“I was so eager for someone to go there,” he confessed before he left London. “I was so eager for something to happen. And of course I felt I couldn’t go. And so I thought, well, maybe that strange young Texan will crack through that wall.”
Langtry was nearing seventy-four years of age at this time, a tall, gaunt man with iron gray hair, a rectangular face, and sunken eyes. He had an extremely pleasant speaking voice and meticulous manners. He had the usual minor infirmities of old age, but, all things considered, he was in good health.
He had seen “everything” during his years of service. He was a powerful psychic or medium; and he was absolutely fearless when it came to any manifestation of the supernatural. But he was never rash or careless. He never underestimated any sort of phenomena. He was, as his own investigations show, extremely confident and extremely strong.
As soon as he heard of Stuart’s disappearance, he became convinced that Stuart was dead. Quickly rereading the Mayfair material, he saw the error which the order had made.
He arrived in New Orleans on August 28, 1929, at once registering at the St. Charles Hotel and dispatching a letter home as Stuart had done. He gave his name, address, and London phone number to several people at the hotel desk so that there could be no question later that he had been there. He made a long distance call to the Motherhouse from his room, reporting the room number and several other particulars about his arrival.
Then he met with one of our investigators-the most competent of the private detectives-in the hotel bar, charging all of the drinks to the room.
He confirmed for himself everything that the order had already been told. He was also informed that Stella was no longer cooperating with the investigation, such as it was. Insisting that she didn’t know anything and couldn’t help anyone, she had at last become impatient and refused to talk to the investigators anymore.
“As I said good-bye to this gentleman,” he wrote in his report, “I knew for certain that I was being watched. It was no more than a feeling, yet it was a profound one. And I sensed that it was connected to Stuart’s disappearance, though I myself had made no inquiry regarding Stuart of any person at the hotel.
“At this point I was sorely tempted to roam the premises, seeking to detect some latent indication of Stuart’s having been in this or that room. But I was also deeply convinced that Stuart had not met with foul play in this hotel. On the contrary, the people who were watching me, indeed, taking note of my movements and what I did, were doing so only because someone had paid them to do it. I decided to contact Stella Mayfair at once.”
Langtry rang Stella from his room. Though it was past four o’clock, she had obviously only just awakened when she answered her private phone. Only reluctantly did she allow the subject to be reopened. And it soon became obvious that she was genuinely upset.
“Look, I don’t know what happened to him!” she said, and again began to cry. “I liked him. I really did. He was such a strange man. We went to bed, you know.”
Langtry couldn’t think of a thing to say to such a frank admission. Even her disembodied voice proved somewhat charming. And he was convinced that her tears were real.
“Well, we did,” she continued, undaunted. “I took him to some awful little place in the Quarter. I told the police about it. Anyway, I liked him, very very much! I told him not to come around this family. I told him! He had the most peculiar ideas about things. He didn’t know anything. I told him to go away. Maybe he did go away. That is what I thought happened, you know, that he simply took my advice and went away.”
Langtry implored her to help him discover what had happened. He explained that he was a colleague of Townsend’s, that they had known each other very well.
“Colleague? You mean you’re part of that group.”
“Yes, if you mean the Talamasca … ”
“Shhh, listen to me. Whoever you are, you can come on up here if you like. But do it tomorrow night. I’m giving a party, you see. You can just well, sort of blend in. If anyone asks you who you are, which they probably won’t, just say Stella invited you. Ask to speak to me. But for God’s sakes don’t say anything about Townsend and don’t say the name of your … whatever you call it … ”
“Talamasca … ”
“Yes! Now please listen to what I’m saying. There’ll be hundreds of people there, white tie to rags, you know, and do be discreet. Just come up to me, and when you kiss me, whisper your name in my ear. What is it again?”
“Langtry. Arthur.”
“Hmmmm. Unhuh. Right. That’s simple enough to remember, isn’t it? Now, do be careful. I can’t stay on any longer. You will come, won’t you? Look, you must come!”
Langtry averred that nothing could keep him away. He asked her if she remembered the photograph on which she’d written “To the Talamasca, with love, Stella! P.S. There are others who watch, too.”
“Of course I remember it. Look, I can’t talk to you about this right now. It was years and years ago, when I wrote that note. My mother was alive then. Look, you can’t imagine how bad things are for me now. I’ve never been in a worse jam. And I don’t know what happened to Stuart, really I don’t. Look, will you please come tomorrow night?”
“Yes, I shall,” said Langtry, struggling silently to determine whether or not he was being lured into some sort of trap. “But why must we be so circumspect about the whole arrangement, I don’t … ”
“Darling, look,” she said, dropping her voice, “it’s all very nice about your organization, and your library and all your marvelous psychic investigations. But don’t be a perfect fool. Ours is not a world of seances and mediums and dead relatives telling you to look between the pages of the Bible for the deed to the property on Eighth Street or whatever. As for the voodoo nonsense, that was a perfect scream. And by the way, we do not have any Scottish ancestors. We were all French. My Uncle Julien made up something about a Scottish castle he bought when he went to Europe. So do forget about all that, if you please. But there are things I can tell you! That’s just the point. Look, come early. Come around eight o’clock, will you? But whatever you do, don’t be the first one to arrive. Now, I’ve got to get off, you really cannot imagine how dreadful everything is just now. I’ll tell you frankly. I never asked to be born into this mad family! Really! There are three hundred people invited tomorrow night, and I haven’t a single friend in the world.”
She rang off.
Langtry, who had taken down the entire conversation in shorthand, immediately copied it out in longhand, with a carbon, and posted one copy to London, going directly to the post office to do it, for he no longer trusted the situation at the hotel.
Then he went to rent a tailcoat and boiled shirt for the party the following night.
“I am thoroughly confused,” he had written in his letter. “I had been certain she had a hand in getting rid of poor Stuart. Now I don’t know what to think. She wasn’t lying to me, I am sure of it. But why is she frightened? Of course I cannot make an intelligent appraisal of her until I see her.”
Late that afternoon, he called Irwin Dandrich, the socialite spy for hire, and asked him to have dinner at a fashionable French Quarter restaurant blocks from the hotel.
Though Dandrich had nothing to say about Townsend’s disappearance, he appeared to enjoy the meal thoroughly, gossiping nonstop about Stella. People said Stella was burning out.
“You can’t drink a fifth of French brandy every day of your life and live forever,” said Dandrich with weary, mocking gestures, as if to suggest the subject bored him, when in fact, he loved it. “And the affair with Pierce is outrageous. Why, the boy is scarcely eighteen. It really is so perfectly stupid of Stella to do this. Why, Cortland was her chief ally against Carlotta, and now she’s gone and seduced Cortland’s favorite son! I don’t think Barclay or Garland much approves of the situation either. And God only knows how Lionel stands it. Lionel is a monomaniac and the name of his monomania is Stella, of course.”
Was Dandrich going to the party?
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything in this world. Bound to be some interesting pyrotechnics. Stella’s forbidden Carlotta to take Antha out of the house during these affairs. Carlotta is simmering. Threatening to call the police if the rowdies get out of hand.”
“What is Carlotta like?” asked Langtry.
“She’s Mary Beth with vinegar in her veins instead of vintage wine. She’s brilliant but she has no imagination. She’s rich but there’s nothing she wants. She’s endlessly practical and meticulous and hardworking, and an absolutely insufferable bore. Of course she does take care of absolutely everything. Millie Dear, Belle, little Nancy, and Antha. And they have a couple of old servants up there who don’t know who they are or what they’re doing
