“After her first night sleeping in the lab, the Montrose housewife didn’t know what the number was. But she was able to describe the envelope, which had a blob of blue sealing wax on it. And yet she had never left her bed the whole night.
“We then had a janitor open the envelope, take out the paper without looking at it, and place it face up on the shelf. The housewife slept under the shelf a second night. In the morning, she was able to tell us the number. We got the paper down and checked, and she was absolutely right!”
“You were watching the whole night?” asked Bob. “She never got up and tried to reach the shelf?”
“She never moved the whole night. But somehow, she was able to leave her body and read that number. Or, as we say, her astral body left her physical body.”
Bob thought for a second. “But that doesn’t prove anything!” he objected.
“It would prove how the wanderer at your client’s apartment knows that your client owns a mandala,” said Dr Barrister.
“But no one saw that woman move,” said Bob. “Our client has actually seen Sonny Elmquist, or someone who looks like him, in his apartment.”
“And always while Elmquist is asleep?” said Professor Lantine.
“So far as we know.”
“That is rare, but it has happened,” she declared. “Here’s another case, slightly different.”
She opened a second file folder. “A man who lives in Orange,” she said. “All his life he has had disturbing dreams–dreams of being in places and seeing things that he later learned were true events. Unlike the Montrose woman, however, his astral body had actually been seen!
“The man from Orange had a friend in Hollywood–I’ll call him Jones. One night Jones was sitting quietly at home, reading a book. His dog barked, and he thought someone was prowling in his yard. He got up to investigate, and in the entry hall he saw the man who lived in Orange. Jones saw him so clearly that he spoke to him–called him by name. The man didn’t answer. Instead he turned and went upstairs. When Jones followed him, no one was there.
“Jones found the affair so upsetting that he immediately called his friend in Orange, who answered the telephone himself. The man had been sound asleep, dreaming of being in Jones’ house, of seeing Jones reading, and of having Jones confront him in the hall. In his dream, the man from Orange felt threatened when Jones spoke to him, so he fled up the stairs and hid in a closet. The dream ended when the telephone rang.”
“Good grief!” exclaimed Bob.
“Yes,” said Professor Lantine. “It is amazing–and frightening. It frightens the people who have the power to wander about this way, and it frightens the people who glimpse the wanderers.”
“Sonny Elmquist has scared Mr Prentice, all right!” said Bob. “But how can we be sure that he is a wanderer?”
“You can’t,” said Professor Lantine. “He might consent to come in for some observed experiments. They might prove he has this strange ability. Then again, they might prove nothing.”
“I see,” said Bob. “In the meantime, Mr Prentice has no way of keeping him out?”
“If he is truly a wanderer, no. However, Mr Prentice shouldn’t be alarmed. These people are harmless. They can’t do anything. They’re only observers, you see.”
“You mean they can’t touch anything?”
“At least, they apparently can’t move anything,” said Professor Lantine. “The Montrose housewife, for example, couldn’t read the number in the envelope. We had to open the envelope for her.”
“So if Elmquist is a wanderer, he can’t do anything while he’s roaming around,” concluded Bob.
“So far as we know, he can’t.”
“Sonny Elmquist wants to go to India,” said Bob. “He wants to study there.”
Professor Lantine nodded. “There is a widespread belief that Indian mystics know secrets that are denied to Westerners,” she said. “I doubt it. However, if Mr Elmquist is truly a wanderer, he may think he’ll find out more about it in India.”
“Well, so much for the shadow in Mr Prentice’s apartment,” said Bob. “But what about the phantom priest? What about ghosts?”
Professor Lantine shrugged. “I haven’t been able to collect one shred of evidence that the phantom priest exists anywhere except in the mind of that housekeeper. Perhaps your friend saw the phantom priest in the church, perhaps not. I’ve never actually seen a ghost, and I’ve been a ghost hunter for many years. Maybe they exist. Who can tell?”
15
The Victims
WHEN BOB ANDREWS had departed for Ruxton University, Jupe called Central Hospital. He was told that John Murphy, after being treated for smoke inhalation, had been taken to Belvedere Clinic, where his doctor was on staff. Gwen Chalmers was still in Central. Jupe decided to see her first.
He found Miss Chalmers in a private room. She was sitting up in bed, staring unhappily out the window.
“Hi,” she said to Jupe, when he appeared in the doorway. “You’re Mr Prentice’s young friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Jupiter. “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad, considering somebody tried to kill me,” she said. “Also I’m hungry. They won’t give me anything to eat except gelatin and milk.” She kicked impatiently at the bedcovers. “Don’t ever get poisoned,” she advised Jupe.
“I’ll try not to!” he said. He looked carefully at the woman. Although she was upset, her face was not the face of a disagreeable person. There were creases in the corners of her mouth, as if she laughed a lot.
“What was the poison, do you know?” asked Jupiter.
“Some common chemical,” said Miss Chalmers. She sounded a little bitter about this. “The police told me the name but it didn’t register. It wasn’t anything like arsenic or strychnine–you know, those classy poisons used in mystery stories.”
“Lucky for you!” said Jupiter. “If you had eaten strychnine, you wouldn’t be here now!”
“I know, I know! I should be grateful the stuff only made me sick. Getting poisoned chocolates is dramatic enough.” She laughed.
“Were the police able to trace anything?”
“They said the poison can’t be traced,” answered Gwen Chalmers. “And you can buy that brand of chocolates anywhere.”
Her eyes wandered to the potted plant sitting on her locker.
“A gift?” asked Jupe.
Miss Chalmers nodded. “The girls I work with sent that,” she said. “I called my office this morning, and the plant was here right away. Nice.”
“You get on well with the people, don’t you?” said Jupe.
She laughed. “You sound just like the cops! They were around half the morning trying to find out if I have any enemies. What nonsense! People like me don’t have enemies.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” said Jupiter. “Mr Prentice will be glad to know you’re better.”
“He’s a nice man,” she said. “I like him. I’m glad he’s going to get a dog.”
Jupe stood very still. “The Carpathian Hound?”
“Yes. He told me . . .”
“He told you he was getting a Carpathian Hound?”
She frowned as if trying to remember. “No, come to think of it, he didn’t tell me. I guess it was Mrs Bortz. Yes, I remember. Last Saturday, I was out by the pool and Mrs Bortz was hanging around pretending to wait for the postman. She said he was getting a dog and he hadn’t notified her officially. She was kind of upset about it. She wasn’t sure we should have a dog in the building, although I can’t see why not. Alex Hassell has all those stray cats coming around all the time.”
Jupe nodded. “Well, is there anything I can bring you from home?”
She shook her head. “The ladies’ auxiliary have been around with toothbrushes and toothpaste and combs and everything I need,” she said. “Anyway, I’ll be home tomorrow or the next day. They’re just having me stay awhile for observation.”
Jupe said good-bye and left, musing.
So Miss Chalmers had known of the Carpathian Hound, although she, too, had completely misunderstood the situation. No doubt everyone in the building knew that Mr Prentice would shortly acquire a dog of some type. But how many people knew the dog was actually a crystal sculpture by the deceased artist, Edward Niedland?
Might Elmquist know? Might Murphy? It would be interesting to hear what Murphy had to say.
A cab stood in the taxi rank in front of the hospital. The driver was slouched in the front seat reading a newspaper.
“Do you know where Belvedere Clinic is?” asked Jupiter.
“Sure, kid. Down at Wilshire and Yale.”
Jupe got into the cab. “I’d like to go there.”
“Okay.” The driver nipped the flag that started his meter and drove away from Central. Jupe realized that they were headed back in the direction of the Prentice apartment. Indeed, Belvedere Clinic turned out to be a small private hospital only two blocks from Paseo Place.
Jupe paid the driver and went into the building.