«But when we were investigating him, you said nothing about it.»
«No, I didn't. No one on the staff did. We get rather clannish up here all by ourselves, cut off from the outside world. We protect each other as much as we can. It seemed to us Colby might eventually live down a reputation as a swinging single, but a warlock is another matter. It's not an image that inspires confidence.»
«So you all covered up for him?»
The doctor nodded slowly. «We did. And it was worth it, I think, though now I suppose you'll can the lot of us.»
«No, your jobs are safe enough. Loyalty means something to me, too. Team spirit and all that. But I must know all you can tell me about Colby and this witchcraft business. It's become beastly important all of a sudden. To begin with, how did Colby manage to conceal his interest in the subject when we were investigating him for his security clearance?»
«Well, that investigation took place before he got into it. You found nothing because there was nothing to find. It was here at the sanitarium he first started mucking about in the Black Arts. One week he was as straight a man as you or I. The next week he was studying to be a second Merlin. The human mind is my business, old boy, and I can't begin to explain such a complete transformation.»
«So it happened suddenly, eh? When was that?»
«I can't recall the date without consulting my files, but it was right about the time you sent us that poor soul Mr. Dexter.»
«Dexter?» J said sharply.
«I see you remember him. I'm not surprised. He was a prize, that one. Most of the time he sat around looking at the wall, but now and again, without warning, he'd explode into a screaming fit, kicking down doors and howling about some worm that had a thousand heads. He was a big strong lad, at least when he first got here, and it took four or five of us to subdue him. Once he damn near strangled one of our orderlies to death.»
«What was Dr. Colby's diagnosis?»
«Diagnosis? You know the old saying, 'When in doubt, diagnose schizophrenia.' In that sense, your Mr. Dexter was a schizo of the paranoid persuasion, but between us, sir, that was no more than a label we stuck on the case to cover up our own total bafflement. One thing we were sure of. Dexter was afraid. He was literally insane with fear. What was he afraid of? I haven't a clue.»
«And what was the treatment?»
«Treatment? Why, we protected ourselves from him as best we could. That was the treatment. After the first day or two, Mr. Dexter was kept doped to the gills, and after a couple of weeks we eased off on the sedation bit by bit to see what would happen, finally cutting him off altogether. He was a regular sweetie after that. Sat on the edge of the bed staring at the wall and said, when he said anything at all, that same damn phrase about the worm with the thousand heads. In short, the man was little better than a vegetable. Colby felt somewhat guilty about how we handled Dexter. Said it would have been better not to dope him up so. sometimes you can reach a man that's angry, but once he switches off the world, you can set fire to his clothes and he won't notice. But you've got to understand this Dexter was a giant, a regular King Kong. He was afraid of something. Who knows what? But we were afraid of him!»
J mused thoughtfully, «Dexter was a very special man, Dr. MacMurdo. There's only one other like him in the world.»
MacMurdo lowered his voice. «Dexter was being trained for something, wasn't he? And there was an accident, wasn't there? Colby never told me anything, but I guessed that much. It was so long ago. Surely you can tell me now.»
J shook his head. «No, I can't. It's still classified information, and besides, if I told you I'm afraid you'd lock me in here and never let me out.» He laughed raggedly.
MacMurdo recommenced eating, obviously annoyed. «Keep your little secrets,» he muttered, speaking with his mouth full. «See if I care. Anyway, Dexter had nothing to do with Colby taking up witchcraft. There were plenty of other things happening around here about that time. Dexter was the least of our worries.»
«What do you mean?»
«As you probably know, no old house in Scotland is complete without one or more ghosts. This sanitarium is no exception. MI6 has owned the manor since World War II, but the family ghosts don't seem to realize that. They lie low for years, then suddenly they stage a grand comeback, howling and swinging chains and throwing the furniture around just like old times. If you ask me, that's what set Colby off. The ghosts. For about two weeks this place was a madhouse in more ways than one. Crashing. Banging. Funny lights. Voices muttering things in foreign languages out of thin air. Strange faces in the mirrors. Even a fire that started, so they say, by spontaneous combustion! It burned up four rooms in the east wing before we could put it out. Could have brought the whole place blazing down around our ears! I can't say who was seeing more things that weren't there, the inmates or the staff. I saw a few things myself. I swear I did.»
«I don't doubt it,» J said, thinking of the heavy dresser that had crashed against the wall in Blade's room. «And Colby's interest in witchcraft began during this period of haunting?»
«After the haunting,» the psychiatrist corrected.
«After? I don't understand.»
There was a long uncomfortable pause, then MacMurdo reluctantly began, «First I have to tell you Colby had once had a daughter, back before his divorce, when he was finishing his schooling at the University of California in Berkeley.»
«A daughter?» J prompted, puzzled.
MacMurdo nodded gravely. «Jane was her name. She was about ten years old when she died, there in her bedroom looking out over the San Francisco Bay. Colby used to tell me about her again and again, about the view the poor child had had of the Golden Gate Bridge and all. Jane took an overdose of sleeping pills and died by that window. Nobody could say whether it was suicide or an accident. She didn't leave a note.»
J broke in, «But what's that got to do with. «
«The witchcraft business? Well, along with all those traditional Scottish spooks and ghosties and things that go bump in the night… along with all of them came Jane Colby. Dr. Colby saw her. He talked to her. He went for long walks with her in the hills.»
«You mean he said he did all that.»
«No! He did it! I swear. I saw the lass myself.» His Scottish accent became more pronounced when he was excited.
«Are you sure?»
«I never saw her close up, but once, in broad daylight, I saw Dr. Colby on a far-off hillside, walking hand in hand with somebody or something, and when he came back to the manor, he told me who it was. I had to believe him. Wouldn't a man know his own daughter?»
«Are you saying you saw a ghost in the daytime?»
«These weren't ordinary ghosts. Daytime or nighttime, it was all the same to them. That's why, for two weeks, we hardly slept for two hours out of the twenty-four. There was always something happening. Toward the end, though, the haunting tapered off.»
«Why was that?»
«How should I know? All I can do is pass on to you what little Jane Colby told her father.»
J leaned forward expectantly. «Yes? Yes?»
«She said she could only come through from the other side for a short time. She said she was cut off from her roots, and that a flower cut off from its roots must die.»
«By Jove!» J thumped his fist on the table. «So even a ghost has limitations!»
«Wait. There's more. She said it was up to Colby to open up the gate and keep it open. Then she'd return to him and stay with him forever.»
«And he turned to witchcraft, thinking that witchcraft could open the gate to the other world!» J was triumphant. At last the whole unthinkable mess was beginning to form some sort of pattern, incomplete yet with an otherworldly logic of its own.