The Hound of Death. Агата Кристи

I shall get her to gaze into it. I think the result ought to be interesting.’

      ‘What do you expect to get hold of?’ I asked curiously.

      The words were idle ones but they had an unlooked-for result. Rose stiffened, flushed, and his manner when he spoke changed insensibly. It was more formal, more professional.

      ‘Light on certain mental disorders imperfectly understood. Sister Marie Angelique is a most interesting study.’

      So Rose’s interest was purely professional? I wondered.

      ‘Do you mind if I come along too?’ I asked.

      It may have been my fancy, but I thought he hesitated before he replied. I had a sudden intuition that he did not want me.

      ‘Certainly. I can see no objection.’

      He added: ‘I suppose you’re not going to be down here very long?’

      ‘Only till the day after tomorrow.’

      I fancied that the answer pleased him. His brow cleared and he began talking of some recent experiments carried out on guinea pigs.

      I met the doctor by appointment the following afternoon, and we went together to Sister Marie Angelique. Today, the doctor was all geniality. He was anxious, I thought, to efface the impression he had made the day before.

      ‘You must not take what I said too seriously,’ he observed, laughing. ‘I shouldn’t like you to believe me a dabbler in occult sciences. The worst of me is I have an infernal weakness for making out a case.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes, and the more fantastic it is, the better I like it.’

      He laughed as a man laughs at an amusing weakness.

      When we arrived at the cottage, the district nurse had something she wanted to consult Rose about, so I was left with Sister Marie Angelique.

      I saw her scrutinizing me closely. Presently she spoke.

      ‘The good nurse here, she tells me that you are the brother of the kind lady at the big house where I was brought when I came from Belgium?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said.

      ‘She was very kind to me. She is good.’

      She was silent, as though following out some train of thought. Then she said:

      ‘M. le docteur, he too is a good man?’

      I was a little embarrassed.

      ‘Why, yes. I mean—I think so.’

      ‘Ah!’ She paused and then said: ‘Certainly he has been very kind to me.’

      ‘I’m sure he has.’

      She looked up at me sharply.

      ‘Monsieur—you—you who speak to me now—do you believe that I am mad?’

      ‘Why, my sister, such an idea never—’

      She shook her head slowly—interrupting my protest.

      ‘Am I mad? I do not know—the things I remember—the things I forget …’

      She sighed, and at that moment Rose entered the room.

      He greeted her cheerily and explained what he wanted her to do.

      ‘Certain people, you see, have a gift for seeing things in a crystal. I fancy you might have such a gift, my sister.’

      She looked distressed.

      ‘No, no, I cannot do that. To try to read the future—that is sinful.’

      Rose was taken aback. It was the nun’s point of view for which he had not allowed. He changed his ground cleverly.

      ‘One should not look into the future. You are quite right. But to look into the past—that is different.’

      ‘The past?’

      ‘Yes—there are many strange things in the past. Flashes come back to one—they are seen for a moment—then gone again. Do not seek to see anything in the crystal since that is not allowed you. Just take it in your hands—so. Look into it—look deep. Yes—deeper—deeper still. You remember, do you not? You remember. You hear me speaking to you. You can answer my questions. Can you not hear me?’

      Sister Marie Angelique had taken the crystal as bidden, handling it with a curious reverence. Then, as she gazed into it, her eyes became blank and unseeing, her head drooped. She seemed to sleep.

      Gently the doctor took the crystal from her and put it on the table. He raised the corner of her eyelid. Then he came and sat by me.

      ‘We must wait till she wakes. It won’t be long, I fancy.’

      He was right. At the end of five minutes, Sister Marie Angelique stirred. Her eyes opened dreamily.

      ‘Where am I?’

      ‘You are here—at home. You have had a little sleep. You have dreamt, have you not?’

      She nodded.

      ‘Yes, I have dreamt.’

      ‘You have dreamt of the Crystal?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Tell us about it.’

      ‘You will think me mad, M. le docteur. For see you, in my dream, the Crystal was a holy emblem. I even figured to myself a second Christ, a Teacher of the Crystal who died for his faith, his followers hunted down—persecuted … But the faith endured.

      ‘The faith endured?’

      ‘Yes—for fifteen thousand full moons—I mean, for fifteen thousand years.’

      ‘How long was a full moon?’

      ‘Thirteen ordinary moons. Yes, it was in the fifteen thousandth full moon—of course, I was a Priestess of the Fifth Sign in the House of the Crystal. It was in the first days of the coming of the Sixth Sign …’

      Her brows drew together, a look of fear passed over her face.

      ‘Too soon,’ she murmured. ‘Too soon. A mistake … Ah! yes, I remember! The Sixth Sign!’

      She half sprang to her feet, then dropped back, passing her hand over her face and murmuring:

      ‘But what am I saying? I am raving. These things never happened.’

      ‘Now don’t distress yourself.’

      But she was looking at him in anguished perplexity.

      ‘M. le docteur, I do not understand. Why should I have these dreams—these fancies? I was only sixteen when I entered the religious life. I have never travelled. Yet I dream of cities, of strange people, of strange customs. Why?’ She pressed both hands to her head.

      ‘Have you ever been hypnotized, my sister? Or been in a state of trance?’

      ‘I have never been hypnotized, M. le docteur. For the other, when at prayer in the chapel, my spirit has often been caught up from my body, and I have been as one dead for many hours. It was undoubtedly a blessed state, the Reverend Mother said—a state of grace. Ah! yes,’ she caught her breath. ‘I remember, we too called it a state of grace.’

      ‘I would like to try an experiment, my sister.’ Rose spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘It may dispel those painful half-recollections. I will ask you to gaze once more in the crystal. I will then say a certain word to you. You will answer with another. We will continue in this way until you become tired. Concentrate your thoughts on the crystal, not upon the words.’

      As I once more unwrapped the crystal and gave it into Sister Marie Angelique’s hands, I noticed the reverent way her hands touched it. Reposing on the black velvet, it lay between her slim palms. Her wonderful deep eyes gazed into it. There was a short silence,