`Yes. The effect would be instantaneous. Of course, she would still be subject to hypnotic suggestion, like her jailers or anyone else, in normal circumstances in the future; but not to night. Such an act would restore the powers of her Guardian Angel, who has been chained all these years. Once freed, he would give her everything he'd got, and throw an aura round her which would protect her from every harmful thought.'
Beddows ceased speaking for a moment, then added suddenly in an aggressive voice, `But don't think what I've told you is going to get you anywhere. If you've come here to try to get me to abjure, you've backed the wrong horse. I've no intention of being struck dead by an apoplectic fit and frying for all Eternity.'
`Is that what it would mean for you?'
`Yes. Hell is real! Don't you believe these modem parsons who are fools enough to tell their congregations otherwise. I know, because I've seen it. Copely Syle showed it to me the night that he initiated me as a Neophyte of the Left Hand Path. And it is gaping wide with great tongues of flame for anyone like me should I betray the Master.'
`The mercy of God is infinite,' said John quietly.
`Maybe,' sneered Beddows. `But not till after one has paid the price for what one has taken at Satan's hands. God would leave me to burn for a thousand years before
He even had a look at me. If you think I'd give a blank cheque of that kind to save Ellen you must be crazy.'
John remained silent long enough for Beddows to cool down, then he said, `There is another thing we wanted to ask you about. Last night you told us that for a time you gave up your engineering studies on account of a personal attachment. Would you tell us about that?'
`Why? It has nothing whatever to do with this business of Copely Syle and Ellen.'
`I'm not so sure. I think it might have. Every major emotional experience in your life must have had some bearing on your present situation. Please tell us about it.'
Beddows shrugged. `Very well. Since I've told you the rest of the story, I may as well fill in the gap. When I first came here as chauffeur old Mrs. Durnsford had a companion. She was a girl named. Isobel a frail, gentle little thing, but very beautiful and the sort that is too good for this world. The old girl made her life hell, but she had to grin and bear it. You see, she was a poor relation, with no other relatives to go to, and neither the training nor the stamina to take any other job; so she had no alternative to staying on here.
`When I had been here for a bit Mrs. Durnsford had the idea that I should teach Isobel to drive the car. She didn't want to, and I didn't want to teach her, as I thought it might result in my being given the sack; but it was an order. Things being like that, Isobel's progress was not very fast; so I had plenty of opportunity to get to know her. At first she was very shy, but gradually we got to confiding in one another. I found then that behind her timid manner lay a wonderful mind, filled with courage, unselfishness and an infallible understanding of all the things that really matter.
`She held that money, birth and position counted for nothing; that real happiness could be gained only by giving happiness to others; that God always provided for His children if they did the right thing; that one should never strive to pile up possessions, but only to make people kinder to one another; and that one should live from day to day, so that if death came unexpectedly one could face it with the certainty that one's heart would weigh no more in the scales of judgment than the feather of truth.
`I fell in love with her; and, although I have never understood why, she fell in love with me. When she had got the hang of driving the car sufficient for there to be no excuse to give her further lessons, we continued to meet, but in secret, at any odd times we could snatch. Naturally I had told her all about my engineering ambitions, but she wasn't in favour of that. Partly because it would have meant living in a town, but more, really, because I had frankly admitted that my object in taking it up was solely to make money out of it.
`She had money coming to her: not a lot, but enough. Under a trust Mrs. Durnsford enjoyed the income on condition that she gave Isobel a home until she was twenty five. It could not be touched before that, but then the capital had to be handed over with no strings attached. We had eighteen months to go, but we were content to wait. Isobel wanted to start a small school for crippled and backward children. She would have given them the indoor lessons and I was to teach them gardening, carpentry, and a bit about the inside of cars, and generally run the place. That may sound very different from what I have made of my life, but I would have been far happier doing that. With those kiddies to look after there would have been more new interests every day than I get out of all my businesses; and no man could have been unhappy with Isobel for a wife.'
Beddows sighed heavily. `But it was not to be. Before Isobel was twenty four she fell ill. She was so frail that I think she must have always have had it in her, but she caught a chill and soon afterwards T.B. developed. After a bit they sent her to Switzerland, and I was distraught. But I managed to see her alone before she left. We swore we would love one another always and, of course, we promised to write frequently.
`We did; and for the first few weeks I received her letters quite regular. They told me about the place, and he other patients; about the nice young doctor who vas looking after her, and how she was sure she would be well enough to come home in time for Christmas.
Then her letters grew more infrequent, and after two intervals of ten days they stopped altogether. If I'd been a town chap I suppose I would have telegraphed her to know what was wrong, but sending cables to foreign countries was away over the head of a young country feller like I was in those days. I put her silence down to the young doctor. You see, I'd never been able to convince myself that I was good enough for her; so I didn't even write and ask her to let me know if she had changed her mind about marrying me. I just let my misery have free reign, and decided to stop writing till I heard from her again.
`About three weeks went by like that; then one day, as Mrs. Durnsford was getting into the car, she told me quite casual that Isobel was dead. It was a dirty, wicked lie may her soul rot ! But I never found that out until years later; in fact not until after she was dead herself. She had no near relatives, and when she died her executors sold off the whole contents of the house as well as the place. I had my own furniture, and I didn't want any of hers; but I thought the shelves in the study would look a bit bare without some books, so I bought those at the sale. Naturally, the executors removed her private papers, but there was one lot they overlooked. I came on them soon after I moved in. They were with a pack of Tarot cards and a collection of witch's brew recipes in what was left of a big old family Bible that had had its middle cut out to form a box. Among them was a score of letters from Isobel to me that I had never had.
`It was quite clear then what had happened. My post had always been delivered to the house with the rest of the letters before being brought across the yard to me by one of the maids. The old bitch must have seen a letter with Swiss stamps on addressed to me in Isobel's writing, steamed it open and read it. In our letters we naturally wrote of our love for one another and of our future plans. The thought of people being happy and making life better for a lot of crippled kids would have been poison to old Mother Durnsford. I bet she got no end of a kick out of sabotaging all our hopes. It would have been easy for her to intercept Isobel's letters a few at first, then all of them later on. That's what she had done; and when she judged that she had got me really worried she both provided an explanation why I had not received any letters from Isobel for the past few weeks and gave me the knock out; because the inference was that for some time before her death Isobel had been too ill to write. Mother Durnsford had rounded the affair off nice and neatly the other end too. The envelope of Isobel's last letter was marked `to await collection' and I saw from it that the old woman had written her saying that I'd gone away and left no address.