The Runes Affair

(With due deference to the master, MR James)

Dear Sir,

I am requested by the Council of the BSR Association to return to you the draft of a paper on The Truth of Alchemy, which you have been good enough to offer to read at our forthcoming meeting, and to inform you that the Council do not see their way to including it in the programme.

I am,

Yours faithfully,

M. Gayton Secretary.

Dear Sir,___

I am sorry to say that my engagements do not permit of my affording you an interview on the subject of your proposed paper. Nor do our laws allow of your discussing the matter With a Committee of our Council, as you suggest. Please allow me to assure you that the fullest consideration was given to the draft which you submitted, and that it was not declined without having been referred to the judgment of a most competent authority. No personal question (it hardly should be necessary for me to add) can have had the slightest influence on the decision of the Council.

Believe me etc etc

The Secretary of the BSR Association begs respectfully to inform Mr Karswell that it is impossible for him to communicate the name of any person or persons to whom the draft of Mr Karswell’s paper may have been submitted; and further desires to intimate that he cannot undertake to reply to any further letters on this subject.

“And who is Mr Karswell?” asked Holmes.

“At present Mr Karswell is a very angry man. But I don’t know much about him otherwise, except that he is a person of wealth, his address is Lufford Abbey, Warwickshire, and he’s an alchemist, an author and Mr Holmes, I believe him to be an evil man.”

Thus replied Matthew Gayton who had paid a visit to us on the morning of which I write, together with two companions, Henry Harrington and Edward Dunning. The letters he had brought with him I had just read aloud and I was awaiting, along with Holmes an explanation of them. The men looked ill at ease and Mr Dunning in particular was displaying great agitation, constantly glancing around and behind him fearfully.

“I have encountered many evil men, Mr Gayton. Pray, tell me how Mr Karswell warrants this epithet and the relevance of this correspondence.”

“First of all, Mr Holmes do you have a belief in the supernatural?”

“I believe in science and the ability of scientists to shed light in the darkness of what some choose to call the supernatural. That is where the path of illumination lies. Now, the letters please?”

“First of all you must know that I am the secretary of the British Supernatural Research Association and in that capacity I handle all the correspondence we receive. Mr Karswell sent me a draft of a paper he wished to submit to us and read to us at our next meeting. As it was a very detailed paper dealing with alchemy I passed it to Edward, Mr Dunning here as he is the foremost expert in the country on such matters.”

Mr Dunning himself spoke up, “It was perfectly hopeless, full of half-baked theories. I advised Matthew to reject it out of hand.”

“I take it you did just that, Mr Gayton, hence the rather lively letters.”

“Yes, you are correct and I have been pelted with letters ever since demanding to know who had advised me to reject his paper. Well, you have seen my reply. I realised by this point that I knew the name Karswell and cursed myself for forgetting it. A few years ago he published a tome entitled ‘The History of Witchcraft’ .It received very poor reviews and one reviewer in particular was particularly scathing, that was John Harrington.”

“John Harrington was my brother, Mr Holmes and from the moment he published that review he had no peace on this earth until his death.” said Henry Harrington

“Please tell me about it,” Holmes said gently.

“Simply put, John was walking home along a country lane late in the evening and he suddenly begins to run like mad, loses his hat and stick, and finally shins up a tree - quite a difficult tree- growing in the hedgerow; a dead branch gives way, and he comes down with it and breaks his neck and there he’s found next morning with the most dreadful face of fear on him that could be imagined. It was pretty evident, of course, that he had been chased by something and people talked of savage dogs and beasts escaped out of menageries; but there was nothing to be made of that. I have been searching for an explanation ever since.”

“It is certainly a very singular and tragic incident, I imagine there is more you wish to tell us.”

“John,” he said, “was in a very odd state, undeniably, from time to time during some weeks before, though not immediately before, the catastrophe. There were several things; the principal notion he had was that he thought he was being followed. No doubt he was an impressionable man, but he never had had such fancies as this before. I cannot get it out of my mind that there was ill-will at work. And now with what has happened to Mr Dunning I am more convinced than ever that Karswell is at the bottom of it.”

“You are guilty as is my friend Watson of telling stories hindmost first. At this juncture I know nothing of what has happened to Mr Dunning, save that it must have something to do with his rejection of Karswell’s paper. Mr Dunning, perhaps you can enlighten me, you may find it will alleviate the strain you are obviously under.”

Dunning stood up, almost jumped up and went to the window. As he looked into the street below he scanned back and forth with a palpable look of dread on his face. He paced the room as he spoke, “A few weeks ago I was involved in my researches in the Select Manuscript Room of the British Museum., and filled up tickets for Harley 3586, and some other volumes. After a few minutes they were brought to me and I was settling the one I wanted first upon the desk, when I thought I heard my own name whispered behind me. I turned round hastily and in doing so, brushed my portfolio of loose papers on to the floor. I saw no one I recognized except one of the staff in charge of the room, who nodded to me, and I proceeded to pick up my papers. I thought I had retrieved them all and was turning to begin work, when a stout gentleman at the table behind me, who was just rising to leave and had collected his own belongings, touched me on the shoulder, saying, “May I give you this? I think it must be yours,” and handed me a missing quire. “It is mine, thank you,” I said. In another moment the man had left the room. Upon finishing my work for the afternoon, I had some conversation with the assistant in charge and took occasion to ask who the stout gentleman was. “Oh, he’s a man named Karswell” said the assistant; “he was asking me a week ago who were the great authorities on alchemy and of course I told him you were the only one in the country. I’ll see if I can catch him, he’d like to meet you, I’m sure.””For heaven’s sake don’t dream of it!” said I, “I’m particularly anxious to avoid him.” “Oh! Very well,” said the assistant, “he doesn’t come here often; I dare say you won’t meet him.”

“Did any more words pass between you and Karswell?” asked Holmes.

“None save for that which I have mentioned already. The next day was filled with long period of dread as though something evil had invaded my life. I could not settle and I left for the train earlier than normal. I noticed a man on the street handing out leaflets although he seemed very reticent about doing so, but as soon as I arrived parallel to him he thrust one into my hand. I scarcely had the time to note the name ‘Harrington’ on it before it was snatched out of my hand by a passer-by. Worse was to follow on arriving home. I found the place in darkness, the blackest darkness I have ever experienced. I was wondering if the charwoman would come early enough to get me some hot water the following morning, when I heard the unmistakable sound of my study door opening. No step followed it on the passage floor, but the sound must mean mischief, for I knew that I had shut the door that evening after putting my papers away in my desk. It was rather shame than courage that induced me to slip out into the passage and lean over the banisters in my nightgown, listening. The lack of light made me very much aware that this could be a long night. The obvious course was to find a match, and also to consult my watch: I might as well know how many hours of discomfort lay in wait for me. I put his hand into the well-known nook under the pillow: only, it did not get so far. What I touched was, believe it or not Mr Holmes, a mouth, with teeth and with hair about it and, I declare, was not the mouth of a human being. I spent the rest of the night in a spare room with the door firmly locked to keep out God knows what. But nothing came.”

“Are you convinced,” asked Holmes “that this was a real experience as opposed to an imaginary one perhaps brought on by the strain you appear to be under?”

“The strain I am under has been brought about by my recent experiences and not the other way around.” Dunning replied with a hint of reprimand in his voice.

“Very well, pray continue your most singular narrative.”

“I was fortunate enough to run into Gayton the following and upon hearing of my problems he invited me to stay with him. I was eager to know if he had heard of this John Harrington.”

“And of course I had, Mr Holmes, but was not sure how much to relate of Harrington’s end to someone who was in a very nervous state. I gave a guarded answer and resolved that Henry here and Edward should get together as there seemed much to discuss and much they could learn from one another. In the meantime I had a communication from friends of mine in Warwickshire which gave me a little more information on our friend Karswell, may I read it to you, Mr Holmes?”

“Certainly, if the end result is to get to the point of the whole matter.” Holmes answered irritably.

Gayton huffed and balanced his glasses somewhat precariously on his nose and began:

The first winter he was at Lufford this delightful neighbour of ours wrote to the clergyman of his parish (he’s not ours, but we know him very well) and offered to show the school children some magic- lantern slides. He said he had some new kinds which he thought would interest them. Well, the clergyman was rather surprised, because Mr Karswell had shown himself inclined to be unpleasant to the children - complaining of their trespassing, or something of the sort; but of course he accepted, and the evening was fixed and our friend went himself to see that everything went right. He said he never had been so thankful for anything as that his own children were all prevented from being there: they were at a children’s party at our house, as a matter of fact. Because this Mr Karswell had evidently set out with the intention of frightening these poor village children out of their wits, and I do believe, if he had been allowed to go on, he would actually have done so. He began with some comparatively mild things. Red Riding Hood was one, and even then, Mr Farrer said, the wolf was so dreadful that several of the smaller children had to be taken out: and he said Mr Karswell began the story by producing a noise like a wolf howling in the distance, which was the most gruesome thing he had ever heard. All the slides he showed, Mr Farrer said, were most clever; they were absolutely realistic, and where he had got them or how he worked them he could not imagine, Well the show went on, and the stories kept on becoming a little more terrifying each time, and the children were mesmerised into complete silence. At last he produced a series which represented a little boy passing through his own park - Lufford, I mean - in the evening. Every child in the room could recognize the place from the pictures. And this poor boy was followed, and at last pursued and overtaken, and either torn to pieces or somehow made away with, by a horrible hopping creature in white, which you saw first dodging about among the trees, and gradually it appeared more and more plainly. Mr Farrer said it gave him one of the worst nightmares he ever remembered and what it must have meant to the children doesn’t bear thinking of. Of course this was too much, and he spoke very sharply indeed to Mr Karswell, and said it couldn’t go on. All he said was: “Oh, you think it’s time to bring our little show to an end and send them home to their beds? Very well!” And then, if you please, he switched on another slide, which showed a great mass of snakes, centipedes, and disgusting creatures with wings, and somehow or other he made it seem as if they were climbing out of the picture and getting in amongst the audience; and this was accompanied by a sort of dry rustling noise which sent the children nearly mad, and of course they stampeded. A good many of them were rather hurt in getting out of the room and I don’t suppose one of them closed an eye that night.

“Good God,” I cried, “the man is a monster.”

“Yes, Watson it does seem a trifle harsh on the children.”

“Harsh! Harsh? Holmes? It is perfectly outrageous.”

Henry Harrington now got to his feet, “The next piece of this puzzle you shall hear from me. Dunning, here reluctantly returned home after a few days and it was there that we met up. He related to me all his experiences as regards Karswell and I, in turn related what had happened to my poor brother in the weeks before his death.”

“Ah I see we get to the crux now, there were points in common no doubt?”

“Yes, Mr Holmes there were. My brother was a great musician, and used to run up to concerts in town. He came back, three months before he died, from one of these, and gave me his programme to look at - an analytical programme: he always kept them. “I nearly missed this one,” he said. “I suppose I must have dropped it: anyhow, I was looking for it under my seat and in my pockets and so on, and my neighbour offered me his, said “might he give it me, he had no further use for it,” and he went away just afterwards. I don’t know who he was - a stout, clean-shaven man. I should have been sorry to miss it; of course I could have bought another, but this cost me nothing.” At another time he told me that he had been very uncomfortable both on the way to his hotel and during the night. I piece things together now in thinking it over. Then, not very long after, he was going over these programmes, putting them on order to have them bound up, and in this particular one (which by the way I had hardly glanced at), he found quite near the beginning a strip of paper with some very odd writing on it in red and black - most carefully done - it looked to me more like Runic letters than anything else. “Why,” he said, “this must belong to my fat neighbour. It looks as if it might be worth returning to him; it may be a copy of something; evidently someone has taken trouble over it. How can I find his address?” We talked it over for a little and agreed that it wasn’t worth advertising about, and that my brother had better look out for the man at the next concert to which he was going very soon. The paper was lying on the book and we were both by the fire; it was a cold, windy summer evening. I suppose the door blew open, though I didn’t notice it: at any rate a gust - a warm gust it was - came quite suddenly between us, took the paper and blew it straight into the fire: it was light, thin paper, and flared and went up the chimney in a single ash. “Well,” I said, “you can’t give it back now.” He said nothing for a minute: then rather crossly, “No, I can’t; but why you should keep on saying so I don’t know.” I remarked that I didn’t say it more than once. “Not more than four times, you mean,” was all he said. I remember all that very clearly.”

“Do you remember any of the symbols on it? I have made a study of Runic writing and may be able to decipher the message.” Holmes said.

“No, but that may not be an obstacle as you will see. To continue, I had a copy of Karswell’s book and one chapter in particular struck me, in which he spoke of ‘casting the Runes’ on people, either for the purpose of gaining their affection or of getting them out of the way - perhaps more especially the latter: he spoke of all this in a way that really seemed to me to imply actual knowledge. I’ve not time to go into details, but the upshot is that I am pretty sure from information received that the civil man at the concert was Karswell: I suspect - I more than suspect - that the paper was of importance: and I do believe that if my brother had been able to give it back, he might have been alive now.”

“If you will pardon me saying so it seems quite an extraordinary assumption.”

“I believe we are dealing with an extraordinarily evil man, Mr Holmes.”

“Then please, gentlemen... tell me why you think that? At present all you have given me is a children’s party, a nervous man and an accidental death. My apologies, Mr Harrington. I do not intend any disrespect towards your brother.”

“Thank you. Let me state things as clearly as I can. It transpired that the papers that Karswell had handed to Dunning were lying on his desk as yet untouched. From these as he took it up, there slipped and fluttered out into the room with uncanny quickness, a strip of thin light paper. The window was open but Harrington slammed it to, just in time to intercept the paper, which he caught. “I thought so.,” I said. “it might be the identical thing that was given to my brother. You’ll have to look out, Dunning; this may mean something quite serious for you.” I replied in all seriousness. You see, Mr Holmes my brother was the recipient of several messages which all pointed towards a date upon which he would die, in point of fact, the very day he did die.”

“What kind of messages were these?” I asked.

“The last two things that came for him by post during those weeks, were both stamped with a London postmark, and addressed in a commercial hand. One was a woodcut of Bewick’s, roughly torn out of the page: one which shows a moonlit road and a man walking along it, followed by an awful demon creature. Under it were written the lines out of the “Ancient Mariner” (which I suppose the cut illustrates) about one who, having once looked round-

“walks on,

And turns no more his head

Because he knows a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.”

The other was a calendar, such as tradesmen often send. My brother paid no attention to this, but I looked at it after his death, and found that everything after Sept. 18th had been torn out. You may be surprised at his having gone out alone the evening he was killed, but the fact is that during the last ten days or so of his life he had been quite free from the sense of being followed or watched. I believe that Karswell has brought forth a demon from hell to do his bidding and it was that demon that my brother was fleeing from and it is the same fate that now awaits Dunning unless we act.”

“Surely,” I countered, “we are dealing here with a case of hypnotic suggestion, Karswell has used mesmerism through personal contact or even somehow through these runic messages to gain his ends.”

“If that was the case, Doctor then from who or what was my brother fleeing from?”

“Monsters from the id, from the sub-conscious, just as real to the victim as any living, breathing monster.”

“Tell me, Mr Harrington, were there any footprints found near your brother’s body, of any description?”

“None whatsoever, Mr Holmes. But that did not and does not change my views. If you care to see it, I have here the Runic script sent to Dunning.”

As he reached forward with the piece of paper in his hand a quite extraordinary thing happened. A sudden gust of wind blew in from the window and tore the paper from his grasp. If it wasn’t for Holmes athleticism it would have been in the fireplace and lost to us. I stood up to go and fasten the window lest there should be a re-occurrence. To my surprise and puzzlement the window was securely fastened. Holmes clamped the script securely to the table and studied it closely.

“I am sorry, gentlemen. I can make nothing of this at all.” He deftly placed the paper in the pages of a handy book and placed it in his desk drawer. “Mr Dunning, have you had messages of one form or another with dates of any kind on them?”

Dunning was pale and trembling and could hardly speak, “Yes,” he croaked, “March 18th is my due date. The date I die. Three days away.” he said with a look of abject horror on his face.

“And it is the considered belief of you all that Karswell through whatever means intends to cause Mr Dunning’s death on that day? And you also believe that his fate can be averted by getting this piece of paper back to Karswell, by handing it to him in person?”

“It is what we all believe, Mr Holmes,” answered Mr Gayton,

“These crimes as you perceive them to be are not crimes that can be brought home against the man in any court of law so I must ask what it is that you require of me, gentlemen.”

“My friends in Warwickshire who are reasonably close neighbours of Karswell have been keeping an eye on him if I may put it so. I received word last night that Karswell is planning a trip to Abbeville and is departing on the boat train from Victoria at 9am in two days time. It is our best chance, indeed our only chance to return this profane paper to him.”

“All becomes clear, gentlemen. You wish that Watson and I perform this errand for you?”

“Yes, we fear discovery and it may be that our emotional involvement would be our undoing. What do you say, Mr Holmes. We will of course cover your fees and any expenses you may incur.”

Holmes leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, deep in thought, “Very well, I rather think I would enjoy the experience of meeting this Mr Karswell of yours and if we can alleviate the suffering of Mr Dunning then it’s all to the good.”

We duly took our place on the concourse at Victoria Station on the morning of the 17th. Edward Dunning was with us in order to point out Karswell to us. As the time ticked by Dunning became more and more agitated, “What if this is a trick, Mr Holmes? Perhaps he will not come. Perhaps my time is already here? But, no,” he cried, “There he is!” He was pointing towards a tall, stoutly built man who was hurrying along the concourse.

“Mr Dunning, leave the rest to us, we will let you know as soon as we are able the success of our mission.”

We hurried along after Karswell yet taking care not to draw undue attention to ourselves. We noted the carriage that our quarry had entered and boarded it ourselves and gradually made our way along to Karswell’s compartment. Holmes took the seat not immediately facing him and attempted, vainly at first, then with increasing command of his faculties, to reckon the possibilities of making the desired transfer. Opposite to Karswell and next to me was a heap of Karswell’s coats on the seat. It would be of no use to slip the paper into these - Dunning would not be safe, or would not feel so, unless in some way it could be proffered by us and accepted by the other. There was a bag open with papers in it. Could he or I manage to conceal this (so that perhaps Karswell might leave the carriage without it), and then find and give it to him? This was the plan that suggested itself. The minutes went on. More than once Karswell rose and went out into the corridor. The second time Holmes was on the point of attempting to make the bag fall off the seat, but he caught my eye and read in it a warning. Karswell, from the corridor, was watching. He returned, but was evidently restive: and when he rose the third time, hope dawned, for something did slip off his seat and fall with hardly a sound to the floor. Karswell went out once more and passed out of range of the corridor window. Holmes picked up what had fallen and saw that the key was in his hands in the form of one of Cook’s ticket-cases, with tickets in it. These cases have a pocket in the cover, and within very few seconds the paper of which we have heard was in the pocket of this one. To make the operation more secure I stood in the doorway of the compartment and fiddled with the blind. It was done, and done at the right time, for the train was now slowing down towards Dover.

In a moment more Karswell re-entered the compartment. As he did so, Holmes handed him the ticket-case, saying, “May I give you this, sir? I believe it is yours.” After a brief glance at the ticket inside, Karswell uttered the hoped-for response, “Yes, it is; much obliged to you, sir,” and he placed it in his breast pocket.

It may have been my imagination, but the carriage seemed to darken about us and to grow warmer. Karswell was fidgety and oppressed. He drew the heap of loose coats near to him and cast it back as if it repelled him and that he then sat upright and glanced anxiously at both. We busied ourselves in collecting our belongings and we both had the impression that Karswell was on the point of speaking when the train stopped at Dover Town. It was natural that in the short space between town and pier we should all go into the corridor. At the pier we got out, but so empty was the train that we were forced to linger on the platform until Karswell passed ahead of us with his porter on the way to the boat, and only then was it safe for us to exchange a pressure of the hand and a word of concentrated congratulation. There was some kind of commotion at the ticket-office. The man at the head of it examined his ticket and Karswell laden down with coats passed down into the boat. Suddenly the official called after him, “You, sir, beg pardon, did the other gentleman show his ticket?” “What the devil do you mean by the other gentleman?” Karswell’s snarling voice called back from the deck. The man bent over and looked at him. “The devil? Well, I don’t know, I’m sure,” Holmes heard him say to himself, and then aloud, “My mistake, sir; must have been your rugs! Beg your pardon.” And then, to a subordinate near him, “’ad he got a dog with him, or what? Funny thing: I could ‘a’ swore ‘e wasn’t alone. Well, whatever it was, they’ll ‘ave to see to it aboard. She’s off now. Another week and we shall be gettin’ the ‘oliday customers.” In five minutes more there was nothing but the lessening lights of the boat, the long line of the Dover lamps, the night breeze, and the moon.

I was quiet and restless on the journey back to London and not easy in my mind about our actions of that morning. “Holmes,” I asked, “do you think it’s possible we may have sent that man to his death, knowing what we know about the casting of the runes? The evil he has sent out may rebound on him.”

“You surprise me Watson. I thought you favoured the explanation of mesmerism and hypnotic suggestion rather than a supernatural one.”

“I must confess that I am no longer as sure as I was.”

“Rest easy my friend, through some means or another Karswell directly or indirectly caused the death of John Harrington and may well have done the same for Edward Dunning. I, for my part will not worry unduly about any fate that may befall Mr Karswell.”

That fate was confirmed to us by a report in the Times dated the 19th: On the morning of the 18th, an English traveller, examining the front of St Wulfram’s Church at Abbeville, then under extensive repair, was struck on the head and instantly killed by a stone falling from the scaffold erected round the north-western tower, there being, as was clearly proved, no workman on the scaffold at that moment: and the traveller’s papers identified him as Mr Karswell. I read this aloud and looked up at Holmes.

“An accident,” he stated.

“But, Holmes...”

“An accident, Watson. Let that now and forever be enough.”