Davidson shuddered violently, and so, despite the warm June air, did I. Pursuivant seemed a shade less pink.
“Here, I’ve talked too much,” Davidson said, with an air of embarrassment. “Probably it’s because I’ve wanted to tell this story—over a space of years. No point in holding back the end, but I’d greatly appreciate your promise—both your promises—that you’ll not pass the tale on.”
We both gave our words, and urged him to continue. He did so.
“I had barely got to my own digs when there was a frightful row outside, shouts and scamperings and screamings; yes, screamings, of young men scared out of their wits. I jumped up and hurried downstairs and out. There lay Schaefer on the pavement in front of the dormitory. He was dead, with the brightest red blood all over him. About twenty witnesses, more or less, had seen him as he jumped out of Varduk’s window.
“The faculty and the police came, and Varduk spent hours with them, being questioned. But he told them something satisfactory, for he was let go and never charged with any responsibility.
“Late that night, as I sat alone at my desk trying to drive from my mind’s eye the bright, bright red of Schaefer’s blood, a gentle knock sounded at my door. I got up and opened. There stood Varduk, and he held in his hands that black volume. I saw the dark red edging on its pages, the color of blood three hours old.
“ ‘I wondered,’ he said in his soft voice, ‘if you’d like to see the thing in my book that made your friend Schaefer so anxious to leave my room.’
“I assured him that I did not. He smiled and came in, all uninvited.
“Then he spoke, briefly but very clearly, about certain things he hoped to do, and about how he needed a helper. He said that I might be that helper. I made no reply, but he knew that I would not refuse.
“He ordered me to kneel, and I did. Then he showed me how to put my hands together and set them between his palms. The oath I took was the medieval oath of vassalage. And I have kept my oath from that day to this.”
Davidson abruptly strode back along the way to the lodge. He stopped at half a dozen paces’ distance.
“Maybe I’d better get along,” he suggested. “You two may want to think and talk about what I have said, and my advice not to get in Varduk’s way.”
With that he resumed his departure, and went out of sight without once looking back again.
X
That Evening
Judge Pursuivant and I remained sitting on the roadside bank until Davidson had completely vanished around a tree-clustered bend of the way. Then my companion lifted a heavy walking-boot and tapped the dottle from his pipe against the thick sole.
“How did that cheerful little story impress you?” he inquired.
I shook my head dubiously. My mustache prickled on my upper lip, like the mane of a nervous dog. “If it was true,” I said slowly, “how did Davidson dare tell it?”
“Probably because he was ordered to.”
I must have stared foolishly. “You think that—”
Pursuivant nodded. “My knowledge of underworld argot is rather limited, but I believe that the correct phrase is ‘lay off.’ We’re being told to do that, and in a highly interesting manner. As to whether or not the story is true, I’m greatly inclined to believe that it is.”
I drew another cigarette from my package, and my hand trembled despite itself. “Then the man is dangerous—Varduk, I mean. What is he trying to do to Sigrid?”
“That is what perplexes me. Once, according to your little friend Jake Switz, he defended her from some mysterious but dangerous beings. His behavior argues that he isn’t the only power to consider.”
The judge held a match for my cigarette. His hand was steady, and its steadiness comforted me.
“Now then,” I said, “to prevent—whatever is being done.”
“That’s what we’d better talk about.” Pursuivant took his stick and rose to his feet. “Let’s get on with our walk, and make sure this time that nobody overhears us.”
We began to saunter, while he continued, slowly and soberly:
“You feel that it is Miss Holgar who is threatened. That’s no more than guesswork on your part, supplemented by the natural anxiety of a devoted admirer—if you’ll pardon my mentioning that—but you are probably right. Varduk seems to have exerted all his ingenuity and charm to induce her to take a part in this play, and at this place. The rest of you he had gathered more carelessly. It is reasonably safe to say that whatever happens will happen to Miss Holgar.”
“But what will happen?” I urged, feeling very depressed.
“That we do not know as yet,” I began to speak again, but he lifted a hand. “Please let me finish. Perhaps you think that we should do what we can to call off the play, get Miss Holgar out of here. But I reply, having given the matter deep thought, that such a thing is not desirable.”
“Not desirable?” I echoed, my voice rising in startled surprise. “You mean, she must stay here? In heaven’s name, why?”
“Because evil is bound to occur. To spirit her away will be only a retreat. The situation must be allowed to develop—then we can achieve victory. Why, Connatt,” he went on warmly, “can you not see that the whole atmosphere is charged with active and supernormal perils? Don’t you know that such a chance, for meeting and defeating the power of wickedness, seldom arises? What can you think of when you want to run away?”
“I’m not thinking of myself, sir,” I told him. “It’s Sigrid. Miss Holgar.”
“Handsomely put. All right, then; when you go back to the lodge, tell her what we’ve said and suggest that she leave.”
I shook my head, more hopelessly than before. “You know that she wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“Just so. Nobody will take seriously the things we are
