The Secrets of Dr. Taverner (14 page)

"Then to put it crudely," said Polson, who had hitherto stared
at Taverner in silence, "you believe that someone has taught this
moonstone how to give hypnotic suggestion?"

"Crudely, yes," replied Taverner, "just as middle C struck on
a piano will cause the C string of another piano to vibrate in
sympathy."

"How does the moonstone manage the hypnosis?" I inquired,
not without malice, I am afraid.

"Ah, it has to have help with that," said Taverner. "That is
where those scented seeds come in, and a more diabolically
ingenious device it would be hard to find.

"Everybody is not psychic, so some means had to be devised
of inducing at least temporary sensitiveness in the stolid,
matter-of-fact Burmisters against whom this device was
directed. As even you will admit, Rhodes, there are certain drugs
that are capable of changing the condition and state of
consciousness--alcohol for one, chloroform for another.

"In the East, where they know a great deal more about these
things than we do, a careful study has been made of the drugs
that will induce the change, and they are acquainted with many
substances which the British Pharmacopoedia knows nothing
about. There is a considerable number of drugs which are
capable of producing, at least temporarily, a state of
clairvoyance, and those black seeds are among the number. I
don't know what they are--they are unfamiliar to me--but I
shall try and find out, as they cannot be common, and we may
then be able to trace their origin and get this devil's workshop
shut down."

"Then," said Polson, "you think someone has imprinted an
idea on the soul of that moonstone so that anyone who was
sensitive would be influenced by it, and then added the seeds to
his fiendish potpourri so as to drug an ordinary person into
abnormal sensitiveness and make him susceptible to the
influences of the moonstone?"

"Exactly!"

"And some devil manufactures these things and then sells
them to dangerous fools like Irving?"

"That is my opinion."

"Then he ought to be hanged!"

"I disagree with you."

"You would let such a cold-blooded brute go unpunished?"

"No, I would not, but I would make the punishment fit the
crime. Occult offences are always dealt with by occult means.
There are more ways of killing a cat than drowning it in cream."

"It has not taken you long to dispose of that case," I remarked
to Taverner as Polson withdrew, profuse in his thanks.

"If you think that is the end," said my colleague, "you are
very much mistaken; Irving will certainly have another try, and
equally certainly, I shall not let the matter rest."

"You will only get abused if you go to the police station" I
told him. "If you think that twelve British grocers in a jury box
would hang Irving you are very much mistaken; they would
probably ask the court missionary to visit you and see if he
couldn't get your family to do something for you."

"I know all that," said Taverner. "It is quite useless to go to
law in a case of occult attack, but there is such a thing as the
psychic police, you know. The members of all regularly
organized Lodges are bound by their oath either to take up
themselves or report to their fraternity any case of mental
malpractice that comes within their knowledge, and we have our
own way of doing justice."

"Do you intend to give Irving a dose of counter-suggestion"

"No, I won't do that. We are not absolutely certain that he is
guilty, though it looks suspiciously like it. I shall deal with him
by another method, which, if he is innocent, will leave him
scatheless, and if he is guilty will be singularly appropriate to his
crime. The first thing, however, is to get in touch with our man
without arousing his suspicions. How would you go to work,
Rhodes?"

"Get Poison to introduce me," I said.

"Poison and Irving are not on any too good terms; moreover, I
have the misfortune to have a certain amount of fame, and Irving
will smell a rat the minute I appear in the case. Try again."

I hazarded several suggestions, from giving him a com-
mission to paint poppyheads to falling in a fit at his feet as he
issued from his studio. All of these Taverner vetoed as leaving
too much to chance and likely to rouse his suspicions and
prevent the possibility of a second attempt to corner him if the
first failed.

"You must work along the line of his interests, and then he
will fall into your hand like a ripe pear. What is the use of
reading psychology if you never use it? I will bet you that before
a week is out I shall have Irving begging me, as an enormous
favour, to execute justice on him."

"How do you propose to go to work?" I asked.

Taverner rolled the seeds over thoughtfully with a pencil.
"These things cannot be too common; I will find out first what
they are and where he got them. Come along with me to Bond
Street; there is a man in a perfumer's there who will probably be
able to tell me what I want to know."

We were not long in arriving at our destination, and then I
saw that curious little by-play that I had often witnessed when
Taverner was in need of assistance. A man in a dirty white
laboratory coat, who obviously did not know Taverner from
Adam, was summoned from the back of the shop, my companion
made a sign with his left hand that would have passed
unobserved if one had not known what to look for, and
immediately the attitude of our new acquaintance changed. We
were led behind the counter into a room that was half laboratory,
half store room, and there, amid a litter of chemical appliances,
gaudy wrappers, hampers of herbs smelling up to high heaven,
and the remains of a meal, the mysterious seeds were spread out
for investigation.

"It is one of the Dipteryx," said the man in the white coat,
"the same family as the Tonquin Bean; Dipteryx Irritans is its
name. It is sometimes used for adulterating the true Tonquin
bean when imported in powder form. Of course a small amount
cannot be detected by any chemical tests, but you would not care
to have a sachet of it among your handkerchiefs; it would give
you a form of hay fever, and affect your eyesight."

"Is it imported into this country much?"

"Never, save as an adulterant, and then only in powder form.
It has no commercial value--you could not buy it here if you
tried, in fact you could not buy it in Madagascar (where it comes
from), because no scent merchant would own to having any on
his premises. You would have to collect it yourself from the wild
vines."

`What trade paper do you scent-makers affect?"

"We have not got one of our own, but you could get at the
scent trade through the druggists' journals."

Taverner thanked him for his information, and we returned to
Harley Street, where Taverner busied himself in drawing up an
advertisement to the effect that a Mr. Trotter had a parcel of
Dipteryx Irritans to dispose of and solicited offers.

About a week later we received, via the journal's office, a
letter to say that a Mr. Minski, of Chelsea, was prepared to do
business with us if we would furnish him with a sample and
state our lowest price. Taverner chuckled when he received this
epistle.

"The fish bites, Rhodes," he said. "We will proceed to call
upon Mr. Minski forthwith."

I nodded my acquiescence and reached for my hat.

"Not in these clothes, Rhodes," said my colleague. "Mr.
Minski would put up the shutters if he saw a top hat ap-
proaching. Let me see what I can find in my vanity bag."

His "vanity bag" was the name by which Taverner designated
an old suit case that held certain disreputable garments that
served him as disguise when he did not wish to obtrude his
Harley Street personality upon an unappreciative world. In a few
minutes I was denuded of my usual panoply, and was invested in
a seedy brown suit of pseudo-smart cut; black boots that had
once been brown, and a Trilby hat completed my discomfort,
and Taverner, resplendent in a greenish frock coat and
moth-eaten top hat, informed me that if it were not for my ruby
tie-pin (which came out of a cracker) he would not altogether
care to be seen out with me!

We took a bus to Victoria Station, and thence, via the King's
Road, to our destination in an obscure side street. Mr. Minski's
shop proved to be something of a surprise-- we had thought to
interview a man of the "old do" dealer type, but we found that
the shop we sought had some pretensions. A collection of
Ruskin pottery and Futurist draperies graced the window,
studio-made jewelry of the semiprecious persuasion hung in a
case by the door, and Mr. Minski, in a brown velvet coat and tie
like a miniature sash, made Taverner look as if he had called for
the washing!

My colleague placed a forefinger, carefully begrimed at the
consulting room grate, upon the velveteen coat of the owner of
the shop. "You are the gentleman who wants to buy the Tonquin
beans?" he inquired.

"I don't want any Tonquin beans, my good man," said that
worthy impatiently. "I understood your advertisement to say that
you had a parcel of Dipteryx Irritans to dispose of. The Tonquin
bean belongs to a different genus, Dipteryx Odorata. I can get
that anywhere, but if you are able to obtain the Irritans bean for
me, we may be able to do business."

Taverner closed one eye in a revolting wink. "You know what
you are talking about, young fellow," he informed the velveteen
individual. "Now, are you buyin' these beans for yourself, or on
commish?"

"What has that got to do with you?" demanded Mr. Minski
haughtily.

"Oh, nothing," said Taverner, looking more rag-and-bony
than ever, "only I prefer to do business with principals, and I
always give ten per cent for introduction."

Minski opened his eyes at this, and I saw that what Taverner
had guessed was probably true--Minski was buying on behalf of
someone else, who might or might not be Irving. I also saw that
he would not be above accepting a commission from both parties
to the transaction. He had evidently been bidden to conceal the
identity of his client, however, and was wondering how far he
dared exceed his instructions. Finally he said: "Since you refuse
to deal with me, I will communicate with my customer and see
whether he is prepared to buy from you direct. Come back on
Wednesday at the same time, and I will let you know."

We returned to civilization and put off the garments of our
humiliation until the appointed time came round, when, dressed
once more in the uniform of the shabby genteel, we returned to
the shop of Mr. Minski. As we entered, we saw a man seated on
a kind of divan in the corner, smoking a scented cigarette. He
was, I should say, thirty-one or two years of age, sallow and
unwholesome of complexion, with the pupils of his eyes
unnaturally dilated; the way in which he lay back among the
cushions showed that his vitality was low, and the slight tremor
of the nicotine-stained fingers pointed to the cause.