Tony looked sharply at his friend, a queerly puzzled expression in his eyes.
“I suppose so,” he answered hesitantly; “I’ve never really thought about it much.”
“Then your new faith does not teach you such belief?”
“No. We know that there are vast impersonal forces which can be tapped by the human will; we know that there is an order in the Universe; but we don’t exactly worship a personal God. We strive rather, by analogy and symbolism, as well as by direct mystical approach, to achieve union with the Ultimate Reality which lies behind the material world.”
“I suspected as much. That’s another point, then, upon which I differ from you. I think I do believe in God. I met an old priest yesterday — “
“What a delightful spot for a chat!” broke in the cheerful voice of Gaunt. The doctor was standing at the edge of the low cliff above them, having presumably walked down one of the overland paths from the Abbey instead of coming down the stairway to the harbour.
“Have you finished gossiping?” he went on. “The tea-bell went nearly half an hour ago, and we thought you must be lost.”
The two friends laughed, and clambered up to him, and all three went back to the Abbey together.
When Hamilton lay in bed that night, smoking a last pipe before blowing out the candle, he reviewed the events of the day. Though from a purely logical point of view he found himself bound to admit that he found no fault with Tony’s new studies, yet his soul instinctively rebelled against them. The spectacle of his young friend, once so gay and carefree, delving into these great mysteries, with the weight of his newly acquired knowledge showing clearly on his strangely altered countenance, distressed him in spite of himself. He had no suspicions of Gaunt, though Vaughan’s place in the picture did not seem too clearly defined. If the curse really existed — a point upon which Hamilton still entertained grave doubts — and if Vaughan was able to deal with it effectively, why must Tony be dragged into it at all? If, as Tony said, his help was essential, and he must have this occult training before he could render that help, why was Vaughan’s presence necessary? Tony himself had said that Gaunt was the Superior of the Order to which presumably Vaughan belonged also, and consequently must be possessed of more power than his colleague. The whole thing didn’t quite fit.
What was he to do? That was the question. True, he had agreed with Tony on the beach that afternoon that their ways must lie apart in future, but he could not reconcile himself to abandoning his friend at what appeared to be a great spiritual crisis of some sort. If he were to leave Tony alone with these two occultists, studying their faith, then the issue would not be in doubt: Tony would infallibly go through with the whole affair, be ‘initiated’ — whatever that might entail — and become irrevocably one of them. Even if he changed his mind at the last moment, and wished to draw back, he could hardly be expected to resist the persuasion of the two of them alone. But if he, Hamilton, were to stay on for a while, however unwelcome he might be, Tony would at least have someone of his own kind to turn to, if the need arose.
Having reached this decision, Hamilton knocked the ashes from his pipe, blew out the candle, and, after watching the moonlight falling through one of his four windows for a while, fell asleep.
An hour later Gaunt opened the door of Vaughan’s room and slipped quietly in. His colleague, looking bigger than ever in a dressing-gown of blue silk, was sitting at the small table beside his bed, an open book before him. He raised his eyes from the page he was reading and watched the doctor draw up a chair and sit down opposite him. Without a word he drew a cigar-case from his pocket and offered it to the other. When both had lit one of the thin cheroots apiece, and the blue smoke was curling up over the chimney of the lamp, the doctor spoke.
“Well, Simon, this is rather awkward,” he said.
“Hamilton, you mean?” Vaughan did not trouble to remove his cigar when he spoke, and his thick red lips scarcely moved, slurring the words.
“Precisely. We cannot continue our plan satisfactorily with him here. Apart from the obvious difficulty of finding time for young Lovell to continue his studies, with his friend to entertain, it is very probable that Hamilton’s presence would have the effect of distracting his mind to such an extent that I should be unable to keep him in the withdrawn state necessary for initiation.”
“Then Hamilton must go.”
“Just so, but the question is, how?”
“Destruction?” Vaughan passed his tongue over his lips, rolling his cheroot from one side to the other.
“I think not. It would mean an enormous expenditure of power, and the Outer Darkness is too close for that. It would be dangerous. Besides, we could hardly effect it without arousing Lovell’s suspicions.”
“Then we must drive him out.” There was a shade of disappointment in Vaughan’s tone.
“That is my opinion. But I wanted your confirmation, and now your help.”
“That is always at your service, Doctor.”
“I hope so. I don’t think we could frighten him away, do you?”
“Definitely not. It would only increase his resistance if we tried, and if we succeeded in truly alarming him he would take Lovell with him, willing or no.”
“Yes,” agreed the doctor, “I, too, am afraid of that. He must believe that by going away alone he is serving his friend’s interests.”
“Simple suggestion, then.”
“I doubt its efficacy in his case. For one untrained he has an abnormally strong will. It is a difficult problem, Simon.”
There was an interval of silence, during which they puffed away at their cheroots. Gaunt spoke again:
“I see nothing else for it. Direct attack upon Hamilton himself is impossible, under the circumstances. Lovell himself must go to him and ask him to leave.”
“He’ll never do that.”
“No, he’s far too courteous and hospitable to do it consciously.”
“But you must not hypnotize him, Doctor! It would destroy all the strength his will has gained during the past months. You cannot undo your work like that.”
“I don’t propose to, Simon. He is asleep now, I should imagine. We can easily find out. If so, I can withdraw his astral shell without touching the consciousness or harming the will.”
“I have never known it to be done, Doctor.”
“There are many things you do not know, my friend. This happens to be one of them. Now get your crystal.”
Obediently Vaughan heaved himself up and rummaged in a trunk until he found the fellow to the crystal Gaunt had used to summon him to Kestrel. He sat down again, placing it on the table between them. Gaunt carefully oriented the inscribed base of the crystal and, laying his arms on either side of it, took Vaughan’s hands in his. They both gazed into the faintly gleaming sphere.
Presently it began to glow with an interior light, and the doctor said in a low voice:
“Yes, Simon, he is asleep. Now join your will with mine. Nothing more. I will do the rest.”
The silence in the room grew deeper, and the crystal glowed more fiercely, until it seemed like a ball of liquid fire. Gaunt slowly turned his head, looking away from the sphere towards an empty corner of the room. Vaughan followed his eyes, and saw, against the bare stone wall, a shadow forming. Denser and denser it grew, until the stones in the wall were hidden, then suddenly it was the form of a man: the form of Tony Lovell. The phantasm was identical in every detail — even to the exotic pyjamas — with the figure which still lay sleeping in a room not far distant; but there was no mind behind the blue eyes blankly regarding them.
Used as he was to manifestations of the supernormal, Vaughan could not suppress a faint shudder, and the short hairs on his fat neck bristled. Gaunt spoke: