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My godparents, John and Susan Buchan, were so delighted to see me finally arrive on their doorstep at Hillside House that my godmother couldn’t stop tears from filling her eyes. The two of them had, of course, realised something was wrong, but their persistent efforts at making contact with me, or someone who could explain what had happened to me, had all come to nothing. Given the circumstances of my detour to Sneijder’s house, that was entirely to be expected.
After being made a terrible fuss of by my godmother, the three of us sat down to afternoon tea on their fine terrace, overlooking the cut through which flowed the narrow, energetic stream that would, in a short distance, be referred to as the River Nith. The weather seemed keen to make up for those previous days of heavy, cold fog and the sun had been bright and warm all day. I took off my jacket and laid it on an empty chair.
I was, of course, required to provide my godparents with a full description of my adventure, leaving out none of the more distressing parts in consideration of my godmother, who has a considerable appetite for such stories. They were rather shocked to discover that it was possible for someone such as Sneijder to so distort the mind of a fellow human being that he could potentially turn them against their own countrymen. Given the ever-growing threat of war, it presented a very worrying situation, though one that I lacked the expertise to comment further on.
Having reached the part of my story where I had left Elizabeth Fitzsimon and the other patients waiting in the Doctor’s house while I walked through the fog in search of help, I paused to take a sip of tea, which, I must admit, I lingered over a little more than was really necessary.
“Alex, darling, don’t be such a tease,” complained my godmother, poking a finger into my forearm. “We want to know what happened next, especially to that awful German Doctor.”
“Well, I must say, the poor farmer on whose door I knocked seeking assistance took quite some persuading that I wasn’t a complete lunatic. He made me wait on the doorstep for a good long while, holding the door half-closed, as I set the scene. It was only when I mentioned yourselves that his expression changed and he began to consider I might not be as mad as he feared.”
“He knew of us then, I take it?” asked my godfather.
“By name, yes. After a little more effort, I was able to persuade him to at least go up to the Doctor’s house with me and see for himself what the situation was. I must say, he wasn’t keen, but, having spoken to his wife, he harnessed up a horse to his cart and off we went. He didn’t say much on the way there, but once he’d seen for himself how things were and heard a word or two from Miss Fitzsimon, he changed his tune altogether and became quite free with his words.”
“Thanks Heavens for that,” chipped in my godmother, the excitement of my story clear to see in her bright, eager eyes.
“After that, he took me on to the railway station, where the station master, the one I met on my arrival, was able to put a call through to the police station in Kilmarnock. It caused quite the stir, by all accounts. A dozen officers were sent out at once from Glasgow to attend to Selkman and the housekeeper and, of course, to scour the hillsides for Sneijder.”
I couldn’t resist the temptation to once more add a little drama to the situation by pausing my tale as I sipped again at my cup of tea.
“Honestly, Alex, I’ll have McAllister throw you in the stream in a minute if you don’t stop stringing out your tale,” insisted my godmother. “Did they catch the horrid man?”
“Well, it was by then late, you appreciate. Darkness had set in and it was a tricky business attempting to search for a man in the hills, but, yes, they found him, eventually. He was in rather a bad way, by all accounts. When he fled from the house, the fool had taken nothing more with him than his jacket and a hat, then he’d had the misfortune to fall into a small gulley not more than a quarter of a mile into his escape, breaking his leg as he fell. When the police found him, he was so desperate for assistance that he seemed not overly worried that he had fallen into the hands of the very authorities he had been hoping to evade.”
“Thank the Lord for that,” said my godmother, with a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t stand to think that he might still be roaming about the hills while we were sleeping in our beds at night. Desperate men can do the most terrible things.”
“I think if anyone attempted to break in here, my dear, then Charlemagne would soon see them off. He’d probably enjoy the chase,” added my godfather, referring to their golden retriever, who had a notoriously bad temper when woken from his sleep.
“And what happened to those poor people who were brought under the Doctor’s spell?” asked my godmother.
“They are on their way up to Glasgow. The inspector in charge of the police party informed me they have some excellent medical people there who will be able to undo the damage.”
“Did you get chance to say goodbye to that young lady, Miss Fitzsimon? She sounds like quite a feisty individual. Rather like me,” added my godmother, with something of a sparkle in her eye.
“Yes, I’m pleased to say that I had the opportunity to wish her well. And you’re right, without her help I wouldn’t in all likelihood be sitting here now, telling you my little story. We all have a good deal to thank her for.”
“So, what have they done with Sneijder?” asked my godfather, leaning back in his chair and looking over the top of his glasses, as he had a habit of doing when discussing a serious business. “Or did the police not care to say?”
“The inspector would only say that Sneijder would be taken to the main police station in Glasgow. The same was true for Selkman and the housekeeper, Rafferty. I’m not sure he actually knew what would happen after that. No doubt the authorities will send someone up from London to speak to Sneijder and the others to see what more they can find out.”
“So, Selkman and the housekeeper had only been knocked unconscious, I take it?” asked my godfather, sounding as though he was almost disappointed they had not suffered a worse fate.
“They had and I’m pleased about that. I couldn’t really say how I might cope with the knowledge I was responsible for taking another person’s life. It can’t be easy sleeping at night when you’ve done such a thing.”
“Well, it’s all a most disturbing situation,” observed my godfather. “I imagine the police will have a heck of a time trying to track down all of Sneijder’s other victims. If he’s been up here a year practising his witchcraft, that will most likely amount to quite a considerable number of people.”
“Hundreds, I should think,” I observed. “And Lord knows what positions of influence they are in.”
“It’s been quite the adventure for you, then, my dear,” smiled my godmother. “But you can’t go expecting such a thing every time you travel up here to visit us, you know.”
I laughed, more than was good for me, because it made my bruised ribs ache, despite the bandages that were now wrapped tightly around them. My godmother was absolutely right, I’d had a quite extraordinary adventure and certainly not the sort of thing that the average chap expects to experience during his life. One minute I was at Euston railway station, talking over old times with a school chum I hadn’t seen in years, then the next I was locked up in a horrid cellar fearing for my life, then crashing a huge wooden hammer down on Selkman’s head.
Looking back at things also made me realise just how fortunate I had been to come through it all in one piece. A little difference here or there and things might well have turned out very badly for me. It was a distinctly unsettling thought and one I pushed to the back of my mind almost as soon as it occurred to me.
From the back of the house came the sound of a dog barking and, as I looked round, I found myself confronted by an over-excited golden retriever that ran straight up to me in leaps and bounds, then lifted its front paws on to my lap, so it could set about licking my face. My mind was at once taken off all thoughts of my recent brush with death.
