VI
Lavington gave the girl a keen scrutiny as he acknowledged Jacks hurried
introductions. With a few reassuring words, he soon put the girl at her ease, and he, in his
turn, listened attentively to her story.
“Very curious,” he said, when she had finished. “You have told your father of this?”
Felise shook her head.
“I have not liked to worry him. He is very ill still” – her eyes filled with tears – “I keep
from him anything that might excite or agitate him.”
“I understand,” said Lavington kindly. “And I am glad you came to us, Mademoiselle
Marchaud. Hartington here, as you know, had an experience something similar to yours. I
think I may say that we are well on the track now. There is nothing else that you can think
of?”
Felise gave a quick movement.
“Of course! How stupid I am. It is the point of the whole story. Look, Monsieur, at
what I found at the back of one of the cupboards where it had slipped behind the shelf.”
She held out to them a dirty piece of drawing-paper on which was made in water
colours a sketch of a woman. It was a mere sketch, but the likeness was probably good
enough. She was standing by a table on which was standing a blue china jar.
“I only found it this morning,” explained Felise. Monsieur le docteur, that is the face
of the woman I saw in my dream, and that is the identical blue jar.”
“Extraordinary,” commented Lavington. “The key to the mystery is evidently the blue
jar. It looks like a Chinese jar to me, probably an old one. It seems to have a curious raised
pattern over it.”
“It is Chinese,” declared Jack. “I have seen an exactly similar one in my uncles
collection – he is a great collector of Chinese porcelain, you know, and I remember noticing a
jar just like this a short time ago.”
“The Chinese jar,” mused Lavington. He remained a minute or two lost in thought,
then raised his head suddenly, a curious light shining in his eyes.” Hartington, how long has
your uncle had that jar?”
“How long? I really don’t know.”
“Think. Did he buy it lately?”
“I don’t know – yes, I believe he did.”
“Less than two months ago? The Turners left Heather Cottage just two months ago.”
“Yes, I believe it was.”
“Your uncle attends country sales sometimes?”
“He always goes to sales.”
“Then there is a probability that he bought this particular piece of porcelain at the sale
of the Turners’ things. A curious coincidence. Hartington, you must find out from your uncle
at once where he bought this jar.” Jacks face fell.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Uncle George is away on the Continent. I don’t even
know where to write to him.”
“How long will he be away?”
“Three weeks to a month at least.” There was a silence. Felise sat looking anxiously
from one man to the other.
“Is there nothing that we can do?” she asked.
“Yes, there is one thing,” said Lavington. “It is unusual, perhaps, but I believe that it
will succeed. Hartington, you must get hold of that jar. Bring it down here, and, if
Mademoiselle permits, we will spend a night in Heather Cottage, taking the blue jar with us.”
“What do you think will happen?” Jack asked uneasily.
~ 102 ~
“I have not the slightest idea – but I honestly believe that the mystery will be solved.”
Felise clasped her hands. “It is a wonderful idea,” she exclaimed.
Her eyes were alight with enthusiasm. Jack did not feel nearly so enthusiastic – in fact,
he was afraid of it, but nothing would have forced him to admit the fact before Felise. The
doctor acted as though his suggestion were the most natural one in the world.
“When can you get the jar?” asked Felise, turning to Jack.
“To-morrow,” said the latter, unwillingly. Re went to his uncles house the following
evening and took away the jar in question. He was more than ever convinced when he saw it
again that it was the identical one pictured in the water colour sketch.
It was eleven o’clock when he and Lavington arrived at Heather Cottage. Felise was on the
look-out for them, and opened the door softly before they had time to knock.
“Come in,” she whispered. “My father is asleep upstairs, and we must not wake him. I have
made coffee for you in here.”
She led the way into a small cosy sitting-room. Jack unwrapped the Chinese jar. Felise
gasped as her eyes fell on it.
“But yes, but yes,” she cried eagerly. “That is it – I would know it anywhere.”
Meanwhile Lavington was making his own preparations. He removed all the things from a
small table and set it in the middle of the room. Round it he placed three chairs. Then, taking
the blue jar from Jack, he placed it in the centre of the table.
“Now,” he said, “we are ready. Turn off the lights, and let us sit round the table in the
darkness.”
The others obeyed him. Lavington’s voice spoke again out to the darkness.
“Think of nothing – or of everything. Do not force the mind. It is possible that one of
us has mediumistic powers. If so, that person will go into a trance. Remember, there is
nothing to fear. Cast out fear from your hearts, and drift-drift - .” It was not fear that Jack felt
– it was panic. And he was almost certain that Felise felt the same way. Suddenly he heard her
voice, low and terrified.
“Something terrible is going to happen. I feel it.”
“Cast out fear,” said Lavington.” Do not fight against the influence.” The darkness
seemed to get darker and the silence more acute. And nearer and nearer came that indefinable
sense of menace.
Jack felt himself choking – stifling – the evil thing was very near.
And then the moment of conflict passed. He was drifting, drifting down stream – his lids
closed – peace – darkness…
VII
Jack stirred slightly—. His head was heavy – heavy as lead. Where was he?
Sunshine … birds … He lay staring up at the sky.
Then it all came back to him. The little sitting-room. Felise and the doctor. What had
happened?
He sat up and looked round him. He was lying not far from the cottage. No one else
was near him. He took out his watch. To his surprise it registered half past twelve.
Jack struggled to his feet, and ran as fast as he could in the direction of the cottage. They must
have been alarmed by his failure to come out of the trance, and carried him out into the open
air.
Arrived at the cottage, he knocked loudly on the door. But there was no answer, and no signs
of life about it. They must have gone off to get help. Or else – Jack felt an indefinable fear
invade him. What had happened last night?
He made his way back to the hotel as quickly as possible. He was about to make some
inquiries at the office, when he got a colossal punch in the ribs which nearly knocked him off
his feet. Turning in some indignation, he saw a white-haired old gentleman merrily laughing.
“Didn’t expect me, my boy. Didn’t expect me, hey?” said this individual.
~ 103 ~
“Why, Uncle George, I thought you were miles away – it Italy somewhere.”
“Ah! but I wasn’t. Landed at Dover last night. Thought Id motor up to town and stop
here to see you on the way. And what did I find. Out all night, hey Nice goings on” “ Uncle
George,” Jack checked him firmly.” I’ve got the most extraordinary story to tell you. I dare
say you won’t believe it.”
“I dare say I shan’t,” laughed the old man. But do your best, my boy.
“But I must have something to eat,” continued Jack. I’m hungry. He led the way to the
dining-room, and over a substantial meal, he told the whole story.
“And
God
knows
what’s
become
of
them,”
he
ended.
His uncle seemed on the verge of apoplexy.
“The jar, “he managed to cry out at last. “THE BLUE JAR!” What’s become of that?
Jack stared at him without understanding, but under the torrent of words that followed he
began to-understand.
It came with a rush: “Worth ten thousand pounds at least – offer from Hoggenheimer,
the American millionaire – only one of its kind in the world – what have you done with my
BLUE JAR?” Jack rushed from the room. He must find Lavington. The young lady at the
office eyed him coldly.
“Dr.Lavington left late last night – by motor. He left a note for you.”
Jack tore it open. It was short and to the point.
“My Dear Young Friend, Is the day of the supernatural over Kindest regards from
Felise, invalid father, and myself. We have twelve hours start, which is quite enough.
Yours ever, Ambrose Lavington, Doctor of the Soul”
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