Chapter VII: The Problem Continued

“Madame Juliette!” gasped Odd, staring with fixed astonishment at the graceful, girlish figure before him.

“I thought I should astonish you, Doctor,” laughed Miss Gordon. “You have never consulted her, I think?”

“Never. But there must be some mistake. We cannot be alluding to the same person.”

“Oh, yes, we are.”

For a moment or two Owen remained silent, lost in doubt, and then continued:

“The Madame Juliette I refer to is the woman who has taken all the West End by storm by her wonderful exhibitions of clairvoyance and psychic powers. Her rooms at 103A, Bond Street, are crowded daily by those who go to consult her, and who come away in every case convinced of her mysterious attributes. As I said, I have never been there myself, but I know several who have, and they have given me a minute description of what has taken place, and it certainly appears to me that she must be gifted with some occult powers unknown to the generality of people. The Madame Juliette I mean is undoubtedly a factor in London society of to-day.”

“Really, Dr. Odd, you are giving me a most flattering character—one I am afraid I hardly deserve,” said Miss Gordon with a smile.

“And you mean to tell me you are this person?”

“Without a doubt.”

“But, from the descriptions given me, she is stout, and middle-aged—very unlike you, Miss Gordon,” continued Owen, still far from being convinced. “And she poses as an Indian, and looks it—at least, so my friends tell me.”

“Your friends appear to be close observers with graphic powers of description, for they have painted a very true picture of me in my professional guise.”

“You are not joking, Miss Gordon?” said Owen, with his eyes still fixed on his companion’s face, for as yet he felt hardly able to believe what he had just heard. The idea of this slim, graceful girl, with the pink-and-white complexion of the Anglo-Saxon race, being able to pose and take in the fashionable world as a dark-skinned, obese-bodied Oriental, was more than he could momentarily grasp.

The smile on the girl’s face showed how she was enjoying his perplexity, and she continued:

“I am afraid, doctor, you hardly grasp what can be done with judicious padding, an artistic make-up, and suggestive surroundings. I can assure you the native origin of Madame Juliette has never yet been questioned, and all her clients are content to take her as they find her, and to believe, more or less, in what she tells them.”

“Well, Miss Gordon, I can only say you astound me, and yet, if it is necessary that you should make money, the _role_ you have selected is probably as good as any other, providing—well, providing that——” And here Owen stammered, for he hesitated to finish the sentence he had commenced.

“Providing I am honest in my business, you intend to say—eh, doctor?”

“Yes, that is what was in my mind, I confess,” replied Owen.

“Naturally. It is the first idea that would occur to you, and I’m glad you mentioned it. We have not known each other long, but when our acquaintance is a little older, I am sure, doctor, you will not regard me as a cheat and charlatan, as are so many of those who profess the same powers as I do.”

“My dear Miss Gordon, don’t imagine for a moment that I am presuming to judge you. I have not the faintest right or groundwork on which to do so. You startled me at first, I admit, and this must be my excuse for saying what I did.”

“Oh, I quite understand. But, you see, doctor, I spent a good many years of my life in India, and as it happened, I had exceptional opportunities of meeting and learning from one who was deeply versed in the mysteries and secrets of—well, call it what you will, the science of orientalism. It has been given to few to be favoured as I was, and now, when occasion demands, I see no harm in putting my knowledge to account.”

“Certainly not, Miss Gordon. I now begin to understand a little more clearly.”

“The facts of the case are shortly these: my father was able to do a kindness to a certain man in India, and he was much at our bungalow. From the first he appeared to take a great fancy to me; I was but a child at the time, and he endeavoured to show his gratitude by instructing me in much that he knew himself, and is jealously guarded from Europeans as a rule. This new path of knowledge took my youthful fancy at once, and I gave more attention to it than I did to my ordinary lessons. My memory is a good one, and I forgot nothing that I was taught, and at the same time was ever eager to learn more. My aptitude and diligence so pleased my teacher that there was no trouble that he would not take to help me forward, till at last, I may say, I knew nearly as much as he did himself, and even then he and I continued to study together, for—like other sciences—there is no limit to Oriental mysticism, and the more one learns the more there is to know.”

“And I can quite understand that you found it a most fascinating study, Miss Gordon.”

“I did indeed——But stop a moment, please; I think I hear my father calling.” And as she rose from her chair Owen said:

“Really, Miss Gordon, I ought not to have detained you talking in this way. I’ll be going.” And he, too, rose.

“No, doctor; if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes longer I should like to tell you a little more, as I have commenced.”

While she was absent Owen could not help marvelling at the incidents of the last hour and a half. Previous to that he had little to engage his thoughts beyond his practice and the matters connected with his friend Jervoise; and now, in answer to an apparently casual summons, he found himself chatting familiarly with, and listening to the confession of, a girl who, besides being dowered with a beauty such as he had never before had the fortune to come across, was armed with powers that had won her one of the first places in the talk and tattle of the West End drawing-rooms. It was all so strange and inexplicable. And then the curious fact flashed across him that he should have been summoned when there were a score of doctors nearer to Plevna Gardens than his surgery. Everything this evening seemed more or less of a mystery and with a shrug of his shoulders he left the matter there, just as the door opened to admit his hostess.

“You’ll forgive me, I know. My father has got into bed, and seems quite comfortable and likely to sleep. He wished me to thank you for staying with me for a little time, for he said he was sure I should be dull all by myself.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, Miss Gordon. I have been far too interested to want to go.”

“I must say you are an excellent listener, doctor. But what was I saying when my father called? Oh, I know. Well, after a time my father and mother and myself left India——”

“Your mother? I was not aware that——”

“She died some years ago,” said the girl in a saddened tone, and then suddenly raising her eyes, she fixed them on Owen’s face with an intensity that made him feel strangely ill at ease. He felt he could not endure their penetrative power; it was as though she was viewing his inmost thoughts, reading the secrets of his brain, and he dropped his eyes till, with a faint sigh, she continued:

“We resided for a time in the West of England, and, when my father had retired, came to London. Here, owing to financial misfortunes, our circumstances were not as comfortable as they had been, and then it was that the thought occurred to me to make use of the knowledge I had gathered while a girl in India.”

“I had a little money of my own, and this I expended in taking and fitting up in Oriental style a suite of rooms in Bond Street, and in advertising pretty largely. At first my father was much against my plan, and it was only on my undertaking to adopt a disguise that he gave his consent. I was familiar with Hindustani, and it was no difficulty to me to assume the character of a mysterious woman of the East. Hence the appearance of Madame Juliette on the London stage. And, Doctor Odd, you have no idea of the superstition, and love of the mysterious and occult in the fashionable circles of to-day. It is rampant, I assure you, and if I were to lower myself, and condescend to tricks, my clients would swallow them without a grain of suspicion. But that I will never do; I give them just what I am able to do honestly, and no more, and with that they must be content.”

“And now I think I have fulfilled my promise to make a full confession, and have only to thank you for listening to me so patiently.”

“My dear lady, the thanks are all due from me. You have interested me more than I can tell you. Previous to this evening I regarded these matters as pure humbug.”

“But they’re not, I can assure you, doctor. There is a certain amount of humbug mixed up with them in some cases, but the true practitioners would ignore such subterfuges. At times we do employ ‘suggestion’ as an aid to bring the client’s mind into a proper condition, but beyond this—no, no.”

“Oh, that is quite legitimate. We doctors are equally guilty in that respect; indeed, ‘suggestion’ in some cases does more in effecting a cure than all the drugs in the pharmacopœia could do. But there is one thing I should like to ask you, Miss Gordon, if you will not think me too inquisitive?”

“Oh, no, no. Ask me what you like.”

“Then what caused you to send for me this evening, when there were so many doctors nearer you?”

“Doctor, you’ve asked me a question I cannot answer, beyond saying that something told me to send. I had seen your name on the brass plate, but, as far as I know, previous to this evening my eyes had never rested on you; and yet——” And once more, as the words came to an end, the eyes of the girl became fixed on the face of the man before her with an intensity that was startling. But it was only for a second or two, and then, as on the previous occasion, with a little sigh she became herself again.

“It’s curious,” said Owen. “I don’t understand it.”

“No more do I,” replied the girl. “But in occultism there is much that in our normal condition we are not able to grasp. But if I cannot satisfy your curiosity in this respect, I may perhaps in another. Would you like me to look at your hand.”

“By all means. It would be interesting.” And Owen drew his chair nearer that of the girl, and held out his hand.

She took it gently in her own, and, bending over it, examined it intently. For a time she did not speak, and then, almost in a whisper, muttered something in a language unfamiliar to him, breaking off to look up with a bright smile saying:

“Forgive me. I am so accustomed to this little trick of the trade, I forgot you were in a sense behind the scenes, as it were. But do you mind coming to the table; there is one point on which I am not quite clear.” And while she spoke she moved across the room, and from a cabinet took a shallow crystal dish, into which she poured some thick, inky fluid from an Oriental clay vase, and set it on a table beneath the electric light.

“Kindly sit opposite me, and gaze intently into the fluid. You will see nothing, but it will be an aid to me.”

Owen did as he was bid, and for a few minutes there was silence, broken at last by his companion’s voice:

“Your early life was uneventful and happy. You did fairly well at school and college. You have travelled far, and seen strange sights. You have been in the company of criminals—yes, yes—more than one; and yet this is not clear. There is something that betokens a murder. Still, I—no, it is not clear even now.”

At these words Owen gave a very palpable start as his suspicions of his friend flashed across his mind. With an effort he pulled himself together and his companion gave no sign of having observed his action, but continued:

“It is not clear. It is not clear.” And, passing her hand across her eyes, she rose, saying, “Doctor, I can do no more to-night. I ought not to have attempted even this much. I have had a hard day; and my father’s attack has tried me more than I thought. You must excuse me, please.”

“Certainly—certainly. I’m sorry that I should have put you to this trouble. It was very good of you.”

“You must not judge me by this evening, doctor. As I say, I’m not myself, and under these circumstances I never do myself justice.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The first part was quite true, and as for the criminals—well, I suppose we doctors do occasionally come in contact with them. But the murder——” And Owen smiled, as though politely contravening the suggestion.

“Ah, don’t take any notice of that. It was there I may have failed. I could not see clearly; everything was indistinct. Forget my words, doctor. It would have been better if I had remained silent. What? Must you be going?”

“I really must, and am ashamed of having taken up so much of your time. I’ll call in to-morrow morning, and after that I hope your father will have no further need of my services.”

“I trust not—professionally; but I am sure he will always be pleased to see you as a friend, when you can find time to look in on him. You see, I’m obliged to be a good deal away from him. Good-night, and once more let me thank you for what you have done.”

“Good-night, Miss Gordon, and please don’t mention it.” And Owen made his way down the stairs and out into the night, while Amy Gordon returned to the room they had just left, and, seating herself before the fire, gave herself up to her thoughts. What they were none can tell. At times a happy expression rested on her fair features, soon to be chased away by a troubled look of perplexity, which in its turn gave place to a smile.

Meanwhile Owen was making his way back, to his solitary rooms, almost unconscious of those who passed him or of those he passed.

“Is it possible she can know anything?” he muttered. “It’s most extraordinary! And yet—well, time will show.”