Grey Face/Chapter 27

IR PROVOST HOPE, his solitary dinner concluded, lighted a cigar and rang a bell which meant coffee in the library. He walked across the lobby and seated himself in the cosy, book-lined room.

Upon the table at his elbow were a number of newly arrived scientific journals and an unopened parcel of books from America. Sir Provost settled himself in the well-worn leather armchair as Ford entered with coffee.

"Shall I pour out the curaçao, sir?" Ford enquired.

"No," Sir Provost replied. "I can help myself if I feel like it. What have you there. Ford?"

Ford handed him a card, and:

"The gentleman has just arrived, sir," he explained. "I informed him that you would see no one, but he smiled in a way that told me he must be a friend of yours."

Sir Provost held the card nearer to the lamp upon the table beside him and read, "Hermon el Bâhari." A wrinkle of perplexity showed between his brows.

"But I don't know Mr. el Bâhari," he replied. "At least, his name is unfamiliar to me. What does he look like?"

"I'm sorry," said Ford, for he prided himself upon his instinct for unwelcome visitors. "He's an Eastern gentleman, sir—I mean, he wears evening dress but he's brown, with a red cap on his head."

"You mean a fez?" Sir Provost suggested.

Ford nodded.

"That's it, sir."

Sir Provost continued to look puzzled, until:

"Oh! I am sorry!" Ford added, and began to fumble on the tray; then:

"He asked me to give you this as well, sir!"

And Ford extended a tiny gold amulet. Sir Provost's expression altered strangely. He laid the card upon the table beside him.

"Ask Mr. el Bâhari to come in, Ford," he said. "You were quite right; he is a friend of mine, but I had forgotten his name."

A moment later a tall Egyptian came into the library, a man slenderly and delicately built wearing correct evening dress save for his scarlet tarbush. Just within the doorway he paused, regarding Sir Provost; and the gaze of his long, liquid dark eyes was indescribably compassionate, a look of gentle power which seemed to penetrate the flesh and see the soul.

Sir Provost rose, extending his hand. His expression was one almost of incredulity.

"Hermon el Bâhari?"

The latter inclined his head, came forward and took the outstretched hand in a peculiar grasp. The glances of the two men met. Then, as their grip relaxed, the Egyptian raised his right index finger. Upon it was a ring bearing a device resembling the head of a snake.

"You had not been told of my visit to London?" he said.

"No," Sir Provost replied; "but I believe I know what has made it necessary. Will you sit here?"

One who had known him well might have detected in his voice intense but repressed excitement. To the ordinary observer he must have appeared unmoved. As Hermon el Bâhari seated himself in a chair facing the famous psychic specialist the latter, who was watching his visitor fascinatedly, spoke again.

"I had never hoped to meet you in this life," he declared. "Having gone as far as I have gone, I had planned in the near future to revisit Egypt, and although I should have naturally made for Thebes, I should not have ventured"

His visitor interrupted him with a gentle smile and with a graceful gesture.

"As it happens, it is I who seek you," he said. "What does it matter? We are brothers in the same cause. We study not for gain but for the betterment of mankind. Grades of knowledge there must be, but other distinctions"—he waved his hand again—"there are none among ourselves. I come to you as the most advanced member of our brotherhood in London."

Sir Provost bowed gravely.

"But not for this reason only, but because upon you a duty devolves."

Sir Provost lay back in his chair, his coffee forgotten, watching the speaker.

"The knowledge which study has amassed through the ages," the latter continued, "the things which are good and which have been disseminated, and the things which are evil but powerful, and which have been concealed, we know of, you and I."

"Of some of them," Sir Provost corrected, regarding the other almost with veneration. "I shall never know all."

"It is true," Hermon el Bâhari acknowledged. "Far as you have gone, you are not fit to know all; yet one unfit to know anything has grasped, and is wielding, powers which I dare not employ. It is this which I am here to tell you. I must be brief, for my time is short. You understand the series of seven cycles and why the span of incarnation is so strictly limited. You appreciate that a certain type of mentality, given properly directed study over a period exceeding that which is lawful, might acquire powers not meant to be wielded by any but the adept. This, then, has happened. There is, here in London, a man of superior intellect who has defied those laws which normally protect humanity from such phenomena. His studies have gone so far that he has even acquired one of the nine ultimate mysteries guarded by the group called 'She who loveth silence'!"

Sir Provost watched him intently. He did not seem to find cause for surprise in the speaker's command of English and in his entire absence of accent.

"Something of the truth you have learned," Hermon el Bâhari continued, "for you have sent your daughter away from what you believed to be the zone of danger."

Sir Provost started but did not speak.

"You were wise, but not sufficiently watchful. The thing you feared might have come to pass, but a power beyond even the highest human control intervened mercifully. Your daughter will return from Surrey to-night. From her you may learn many things. Almost, my journey was unnecessary, for already I have been shown the end ordained to the evil dreams of this man who would defy God. He has been twice warned, and twice has rejected the warning. I came to recover that which he had stolen, but this is not to be. Guard yourself. He is about to receive the third and last warning. I am leaving these papers with you. Our enemy in due course will learn that the power for his destruction is vested in you. I do not fear for the result. That which was lost can never be regained; but we are resigned to its destruction."

Long after the departure of his extraordinary visitor Sir Provost sat alone in the library. He had that night set eyes upon one whom he had never hoped or expected to see. He had been charged with a duty, a terrible duty, with a responsibility greater than any he had ever known.

His cigar, forgotten, lay in an ash tray beside him, his coffee had grown cold. When more than half an hour had elapsed, he rang the bell and Ford appeared.

"Can you get me some more coffee. Ford?" Sir Provost asked.

"Certainly, sir."

Ford allowed himself one curious glance at his master, and then, placing the bottle of curaçao and a liqueur glass upon the table, he removed the coffee pot.

Nearly five minutes had elapsed, but Sir Provost had apparently not moved when the butler returned, bringing hot coffee. As he was about to go:

"You need not wait up. Ford," said Sir Provost, "but Miss Jasmine will be returning to-night. You had better tell Mrs. Edwards and Clarice."

Ford bowed.

"At about what time shall I say she will be returning, Sir Provost?"

"I am afraid I can't tell you," was the reply. "It may be very late, even after midnight, but I wish everything to be prepared for her."

"Very good, sir."

Ford retired. As he did so, Sir Provost poured out a cup of coffee, and taking a fresh cigar from the box, lighted it, and crossed to a locked bureau. This he opened, and returning, took up a large sealed package which lay on the table and which had been left there by Hermon el Bâhari.

He stared at it silently for a while, then placed it in a little compartment beside a number of other documents and relocked the bureau. He returned to his chair and began to sip his coffee, glancing at the clock expectantly. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind.

Finally he stood up, and going out to the telephone, asked for a Reigate number—the number of Low Ketley.

Without much delay he was put through and presently found himself speaking to his sister. Checking her excited flow of words as gently as possible:

"I know all this," he said. "When did Jasmine leave, dear?"

"But how can you possibly know? Did you ask her to come back?"

"Not at all. I only learned of it to-night."

"She left with Mr. Carey in his car at nine o'clock."