The Voice of Káli/Chapter 11

HAT now?” inquired Latham.

“Now,” Harley replied, “my great experiment begins; and I have no time to lose in commencing. Therefore, Latham, will you be good enough to seat yourself in the rest chair before the fireplace.”

“What?” said Latham, not comprehending.

“Just sit there for a moment, and do as I direct. That's all.”

“Right,” the other agreed, impressed by the urgency of Harley's manner.

He crossed to the chair, and sank down into its cushions.

“Now,” continued Harley, “look around. You can see the image of Káli quite plainly, can you not?”

“Yes, quite plainly.”

Harley grasped the heavy pedestal on which the strange figure rested and, moving it much nearer to the French windows, asked, “See it now?”

“Yes, I can still see it. But surely, Harley,” he protested, “you have done all this before?”

“No,” was the reply, “not this part!”

He moved the figure yet farther.

“Can you see it now?”

“No.”

“What obstructs your view?”

“The lacquer cabinet, at the foot of the stairs.”

“Good,” said Harley. “Operation No. 1 completed. Now we will leave the library for a moment, first turning all the lights out.”

“Right!” said Latham, smiling slightly. “This is all frightfully mysterious. But no doubt you know what you're about.”

Accordingly the two men left the library, extinguishing the lights from the switch inside the door.

“The room which has been placed at your disposal for tonight,” Harley inquired when they were in the corridor, “is right at the top of the house, is it not?”

“Yes, above Mrs. Moody's.”

“Good. I will see you to your room.”

With no further explanation to the puzzled Latham, Harley led the way upstairs and on the top landing halted, looking upward at a trap in the ceiling of the top corridor, which clearly gave access to the roof.

“Ah!” he muttered, whilst Latham watched him in silence. “There's probably a ladder somewhere for reaching that trap. I should have located it; it was careless of me.”

“What about the cupboard at the end there?” suggested Latham.

Harley nodded, went along to the cupboard, opened the door, and sure enough, in addition to a quantity of spare linen, there was a short ladder.

“Excellent, Latham,” he said, pulling it out. “We must not make too much noise. Now—” he placed the ladder against the wall under the trap—“the other two rooms on this corridor are at present unoccupied, I believe. Therefore, provided no one comes upstairs, we shall not be interrupted. You will mount guard during my absence. If anyone comes up—anyone, mind—it will be your job to invent some story to account for your presence and to induce the inquirer to return, without giving him, or her, an opportunity of seeing this ladder and the open trap. Do you understand?”

“Quite,” said Latham, entering into the spirit of the thing. “Count upon me absolutely.”

“Good!”

Harley nodded, mounted the ladder, and without very much difficulty, raised the wooden trap.

“Look out,” he said softly, as he did so. “I'm afraid I can't avoid a shower bath, but there's no reason why you should not dodge it.”

As he had anticipated, a stream of rain water fell upon the carpet as the trap was raised; but, not heeding this, Harley climbed through and disappeared onto the roof. Latham peered upward, but could see no stars, whereby he concluded that the night was black. Ominous rumblings sounded in the distance; from some quality in the atmosphere it was easy to predict that sooner or later, at some point not far from the Abbey, the electrical disturbance would culminate in a tremendous storm.

The object of Paul Harley's behavior, Latham was utterly unable to imagine. Neither his moving of the figure of Káli, nor his present excursion upon the roof, conveyed anything to Latham's mind. He could detect no association of ideas; but, recognizing that he did not know the root of the mystery, he wisely refrained from useless theorizing and, taking up his post at the head of the stairs, he patiently waited for Harley's return.

He had not long to wait. Harley was not gone more than two minutes. When he came back, however, and, lowering himself onto the top of the ladder, succeeded in replacing the trap and climbing down into the corridor, it was evident that the expedition had been successful, There was an almost fierce look in his gray eyes, but a grim smile upon his lips.

“Have you discovered something?” asked Latham.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“An utterly mysterious thing,” was the reply. “Its exact significance I can't grasp at present, but it confirms my theory. I have discovered another part of the murder machinery which has been installed here—of the machine of which poor Denby was the first victim. Tonight, I hope to unmask it all.”

He returned the ladder to the cupboard.

“Now,” he said, looking in dismay at the grime upon his hands, “we can proceed.”

“Where do you go?' asked Latham blankly.

“Downstairs again.”

“Good heavens! Do you really intend to return to the library alone?”

“Of course. Otherwise my entire plan would fail.”

“But, Harley,” suggested Latham, laying his hand upon his arm, “let me come with you. You may need me.”

Harley turned, looking into the other's face.

“I may need you, Latham, I admit,” he replied, “but unfortunately I cannot avail myself of your offer, much as I should like to. It is imperative that I should be alone in the library, tonight. Otherwise, the murder machine will not be set in motion and all my efforts will have been wasted.”

“I don't understand,” muttered Latham, “but I am beginning to realize that some awful peril overhangs this house. It seems to center in the library; and the idea of your submitting yourself to it, alone, is not a nice one to contemplate.”

“I have my reasons,” replied Harley quietly; “but many thanks all the same. Now, will you be good enough to post yourself at the end of the corridor leading to Mrs. Moody's room, where the ladies are.”

“Is that all my job of work?” asked Latham blankly.

“It is. I count upon you.”

They stared hard at one another for a moment in the dimly lighted passage, then Latham shrugged his shoulders.

“Right-o, Harley,” he said. “It's your pigeon, I admit. If I hear ructions, I shall be into the library like a shot.”

“Good enough,” smiled Harley.

And then, going down the stairs, he crossed the lobby below. Latham, listening intently, just detected the opening of the library door. Then absolute silence fell, only broken by the ticking of a grandfather's clock in the hall and, occasionally, by the remote, ominous rumbling without.

Paul Harley, on entering the library, did not turn up the lights, but, taking an electric torch from his pocket, flashed its ray rapidly about the room. He examined the lacquer cabinet and the recess behind it. All the shadowy corners he investigated. He opened the conservatory door and peered along the aisle between the palms he reclosed the door, but did not lock it. Whereupon he moved softly from point to point in the big room, peering into the wall cases and examining the fastenings of the French windows.

Then, creeping quietly to the door communicating with the lobby, he opened it once more and stood there, listening intently. He could hear no sound other than the ticking of the big clock; seemingly satisfied, he reclosed the door as quietly as he had opened it and stood in the library, endeavoring to become accustomed to the darkness.

He became aware of a sudden inward chill. The sixth sense was speaking to him urgently, telling him what his reason had already told him, that now, in the blackness of that room, he was about to come to close grips with the thing known and dreaded throughout the East as the Voice of Káli, the indescribable sound to which men listened—and died.

It was a situation which few could have handled with confidence; but courage is of many colors and the training of Paul Harley had been an unusual one.

Almost silently, he crossed the long room from end to end. The big, deep armchair creaked slightly as he seated himself in it. Then the light of the electric torch shone out from the depths of the chair, touching the framed photograph in the recess of the overmantel. A moment it glittered there. To the accompaniment of a faint click the ray disappeared. Utter darkness fell.

There were some moments of absolute silence. Then, heralded by several isolated drops, a perfect deluge of rain began to fall, bounding from the paved terrace upon the glass of the French windows, creating a sort of regular drumming sound, which continued unremittently for a minute or more, then ceased as suddenly as it had begun.

A vivid flash of lightning weirdly illuminated the room. For an instant, every detail of the library was clearly visible, making the ensuing darkness seem greater than ever. Came a crash of thunder which vibrated through the house, which rolled and rolled, then died away in the distant echoes. Perfect silence reigned again, except for a faint and regular sound, so gentle as almost to be inaudible. It was a sound as of a person breathing somewhere in the library.