The Clairvoyant Countess (16 page)

“I’ll tell you what,” said Faber-Jones, with a mischievous glance at Madame Karitska. “We have here
among us a very gifted clairvoyant. If it’s not too presumptuous—if she wouldn’t feel imposed upon—”

“You?” said Lucas Johns, turning to Madame Karitska. “I don’t think I like that.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “So many people feel uncomfortable when they learn this. As a rule, however, I don’t go about reading people’s minds, so you needn’t feel uneasy. My best results come from psychometry, the holding of an object belonging to the person I’m reading.”

“Reading?” said Zoehfeld with a skeptical laugh. “Like a book?”

Madame Karitska shrugged.

“I find this very interesting,” said Dr. Berkowitz quietly. “Also somewhat frightening, of course.”

“Fortunetelling,” put in Dr. Tennison scornfully.

“I think we ought to try it, it could be very amusing,” said Lucas Johns.

“Then let me make a suggestion,” added Faber-Jones. “Namely, that all four of you toss into a hat some object you’ve worn on your person for a respectable period of time, and without any of us knowing—and especially Madame Karitska—to whom they belong. Then you can see for yourselves whether it’s fortunetelling or art.”

Dr. Tennison said impatiently, “I really don’t see any connection here between our discussion of fate, or destiny, and this kind of crystal-gazing.”

“A line can be drawn,” Faber-Jones told her. “For instance if Madame Karitska is able to predict certain things for any of you that eventually take place, then that would suggest, would it not, that our lives are to some extent already laid out before us?”

“But that’s impossible,” said Zoehfeld.

“On the contrary,” said Madame Karitska, breaking in firmly, “it is our misconception of time that makes it appear impossible. But if time doesn’t exist at
all
as we know it—for instance, if future-time is exactly like past-time, except that we simply haven’t caught up with it yet, haven’t arrived at it yet—then it becomes not only possibility but actuality.”

“Quite fascinating,” murmured Dr. Berkowitz.

Dr. Tennison said reproachfully, “You, a man of science, a doctor, say that?”

“I am also a human being,” he said with a faint smile.

“I’ll make one more suggestion,” added Faber-Jones. “To spare any—uh—unnecessary embarrassment, supposing none of you identify yourselves with the results that Madame Karitska may describe.”

The four agreed to the experiment with varying degrees of enthusiasm; it was promised that there would be no cheating and that the object had to have been worn regularly over a period of some months. Mr. Faber-Jones brought a hat out of a closet and passed it around, collecting four objects in it. The hat was deposited in front of Madame Karitska on the table.

Three of the four objects were wrist watches; the fourth was a small, round, polished stone with a hole drilled in its center through which a chain might be inserted. Madame Karitska reached for this first, and examined it. So far as she could see, it had no intrinsic value at all; it was, quite simply, a stone.

There was silence, except for the scratch of a match as Mr. Zoehfeld lighted his pipe.

“This amulet or charm,” she said suddenly, “has been worn in a prison.”

There was a stir at this, and suspicious glances exchanged among the four; one did not expect to be seated next to a former inmate at a dinner party on Cavendish Square.

“It has been worn lately—for a number of years—by a man, but there is the strong feeling that it was worn at an earlier date by a woman. The impressions mingle but the woman’s are stronger, the more deeply etched. It was she who was in prison.” Madame Karitska closed her eyes, concentrating. “
Very
strong impressions,” she said, trembling a little. “I feel that this woman, this woman in prison, was a very brave person, very resolute in her situation. I see barbed-wire fencing around this prison … a camp, really, with long low buildings and guards with—Ah,” she said, nodding. “I see now, this is a concentration camp. The prisoners wear drab gray suits like pajamas, and many of them have yellow stars of David sewn on their sleeves.”

One of the people present drew a sharp breath, but it was impossible to guess who it was. It was the only sound as they waited, caught by the intensity in Madame Karitska’s voice.

“And there is death—and yet not death,” she added in a puzzled voice, frowning. “There is despair and there is love all mingled together—all these impressions are very strong. This stone was given her by the man she loves and she worries a great deal about him. He has been ill, I think, and she worries more about him than about herself. There is the impression that he too was once in the camp but is there no longer … and then there is this death.”

She shook her head, her eyes still closed. “The woman fingers this stone; you understand it is a very intense
moment and the impressions remain here. She thinks of hope and of love, and she has great trust in this man and she—I see now, she swallows two capsules. The capsules are poison,” Madame Karitska said, and opened her eyes and looked around her at the watching faces. “And yet she does not die,” she added simply. “A riddle.”

“Of course she would die,” protested Faber-Jones.

Madame Karitska closed her eyes again, and for a long time was silent. “No,” she said, “not then. I feel much horror about this. There is a coffin, people looking inside and closing the coffin, and then much later she opens her eyes and she is free.” Madame Karitska smiled radiantly. “I understand now.… The man she loved is beside her. It is he who smuggled the poison into the camp to her. It is presumably a dead body that has been shipped out of the camp but she is alive. She opens her eyes in a dark basement room and there are people there. She is safe.”

“But how?” asked Dr. Tennison.

“An antidote prepared and waiting,” she said. “I can feel the risk, the suspense, the terrible, agonizing suspense of whether she will be saved in time.”

“Good God,” said Faber-Jones.

Madame Karitska opened her eyes and smiled. “Since then, for many years, it has been worn by that man who so miraculously saved his wife. And there is sadness,” she added, “for I do not think she is alive now.”

Lucas Johns opened his mouth to speak and then was silent.

“But who,” said Dr. Tennison. “Which of us—”

“We pledged not to tell,” Faber-Jones reminded her.

“Then how do we know that what Madame Karitska
saw is right?” protested Dr. Tennison. “A story so bizarre—”

“I will take a watch next,” said Madame Karitska, interrupting her, and she placed the stone carefully to one side of her coffee cup and selected a plain gold watch set into a wide, dark-brown leather band. She held it silently for a few moments in the palm of her hand and then she put it down and with a glance at Faber-Jones said, “I wonder if I might excuse myself for a moment. There is a lavatory, I believe, adjoining the bedroom where I left my coat?”

Faber-Jones, startled, said, “Yes, but there’s a much nearer one just off the hall to your right.”

Madame Karitska nodded and left. She went, however, to the bedroom, which she had seen before, and was absent for nearly ten minutes. When she returned she picked up a silver watch with a black band.

“You were holding a gold watch before,” pointed out Lucas Johns.

“Oh? Well, I will return to that one later,” she said lightly. “Let us see what this one tells us—except I am afraid that in this case there can be no secret about whom I describe, because the impression I immediately receive is that of a very strong woman who works inside the earth, who opens tombs and collects artifacts.” She was silent for a few moments before speaking again. “I will not inject any personal notes into this reading but I will say this: of major importance right now in this person’s life is a project to—I see the state of South Dakota, am I right? And Indians … an Indian burial ground?”

“Actually,” began Dr. Tennison, and then flushed.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, I have to say that you’re right. I leave next week.”

Madame Karitska said sharply, “Then I would beg of you not to, for I foresee danger for you. Not physical danger but grave psychic danger. This is a sacred burial ground.”

Dr. Tennison smiled. “My dear Madame Karitska, all places that we archaeologists investigate have customarily been sacred in their time.”

Madame Karitska eyed her disapprovingly. “And you do not believe that interference can bring—shall we say a response?”

“You mean,” Lucas Johns said with a smile, “that spirits of the dead may be hanging about?”

Dr. Tennison laughed. “Yes, I think that’s exactly what she means. Rubbish, of course.”

Madame Karitska smiled gently. “Whatever I may mean or not mean, I foresee trouble. This I can tell you. You are skeptical, I see, and I am sorry but I must tell you that this experience will be bad for you. You will be—changed.”

Dr. Tennison shrugged and brought out a cigarette and lighted it. “You’ve not convinced me, although I admit you guessed where I go next. You could, of course, have read about it in the newspapers.”

“I do not read newspapers,” Madame Karitska said somewhat coldly, and picked up a second watch, this one a square silver one with an alligator strap.

Holding this second watch and closing her eyes she said, “Ah, this one is most interesting. We have here a person who has lived two different lives, very distinct and separate.… I see the state of California, yes, and very definitely from the look of the flat roofs and the
blue water I would say San Francisco. A beautiful city, is it not? There is great success there, and happiness, but for this person there comes grave trouble, very bad associates. There is—” She broke off suddenly. “I do not believe I should go on with this,” she said. “I do not wish to give away this person’s secret, I feel it could be dangerous.”

Lucas Johns said with a grin at his host, “Some dinner party, Jonesy.”

As he spoke the buzzer sounded in the hall, and they could hear Faber-Jones’ valet open the door, followed by the murmur of voices. Madame Karitska said with apology, “To give an incomplete reading, this happens sometimes. You will forgive me? I will read this last watch now,” she said, “and then I daresay Mr. Faber-Jones will want us to move to more comfortable chairs.”

She picked up the fourth and last watch, the gold one with a dark-brown leather strap, and held it lightly in the palm of one hand. “Yes,” she said, closing her eyes, and said slowly, “Yes, we have here a man of great brilliance and great—yes, great shrewdness, a man who is not what he seems to be, in fact he has been many things. He has had many names as well, I believe, and also many occupations. He was born in another country but although he has lived in this country for a long time his allegiances are still to that other country.”

There was something in her voice that struck the others silent. There was an atmosphere suddenly of uneasiness.

“I feel,” continued Madame Karitska, “that the name Mazda has been important in this man’s life. It rests there like a shadow. This man has been a professor or
teacher at one time, for I get the impression of a classroom and of students, and it was during this period that he knew this woman named Mazda. He is responsible for her death. Not only that, but I get the very strong impression that he has arranged the death of at least two other people. This has something to do with Mazda.… Two people, a man and a woman …”

“Surely this is going too far?” broke in Dr. Tennison indignantly. “First Indian burial grounds and now a murderer among us?”

“This man is now working in—I see the city of New York, and one particular building in New York.… I believe,” said Madame Karitska, opening her eyes and looking directly at Peter Zoehfeld, “it’s the United Nations building.”

“I
beg
your pardon!” snapped Zoehfeld, and looking highly incensed he rose from his chair. “Look here, I didn’t come to your dinner party to be insulted,” he told Faber-Jones. “I daresay you didn’t expect it either but I don’t intend to listen to any more of this claptrap. No, no, I’ll accept no apology. If you’ll ask your man to bring me my coat I’ll leave.”

“I don’t wonder,” sniffed Dr. Tennison.

Faber-Jones, looking puzzled, said, “I really don’t understand—I mean, actually, you know … I mean, I’m dreadfully sorry.” He gave Madame Karitska a quick, helpless glance. “I feel responsible, of course—a parlor game, you know, I didn’t dream—”

Tight-lipped, Zoehfeld said, “Never mind, I’ll just
go.
”

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Dr. Tennison turned and gave Madame Karitska an indignant stare. “You do a great deal of harm with
your crystal-ball reading, my dear woman. I hope you realize that.”

But Madame Karitska chose instead to answer Faber-Jones’ questioning gaze. “There are policemen outside in your hall waiting for him,” she said quietly. “When I asked about your lavatory I actually wanted to use the telephone in the bedroom. I called Lieutenant Pruden at the hospital and he understood at once what to do.”

“Good God,” said Lucas Johns, “you mean the man actually is a murderer?”

Looking appalled, Faber-Jones said, “But how would Pruden know what to do? How could you be that sure?”

She smiled. “Because some weeks ago Lieutenant Pruden brought to me the watch of a man named Dr. Bugov who disappeared three years ago here in Trafton. The impressions I received when I picked up Mr. Zoehfeld’s watch were identical to the impressions I received from Dr. Bugov’s watch. They are the same man.”

“I think,” said Dr. Tennison with a shudder, “that I too choose to leave now, but not because I am a murderess, I just think we’ve all had enough, don’t you? I’m very tired.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Berkowitz with a start, “I think you’re quite right.”

“No offense meant, Jonesy,” said Lucas Johns, “but I think I’ll go too. Really the most dramatic dinner party I’ve attended in years.”

They arose and exchanged the usual murmurs of thank-yous as Faber-Jones’ valet brought out hats, scarfs, and coats. Dr. Tennison was the first to leave,
kissing Faber-Jones good-by and shaking Madame Karitska’s hand. Lucas Johns left next, with a long look into Madame Karitska’s eyes and an inexplicable “Thank you.”