"Could be," said Dr. Hughes. "Okay, Mr. Erskine. Thanks for your interest and your help. Don't hesitate to call me if there's anything else you want to know."
I put the phone down slowly. Amelia and MacArthur stood beside me, just as weary as I was, but eager to help now, and really interested. They'd seen the face on the cherrywood table, and they believed. Whatever the spirit was, whether it was an Indian medicine man or a malignant ghost of the present, they wanted to help me fight it.
"If you ask me," said MacArthur, "the Dutch should have kept their twenty-four dollars and left Manhattan to the Indians. It looks as though the original owners are getting their revenge."
I sat down and rubbed my eyes. "It looks that way, MacArthur. Now let's get some sleep. We've got a lot to do tomorrow."
CHAPTER FOUR
Across the Twilight
It took us four hours to track down Dr. Ernest Snow. A friend of Amelia's knew someone at Harvard who knew someone else who was a student of anthropology, and in turn the student of anthropology put us on to Dr. Snow.
His credentials were impressive. He had written five monographs on Indian religious and magical rites, and a book called Rituals and Lore of the Hidatsa. What's more, he lived within reach, in Albany, New York.
"Well," said MacArthur, yawning through the gloom of a dark and wintry Sunday morning, "are you going to phone him?"
"I guess so," I told him. "I was just wondering whether we haven't gone off on the wrong track."
"What do you mean?" asked Amelia.
"Well, I mean this whole Indian business. We don't really have any evidence to support it. Just because the face on the table looked something like a Red Indian, there's no real reason to think that he really was."
Amelia shrugged "But what else have we got to go on? And there is all this stuff about rebirth. Come on, Harry, we have to try it."
"Okay, then, here goes," I said, and picked up the phone. I dialed Dr. Snow's number and listened to it ringing. He seemed to take a long time to answer.
"Snow here," said a dipped crisp voice.
"Dr. Snow, I'm sorry to disturb you on Sunday, but when I tell you why I'm calling, I hope you'll understand. My name's Harry Erskine, and I'm a professional clairvoyant."
"You're a what?" snapped Dr. Snow. He didn't sound very amused.
"I tell fortunes. I work in New York City."
There was a tense pause, and then Dr. Snow said: "Mr. Erskine, it's very good of you to call me on a Sunday morning and tell me that. But I don't understand why your being a fortune teller is so particularly urgent."
"It's like this, Dr. Snow. I have a client who's in hospital right now, a young girl, and she's very sick. She has a kind of tumor on her neck, and the doctors are pretty baffled."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Dr. Snow, "but I don't quite see what it's got to do with me. I'm a doctor of anthropology, not of medicine."
"That's exactly why I'm calling you, Dr. Snow. You see, I believe my client is being used as a host for the reincarnation of an Indian medicine man. I think that tumor of hers is actually the fetus of a redskin. You've heard of that, haven't you? The way they drank blazing oil and got themselves reborn in the past or the future."
This time, there was a longer and tenser pause. Then Dr. Snow said: "Are you serious, Mr…"
"Erskine."
"Mr. Erskine, do you know what you're saying? You're telling me that there is somebody in New York City today, alive now, who is harboring a reincarnated medicine man?"
"That's exactly it, sir."
"Is this some kind of a hoax? Are you putting me on? Students do that, you know."
"I realize that, sir. But if you give me the chance to come and talk to you for half an hour, I think you'll realize that we're not kidding. If you want to check up on me, you can ring Dr. Hughes at the Sisters of Jerusalem Hospital. We're doing this work with his approval."
"We?"
"Myself and two friends. One of them is a medium."
I could almost hear Dr. Snow's mind churning around on the end of the telephone. Amelia and MacArthur stared at me nervously as I waited for the old man's reply.
"All right," he said finally. "I suppose you want to come and see me today?"
"As soon as possible, Dr. Snow. I know this is a real inconvenience, but a girl is dying."
"Oh, it's no inconvenience. My wife's sister is coming over today, and the less I have to see of her, the better I like it. Come up anytime."
"Thank you, Dr. Snow."
I put the phone down. It was as simple as that I'm always amazed how readily and quickly people will accept the occult and the supernatural, once the evidence is there in front of their eyes. Dr. Snow had probably read about medicine man reincarnation for years, without really believing it was possible, but as soon as someone had told him it had actually happened, he was ready to accept it without a qualm.
Anyway, I grabbed my car keys and put on my herringbone coat.
"Who's coming to Albany?" I asked, and Amelia and MacArthur both got up to get ready.
"I hate to say this," said MacArthur, "but this is a damn sight more interesting than selling social security plates."
Dr. Snow lived in a small, tight, brick-built house on the outskirts of Albany. It was surrounded by dark, mournful cypress trees, and its windows were hung with yellowed lace. The sky was threatening and metallic as we drove up through the thick slush and ice, and there was a keen persistent wind blowing from the northeast. There was a strange silence around, like the silence of children waiting for a teacher they feared.
We stood around on the doorstep clapping our hands to get the circulation back, and I rang the bell. It went ding-donggg, deep in the recesses of the old house.
The door opened, and Dr. Snow stood there. He was a tall, bent man with white monkish hair and gold-rimmed spectacles. He was wearing a maroon cardigan with baggy pockets, and plaid carpet slippers.
"Mr. Erskine?" he said. "You'd better come in."
We shuffled into the gloomy hallway. There was a strong smell of lavender polish, and a long-case clock ticked wearily in the corner. We took off our coats, and Dr. Snow led us through into a chilly parlor. There were fierce Indian masks all around the walls, contrasting with the English delicacy of stuffed linnets in glass domes, and faded little Stevengraphs.
"Sit down," said Dr. Snow. "You'd better explain what this is all about. My wife will bring you some coffee in a moment. I'm afraid we don't drink liquor in this house."
MacArthur looked decidedly glum at that. There was a flask of bourbon in the car, but he was too polite to ask if he could go and get it.
Dr. Snow sat down on a hard little cane chair, and crossed his hands in front of him. Amelia and I shared a low and uncomfortable settee, and MacArthur perched himself on the window seat, so that he could stare out at the snowy trees.
As briefly as I could, I explained Karen Tandy's condition to Dr. Snow, and told him about the seance we had held the night before. He listened quite intently, occasionally asking me questions about Karen and her aunt, and about the apparition we had seen on Mrs. Karmann's cherrywood table.
When I'd finished, he sat there for a while with his hands clasped, and considered. Then he said: "From what you've told me, Mr. Erskine, the case of this unfortunate girl sounds genuine. I think you're right. There is only one other recorded case of a person being chosen as the host for a medicine man's rebirth, and that was in 1851, at Fort Berthold, on the Upper Missouri, among the Hidatsa Indians. A young Indian girl had a swelling on her arm, which eventually grew so large that it overwhelmed her, and she died. Out of the swelling emerged a complete and fully-grown man, who was said to be a magician of the tribe from fifty years previous.