Left to his own devices, Murchison lit a cigarette and cogitated. What in the name of heaven was it all about? Brangwyn and Hugo Astley both dabbled in strange sciences, in what was, he supposed, called the occult. Only Brangwyn denied that it was occult; or, rather, he defined the occult in a way that Murchison had never heard it defined before. Hugo Astley had made a most unholy mess of Ursula Brangwyn, if her brother were to be believed, and, wild as it all appeared to be, Murchison felt that he was to be believed; he himself had seen enough to set him thinking.
‘A stone's throw out on either hand
From that well-ordered road we tread,
And all the world is wild and strange:-
For we have reached the Oldest Land
Wherein the Powers of Darkness range.’
Murchison stared at the little fleecy clouds that sailed in the pale winter blue over the haze of London, and wondered where in the world he was going, now that he had left the well-ordered road of everyday life. Unquestionably it was the Oldest Land he was coming to. He was raising things that had been forgotten since the childhood of the race.
It was too cold to stop out on the roof-garden any longer, for the little clouds were gathering over the face of the sun, and it was evident that the best of the day was over. Murchison returned to his sitting-room and lit the gas fire, and as the asbestos gathered heat and glowed incandescent, took from the small bookshelf beside his chair the storybook of ancient tales, and turned over the pages till he came to the winged bull.
The great beast stood on his plinth exactly as had done his brother in the British Museum. Bull-foot advanced as if moving at a steady walking pace, unhurried, unpausing. Behind him was a vast pylon, and above its sculptured pediment was the dark blue of the night sky sown with stars. Firelight appeared to play upon the bull, illuminating his great flanks and throwing shadows across his mighty wings, folded back into darkness. The beast was all the more impressive for being but half seen.
Murchison stared at him as if he would penetrate his secret by sheer force of staring.
‘What the devil do you mean, you great brute?’ he demanded aloud. ‘You mean something, I know that, because you stir me so tremendously; but what is it you mean? Man-headed? Beast-bodied? Bird-winged? What is the answer to your riddle? Are you the soul? I suppose that's what all these symbols really are. They all refer to the soul in some way or other. Well, we've all got beasts’ bodies all right. That's an easy one. But are we winged? Blowed if I know. Never saw any signs of it myself. And what about the human head? I've got a human head same as you; and I've got the body of a beast, the same as you - and don't I know it! But have I got wings? Might have. It's possible. No good denying possibilities. It remains to be seen. I certainly have had for brief minutes once or twice. Going over the top. And when I called on Pan. And when I held Ursula in my arms and strafed Astley. My God, I mustn't think of her as Ursula! I shall call her that to her face if I do! And then there'll be all the fat in the fire.
‘What is Brangwyn playing at? Why is he chucking me at his blinking sister in the way he is doing? It's simply asking for trouble. I don't end at the neck like a cherub, whatever she may do. It isn't fair. Dammed if I hug that girl again! Throw her down and sit on her. Or shove a sofa cushion over her face. But paw her I don't, and damned if she shall paw me!’
The ringing of the telephone bell, and Brangwyn's voice summoning him to lunch, interrupted his meditations, and he went downstairs, pulling himself together to face Miss Brangwyn.
But he need not have worried. She was full of her shopping, and was arguing with her brother as to whether they really had carried some particular colour correctly in their heads, and would the shop change it if they hadn't? Miss Brangwyn in this mood was quite manageable. He had merely to eat his food and keep his eyes to himself. Nothing was being asked of him, and he had ample opportunity to contemplate the vast and unbridgeable gulf that safely separated him from his employer's sister.
When they gathered round the fire in the lounge for coffee Brangwyn evidently considered that his secretary was being neglected, and ought to be drawn into the conversation, but Murchison plunged about like a dray-horse on a slippery day, and they soon let him alone. He noticed that Miss Brangwyn made no attempt to help to draw him into the conversation, and had not, in fact, glanced at him, save for one brief moment when their eyes had met as he entered the room, and both had looked away again hastily. He resented that. After all, he was a gentleman by birth and education. Why should he be treated like a waiter? But then he recalled to himself that it simplified matters for him a great deal if Miss Brangwyn were a little distant, and he had better be grateful for small mercies, for the situation, in his opinion, might easily get out of hand.
‘Now listen, you two children,’ said Brangwyn at last, breaking in upon Ursula's nervous flow of trivialities. ‘Neither of you had much sleep last night, and I particularly want you to be in good form this evening, for we have some work to do; so I suggest that you take an afternoon nap. Don't drink any more of that coffee, Murchison, or you won't sleep.’
Murchison saw Ursula's hands suddenly clench themselves together as they lay in her lap, but she uttered no word. She evidently knew what was before them, and it inspired her with dread. Or so he interpreted it. He gazed steadily at his employer under his heavy, sandy brows, and his eyes had the peculiar cold gleam of blue eyes when they are unfriendly. Why shouldn't he ask questions if he wanted to? Why should he be driven like a sheep because he was paid a salary? Brangwyn had not bought his immortal soul for five pounds a week. There were some things that were not included in the bargain, and he wanted to make sure that the evening's transaction was not among them. If it included hanging on to Ursula Brangwyn any more, he was off.
‘What is it we are doing tonight?’ he asked in level tones.
‘We are doing a tentative experiment,’ said Brangwyn, picking his words carefully and watching the other, ‘to see whether you are really suitable for the job we have in mind. I think you are, and so does Ursula.’
‘I never said that!’ Ursula interrupted hastily and angrily. ‘I said I was willing to give him a trial.’
‘If you go into it in that spirit, it certainly won't work,’ said her brother.
‘I can't help the spirit in which I go into it. That's up to him. It's for him to make me go into it in the right spirit.’
‘I think you are asking too much, Ursula. Remember he is new to these things. If you start throwing cold water about at the start, nothing can possibly come of it.’
Ursula twisted her hands together and looked sulky and upset.
‘You had better ask yourself what alternatives you have before you start making difficulties,’ said her brother.
Murchison suddenly rose from the chair.
‘If I am the difficulty.’ he said quietly, ‘I am quite willing to withdraw. I don't want to be forced on Miss Brangwyn any more than she wants to have me forced on her.’
He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘You mustn't do that,’ said Brangwyn in a low voice in his ear. ‘If you back out now we shall have the most appalling mess. Ursula has got to work with you. You have got to make her work with you. For God's sake don't let me down, Murchison, you're my only hope. If this doesn't come off, Ursula will spend the rest of her life behind asylum bars.’
Murchison stared helplessly at the girl's white, rebellious face. He thought she looked nauseated, but he was too sorry for her to feel insulted. He went and sat down on the edge of the wide brick hearth beside her knee.
‘What's the trouble?’ he said. ‘Won't you tell me what the difficulty is, and see if we can't straighten it out?’
The girl put her hands over her face.
‘It's rotten!’ she said. ‘Rotten for you, and rotten for me.’
‘What's rotten?’ said Murchison in the same low voice.
‘Oh, I don't know. I can't explain. You wouldn't understand.’
He turned to Brangwyn.
‘Can't you tell me a bit more, sir? I'm working in the dark, and it makes things very difficult. I could be a lot more useful to you if I knew a bit more.’
‘Difficult, Murchison, very difficult. You see, the test is that you spot the thing for yourself. If I told you point-blank, it would invalidate the whole business. Trust your instincts and intuitions. Go ahead and never mind convention.’
‘Um,’ said Murchison. ‘Conventions have a way of coming home to roost. Mrs. Grundy is a sound old dame. She knows human nature. I'd sooner not play her up, if you don't mind.’
‘Unless you are prepared to take a certain amount of risk, Murchison the thing can't go through. Won't you take a chance on Mrs Grundy? I'll accept full responsibility for the consequences.’
‘I'm afraid of letting you down, Brangwyn.’
‘What would you consider to be letting me down?’
‘Oh, God, need we go into this?’
‘Ursula, my child, run off and get your rest.’
The girl rose, white as a sheet, and stood hesitating, looking from one to the other of the two agitated men. Then she turned to Murchison.
‘I'm awfully sorry,’ she said in a broken voice. ‘I'm awfully sorry to be such a beast. It isn't that I don't like you. I just can't help it. I'm very grateful to you, and I'd be truly thankful for your help if you can put up with me. I need it so awfully badly,’ and she turned ran out of the room.
‘Well, there you are!’ said Brangwyn, plunging his hands into his trouser pockets, and taking a turn or two up and down the room. ‘I don't know how to put it to you, Murchison. One would have to explain so much before it became comprehensible. And a half-explanation would be worse than none at all, because it would send you off on the wrong track. Look here, will you be content to run in blinkers for a bit longer, and let me steer you?’
‘Well, now, sir, I'll tell you just how I'm placed. I've got no one belonging to me, and my life is no particular catch. I am perfectly willing to take risks, provided I know what they are. What I don't fancy is barging along in the dark; not because I'm afraid of what I may run into, but because I don't want to let you down. I know my own limitations a great deal better than you do. There are some things it is not in me to do; and some things at which I would definitely draw the line, whatever you offered me. All I want is to make sure that what you are planning doesn't include any of these things, so that I shan't find myself having to back out at a critical moment. It isn't that I'm shirking or funking, but I don't want to bite off more than I can chew. I can't go on blindfold any more, sir. I am doing nothing but put my foot in it.’
Brangwyn took another turn across the big room before replying.
‘If you insisted on having the differential calculus explained to you, would you give an undertaking that you would understand the explanation?’
‘I couldn't give an undertaking to understand all of it, but I reckon I should understand enough of it to follow the drift; and, at least, I could assure myself that it didn't contain anything I didn't fancy.’
‘Very well, then, Murchison, I will do my best, and all that I ask is that you will not be hasty in forming a judgment, but will give the thing a chance. I am afraid I shall have to be rather crude, but, put briefly, the thing is this, I am hoping that you will be able to cut out Frank Fouldes with Ursula.’
‘Good God, sir, what do you mean?’
‘Just exactly that, Murchison. There has been some very queer in and out running, for which you must take my word at present; you may understand more later, when you see how we go to work ourselves. Ursula has been worked upon by means of the rare knowledge of which I have told you; it is impossible for me to get her right simply by cutting her off from Fouldes; there is a curious, subtle link between them; there are also other things, which are not personal, little-understood natural forces, of which you know nothing at present; Ursula and Fouldes have been made to form a kind of circuit which carries these forces. If I break that circuit I destroy Ursula; therefore I cannot break it. All I can do is to replace Fouldes with someone else, someone clean and straight, who won't do Ursula any harm and will treat her decently.’
‘Well, that's a plain statement, at any rate,’ said Murchison. ‘But you haven't told me how you propose to do the trick.’
‘I want to get these natural forces, psychic forces, but no less natural because they are psychic, to flow in circuit through you and Ursula. If that comes off, Fouldes is automatically shunted and we shall have no more trouble with him. Any further fuss he may make will only be of the kind that a lawyer can deal with. But these subtle forces, Murchison - these are things a lawyer cannot deal with; nor can a doctor, more's the pity.’
‘And what is the exact mechanics of the job?’
‘It will be done by means of ritual. Are you any the wiser?’
‘Not a scrap.’
‘Well, you will be after tonight, for I propose to try it out on a small scale. A very small ritual, I promise you that, Murchison, just enough to see whether the power will flow between you and Ursula or not.’
‘I know nothing about these things, sir, but if I am any judge, it won't flow. She has no use for me, and I have no use for her, save as part of my job.’
‘You know a good deal about these things, Murchison, if you can tell whether power is flowing or not. I admit it is not flowing at the present moment, because Ursula is panicking, and you are hanging back in the collar. But you can't deny that there have been moments when it has flowed, when you have been in sympathy with each other. It is on this that I am banking.
‘On this, and my knowledge of your respective characters, which tells me that you ought not to be uncongenial to each other.’
‘Well, now, granted that I do get into sympathy with your sister, where do you expect it all to end?’
‘Need it end, Murchison?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you're a bachelor and she's a spinster.’
‘Yes, but damn it all, man, I've got no visible means of support!’ Murchison entirely forgot the respect due to an employer in his agitation at the prospect opening before him with such breath-taking rapidity.
‘You've got a good job with me, Murchison. The fiver a week is only your starting-price, and Ursula has means of her own.’
‘But, look here, Brangwyn, this is out of the question. I never set eyes on the girl till a couple of days ago, and she has made it very plain that she doesn't fancy me. She wouldn't be willing, even if I were. No wonder the poor girl's jibbing!’
‘Well, Murchison, do you fancy her?’
‘To tell you the honest truth, sir, I don't.’
This was a facer for Brangwyn, who, watching closely, had come to the conclusion that his secretary was highly susceptible in that quarter.
‘Anyone else you fancy?’
‘No, sir, nobody Never has been. I have never been in a position to even think of marriage. I've had my fair share of sordid adventures, but fewer than most, and more sordid than most, because I hadn't the cash to finance them adequately. When I was in the army, and had cash, I had ideals, and wouldn't look at ‘em. Later, since life has knocked the ideals out of me, I haven't had the cash even to buy milk, let alone keep a cow. I don't care about stale pastry, so I cut all that sort of thing out.’
‘I had an idea,’ said Brangwyn quietly, ‘that you were - er - susceptible to my sister.’
‘Damn it all, sir, placed as I am, I'm susceptible to any woman who isn't an absolute char! I'm like that bull of Babylon your sister uses as a book-plate. I've got a beast's body, I admit it; but, thank God, I've got a human head! Because I've got impulses it doesn't follow that I give way to them. Why shouldn't I have impulses? I'm not ashamed of them. It's normal. There would be something wrong with me if I hadn't. It's circumstances that are wrong. The country as a whole. If it hadn't been for the War I wouldn't be in this pickle. I try to be as decent as I can under the circumstances, but I don't pretend to be a saint. I've no wish to go loopy.’
Murchison stopped for sheer lack of breath, the veins standing out on his forehead.
Brangwyn looked at him steadily, a slight smile on his lips.
‘Has it ever occurred to you,’ he said, ‘that the bull has wings?’
Murchison passed his hand wearily across his eyes. ‘Yes, I know it has, but I could never make anything of that.’
‘It is the winged side of the bull that I want to develop between you and Ursula. I have knowledge of these matters, Murchison, unusual knowledge. The woman I would have worked with died during the influenza epidemic that followed the War. I want to pass on my knowledge. I had hoped to pass it on to Ursula, if she had married the right sort of man; I wouldn't pass it on to Fouldes, and that was what all the trouble was about. He tried to get it from Astley, for Astley also has knowledge; but he has got hold of it by the wrong end. The result we know. Ursula knows that if she wants that knowledge she has got to be prepared to work with the right kind of man. I think you would be the right kind of man.’
Murchison suddenly found himself as dead tired as he had been earlier in the day. Virtue had gone out of him during his moments of excitement and self-revelation.
‘I'll work with her, if that's what you both want,’ he said wearily. ‘But I won't marry her, and that's final.’
Brangwyn studied him closely.
‘Will you tell me exactly how you feel about my sister?’
Murchison shifted uneasily in his chair. The truth probably meant the loss of his job.
‘To be perfectly candid with you, I don't particularly like her, though I'm very sorry for her. There's something about her that rubs me up the wrong way and makes me feel on the defensive, if you know what I mean. An inferiority complex, I suppose. She's smart, and I'm uncouth. She's conscious of it, too; my uncouthness, I mean; she wouldn't care to have me as an escort if she were going anywhere, and I don't blame her. She's no use for me, and I've no use for her - but I'll tell you frankly, sir, when she did that magnetizing stunt she played Old Harry with me. I find her - since that - what the film posters call glamorous; but I don't like her any better on that account. That's a plain statement of how I feel; you must make what you can of it, for I can't make much of it myself.’
‘That's a very honest, and a very observant statement, Murchison, and I'm grateful to you for the confidence you have placed in me. Now I am going to put one more probing question to you. Supposing you were well off and could meet Ursula on the level, how would you feel about her?’
‘I don't think I should like her any better than I do now, sir. That's my honest belief. We have nothing in common.
‘But I don't deny that if she chose she could have me on a string - but then, so could any woman.’ He gave a short and bitter laugh. ‘But it would only be for a time. I'd soon get over it. You will eat garbage when you're starving. I know, for I've done it. But you won't include garbage in your daily menu once you're in Easy Street. That's why, although I know I'm susceptible, I'm not such a damn fool as to yield to it. I don't mind being gigolo to your sister, but I'm damned if I'm going to marry her. I should be knocking her about at the end of a month.’
Brangwyn studied him closely, and wondered how much of this was pride and how much was genuine. Murchison was exceptionally sensitive. He had followed every move in Ursula's mind with perfect accuracy. It was useless to try and throw dust in his eyes. Ursula was reluctant, and for the exact reasons that he had divined. Her brother's choice did not appeal to her.
He debated whether he should take the responsibility of acting on his strange knowledge, and forcing the inclinations of these two people. He asked himself, what was the alternative, and what might be the possible consequences? The alternative - an asylum for Ursula. The worst possible consequence, a divorce. He did not hesitate.
‘Look here, Murchison, you know I have studied these things pretty deeply. Will you believe me if I tell you that if this experiment succeeds, things will come all right between you and Ursula? If it doesn't succeed, you will be no worse off than you are now, and no harm done. If you will give it a fair trial, and it doesn't work, I will see you get a decent job. And if it does work, I will see you through.
‘I have got a bad heart. My hold on life is precarious. If I go out, who is there to stand between Ursula and perdition? The one thing I would like above all others is to see her married to some decent chap. I will make a will leaving my money equally between you and her if you will marry her. I don't want to put you in your wife's pocket. That's an intolerable position for any decent man.’
Murchison sat silent for a long time. At length he spoke.
‘What do you mean by saying things would come straight between me and Ursula if the experiment went all right?’
Brangwyn noted the use for the first time of his sister's Christian name by his secretary, and smiled inwardly.
‘I mean that if the cosmic forces get in circuit between you, you would get very fond of each other.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because it is the circuiting of certain forces between two people which makes them get fond of each other. These things are going on all the time, only we don't understand them. Their liking for each other puts them in circuit, and then the cosmic forces flow through. But it is possible to put them in circuit with each other, and then the fondness follows, provided, of course, they are not too incompatible; in which case one would not be able to set up a circuit. But the current keeps on jumping between you and Ursula spontaneously, and therefore I reckon that you will not only be able to form a circuit, but will carry a very high voltage when you get going. That is what I want to test tonight. I want to see whether we can get a low voltage definitely to travel between you and Ursula. I have no doubt whatever as to the outcome of the experiment, provided neither of you deliberately inhibit.’
‘What do you want me to do? I haven't a notion about these things. I shall be like a bull in a china-shop.’
‘I simply want you to carry out the instructions I shall give. This is not a set ritual, in which you would have to know your part like an actor in a play. But a spontaneous ritual, in which I shall have the general plan in my head, and shall direct you, but you yourself will have to do spontaneously whatever occurs to you under the circumstances in which I shall place you. It is a kind of acted psychoanalysis. It enables your subconscious mind to come up to the surface, and there are some strange powers in the subconsciousness, believe me, Murchison.’
Murchison scratched his head. ‘Supposing my subconscious mind delivers the goods and you don't like ‘em?’
‘We must chance that. I've a pretty good notion of the sort of goods it will deliver on this occasion. Besides, we don't just up-end the ash-bin at random, as you so graphically put it on a previous occasion; we order the goods we want, and if they are in stock it is these that are delivered, and no others. All I want to do is to place a small order, and find out whether they are in stock or not. I think they are, but I can't be sure. I also want to make a start with the job. This will be a definite start if it goes all right.’
Murchison rubbed his nose. ‘If I follow my spontaneous inclinations, I may end up by kissing your sister.’
‘Splendid!’ said Brangwyn. ‘There's nothing I should like better.’
‘But there may be things she'd like better. A pretty long list, too, by the looks of her.’
‘Don't you worry about that. If it works for you, it will work for her. And, honestly, Murchison, it's her only chance. If you can't cut out Fouldes with her, she's done for.’
‘All right.’ said Murchison, Til do what I can, within certain specified limits. If she wants a gigolo, I don't mind gigoloing - within reason, that is. But I won't marry the girl, sir, and that's my last word.’
And with that Brangwyn had to rest content.