“Right, sir.”
“It’s when attacked, or even frightened, as with a camera flashlight, that the ectoplasm vanishes or is reabsorbed?” he prompted further.
“So Richet says here,” I agreed once more, “and so I have found.”
“Very good. Now,” and his manner took on a flavor of the legal, “I shall sum up:
“Ectoplasm is put forth by certain spirit mediums, who are mysteriously adapted for it, under favorable conditions that include darkness, quiet, self-confidence. It takes form, altering the appearance of the medium or making up a separate body. It is firm and strong, but vanishes when attacked or frightened. Right so far, eh?”
“Right,” I approved.
“Now, for the word ‘medium’ substitute ‘wizard.’ ” His grin burst out again, and he began to mix a third round of drinks. “A wizard, having darkness and quiet and being disposed to change shape, exudes a material that gives him a new shape and character. Maybe it is bestial, to match a fierce or desperate spirit within. There may be a shaggy pelt, a sharp muzzle, taloned paws and rending fangs. To a terrified victim he is doom itself. But to a brave adversary, facing and fighting him—”
He flipped his way through Summers’ book, as I had with Richet’s. “Listen: ‘… the shape of the werewolf will be removed if he be reproached by name as a werewolf, or if again he be thrice addressed by his Christian name, or struck three blows on the forehead with a knife, or that three drops of blood should be drawn.’ Do you see the parallels, man? Shouted at, bravely denounced, or slightly wounded, his false beast-substance fades from him.” He flung out his hands, as though appealing to a jury. “I marvel nobody ever thought of it before.”
“But nothing so contrary to nature has a natural explanation,” I objected, and very idiotic the phrase sounded in my own ears.
He laughed, and I could not blame him. “I’ll confound you with another of your own recent experiences. What could seem more contrary to nature than the warmth and greenness of the inside of Devil’s Croft? And what is more simply natural than the hot springs that make it possible?”
“Yet, an envelope of bestiality, beast-muzzle on human face, beast-paws on human hands—”
“I can support that by more werewolf-lore. I don’t even have to open Summers, everyone has heard the story. A wolf attacks a traveler, who with his sword lops off a paw. The beast howls and flees, and the paw it leaves behind is a human hand.”
“That’s an old one, in every language.”
“Probably because it happened so often. There’s your human hand, with the beast-paw forming upon and around it, then vanishing like wounded ectoplasm. Where’s the weak point, Wills? Name it, I challenge you.”
I felt the glass shake in my hand, and a chilly wind brushed my spine. “There’s one point,” I made myself say. “You may think it a slender one, even a quibble. But ectoplasms make human forms, not animal.”
“How do you know they don’t make animal forms?” Judge Pursuivant crowed, leaning forward across the deck. “Because, of the few you’ve seen and disbelieved, only human faces and bodies showed? My reply is there in your hands. Open Richet’s book to page 545, Mr. Wills. Page 545 … got it? Now, the passage I marked, about the medium Burgik. Read it aloud.”
He sank back into his chair once more, waiting in manifest delight. I found the place, underscored with pencil, and my voice was hoarse as I obediently read:
“ ‘My trouser leg was strongly pulled and a strange, ill-defined form that seemed to have paws like those of a dog or small monkey climbed on my knee. I could feel its weight, very light, and something like the muzzle of an animal touched my cheek.’ ”
“There you are, Wills,” Judge Pursuivant was crying. “Notice that it happened in Warsaw, close to the heart of the werewolf country. Hmmm, reading that passage made you sweat a bit—remembering what you saw in the Devil’s Croft, eh?”
I flung down the book.
“You’ve done much toward convincing me,” I admitted. “I’d rather have the superstitious peasant’s belief, though, the one I’ve always scoffed at.”
“Rationalizing the business didn’t help, then? It did when I explained the Devil’s Croft and the springs.”
“But the springs don’t chase you with sharp teeth. And, as I was saying, the peasant had a protection that the scientist lacks—trust in his crucifix and his Bible.”
“Why shouldn’t he have that trust, and why shouldn’t you?” Again the judge was rummaging in his bookcase. “Those symbols of faith gave him what is needed, a strong heart to drive back the menace, whether it be wolf-demon or ectoplasmic bogy. Here, my friend.”
He laid a third book on the desk. It was a Bible, red-edged and leather-backed, worn from much use.
“Have a read at that while you finish your drink,” he advised me. “The Gospel According to St. John is good, and it’s already marked. Play you’re a peasant, hunting for comfort.”
Like a dutiful child I opened the Bible to where a faded purple ribbon lay between the pages. But already Judge Pursuivant was quoting from memory:
“ ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. …’ ”
X
“Blood-Lust and Compassion.”
It may seem incredible that later in the night I slept like a dead pig; yet I had reason.
First of all there was the weariness that had followed my dangers and exertions; then Judge Pursuivant’s whisky and logic combined to reassure me; finally, the leather couch in his study, its surface comfortably hollowed by much reclining thereon, was a sedative in itself. He gave me two quilts, very warm and very light, and left me alone. I did not stir until a rattle of breakfast dishes awakened me.
William, the
