging to the Abbey, which looked even more elderly and dilapidated beside its new companion. Tony drove the launch across to the island, mentally thanking Providence for a calm day, for the gunwales were within three inches of the water. However, the passage and the unloading at the Abbey harbour were accomplished without mishap, Lorrimer and Tregellis assisting.
Gaunt went with the newcomer to his room and remained with him for some time, while Tony interviewed Mrs. Lorrimer about the domestic arrangements.
A fire was crackling on the hearth in the great hall, for the place was never really warm, even at the height of summer, and Tony was sitting beside it when the others came down.
Vaughan lowered himself cautiously into a chair, saying:
“Well, Sir Anthony, the doctor has been telling me about your trouble. A very interesting case, I must say.”
“Do you think you will be able to do anything about it, Mr. Vaughan?” asked Tony, handing him the cigarettes, which he passed on to Gaunt without taking one.