“And this is an extraordinary object, even among silver swords,” Pursuivant went on. “A priest gave it to me, with his blessing, when I did a certain thing to help him and his parish against an enemy not recognized by the common law of today. He assured me that the blade was fashioned by Saint Dunstan himself.”
“A saint make a silver weapon!” I ejaculated incredulously.
Pursuivant smiled, exactly as though we had not lately feared and fought for our lives and souls. His manner was that of a kindly teacher with a dull but willing pupil.
“Saint Dunstan is not as legendary or as feeble as his name sounds. As a matter of fact, he flourished heartily in the Tenth Century—not long before the very real Norman Conquest. He was the stout son of a Saxon noble, studied magic and metalworking, and was a political power in England as well as a spiritual one.”
“Didn’t he tweak Satan’s nose?” I inquired.
“So the old poem tells, and so the famous painting illustrates,” agreed Pursuivant, his smile growing broader. “Dunstan was, in short, exactly the kind of holy man who would make a sword to serve against demons. Do you blame me for being confident in his work?”
“Look here, Judge,” said Jake, “what were those things that jumped us up?”
“That takes answering.” Pursuivant had fished a handkerchief from a side pocket and was carefully wiping the silver skewer. “In the first place, they are extraterrestrial—supernatural—and in the second, they are noisomely evil. We need no more evidence on those points. As for the rest, I have a theory of a sort, based on wide studies.”
“What is it, sir?” I seconded Jake. Once again the solid assurance of the judge was comforting me tremendously.
He pursed his lips. “I’ve given the subject plenty of thought ever since you, Connatt, told me the experience of your friend here. There are several accounts and considerations of similar phenomena. Among ancient occultists was talk of elementary spirits—things supernormal and sometimes invisible, of subhuman intelligence and personality and not to be confused with spirits of the dead. A more modern word is ‘elemental,’ used by several cults. The things are supposed to exert influences of various kinds, upon various localities and people.
“Again, we have the poltergeist, a phenomenon that is coming in for lively investigation by various psychical scholars of today. I can refer you to the definitions of Carrington, Podmore and Lewis Spence—their books are in nearly every large library—but you’ll find that the definitions and possible explanations vary. The most familiar manifestation of this strange but undeniable power is in the seeming mischief that it performs in various houses—the knocking over of furniture, the smashing of mirrors, the setting of mysterious fires—”
“I know about that thing,” said Jake excitedly. “There was a house over in Brooklyn that had mysterious fires and stuff.”
“And I’ve read Charles Fort’s books—Wild Talents and the rest,” I supplemented. “He tells about such happenings. But see here, isn’t the thing generally traced to some child who was playing tricks?”
Pursuivant, still furbishing his silver blade, shook his head. “Mr. Hereward Carrington, the head of the American Psychical Institute, has made a list of more than three hundred notable cases. Only twenty or so were proven fraudulent, and another twenty doubtful. That leaves approximately seven-eighths unexplained—unless you consider supernormal agency an explanation. It is true that children are often in the vicinity of the phenomena, and some investigators explain this by saying that the poltergeist is attracted or set in motion by some spiritual current from the growing personality of the child.”
“Where’s the child around here?” demanded Jake. “He must be a mighty bad boy. Better someone should take a stick to him.”
“There is no child,” answered the judge. “The summoning power is neither immature nor unconscious, but old, wicked and deliberate. Have you ever heard of witches’ familiars?”
“I have,” I said. “Black cats and toads, with demon spirits.”
“Yes. Also grotesque or amorphous shapes—similar, perhaps, to what we encountered tonight—or disembodied voices and hands. Now we are getting down to our own case. The non-shapes—thanks again, Connatt, for the expression—are here as part of a great evil. Perhaps they came of themselves, spiritual vultures or jackals, waiting to share in the prey. Or they may be recognized servants of a vast and dreadful activity for wrong. In any case they are here, definite and dangerous.”
Again I felt my nerve deserting me. “Judge Pursuivant,” I pleaded, “we must get Miss Holgar out of here.”
“No. You and I talked that out this afternoon. The problem cannot be solved except at its climax.”
He rose to his feet. The fire was dying.
“I suggest that you go to your quarters. Apparently you’re safe indoors, and just now the moon’s out from behind the clouds. Keep your eyes open, and stay in the clear. The things won’t venture into the moonlight unless they feel sure of you. Anyway, I think they’re waiting for something else.”
“How about you?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ll do splendidly.” He held up the sword of Saint Dunstan. “I’ll carry this naked in my hand as I go.”
We said good night all around, rather casually, like late sitters leaving their club. Pursuivant turned and walked along the road. Jake and I descended gingerly to the yard of the lodge, hurried across it, and gained our boathouse safely.
XII
Return Engagement
One of the most extraordinary features of the entire happening was that it had so little immediate consequence.
Judge Pursuivant reached his cabin safely, and came to visit us again and again, but never remained after dark. If Varduk knew of the attack by the non-shapes, and if he felt surprise or chagrin that Pursuivant had escaped, he did not betray it. By silent and common consent, Jake and I forbore to discuss the matter between ourselves, even when we knew that we were alone.
Meanwhile, the moon waned and waxed again while we rehearsed our play and between
