Read The Haunting of Toby Jugg Online
Authors: Dennis Wheatley
The Haunting of Toby Jugg (19 page)
My bag was 14 Jerrys and 7 probables, more than half of them being scored during my first ten weeks as an operational pilot. After that it got more difficult, as we had given the Luftwaffe a bloody nose, and they went over to the defensive. My D.F.C. came through in May, and I was promoted to Flight-Lieutenant just before I got my packet.
As I did not hold the rank for six months I am no longer officially entitled to it. In all such cases if an officer ‘goes sick’—which covers everything from appendicitis to having his eyes shot out or being burnt to a living skeleton—and is unable to perform his duties for more than three weeks, he is automatically deprived of the rank he has held and reduced by one ring.
Of course, the idea is to save money on their pensions. I am one of the fortunate ones to whom it does not matter, but by now there must be thousands of poor fellows to whom those extra few pounds a month would make an enormous difference. As the ruling applies to all three Services it is pretty obvious that it was inspired by the Treasury; and, if only I had the use of my legs again, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have five minutes behind a haystack with the mean-minded little Whitehall rat who thought that one up.
After the excitement of flying and the fun of sing-songs in the Mess, and sometimes going with a crowd of good fellows for an evening’s bust to the towns near the various airfields at which I was stationed, I got awfully browned-off in hospital; but once it had been broken to me that there was very little chance of my ever walking again I did my best to resign myself to my fate.
I was operated on five times and, within the limits they set themselves, the surgeons were successful, as they managed to repair a certain amount of the damage. In fact I owe it to them that I can sit up for two or three hours at a stretch without discomfort instead of having to be wheeled about on my back the
whole time; but to get me on my feet again proved beyond them. A long-term policy of rest and massage was, in the end, all that they had left to suggest; so, after nine months of living in an atmosphere of iodoform, I was, at my own request, boarded and invalided from the Service.
The problem of what was to happen to me had already been settled. I should greatly have preferred to go to Queensclere, but Kent is constantly the scene of enemy ops; and, although I was quite prepared to stay put during air-raids, Julia and Uncle Paul would have thought it imperative to get me down to a shelter every time a siren sounded, so I could not decently make myself such a burden to them. The same applied to London. Helmuth had been running Llanferdrack for over two years then, and he had the care of me all through my teens. One could have searched Britain and not found a place more suitable for anyone in my condition; and Helmuth as good as said he would be deeply hurt if I did not allow him to look after me.
I wonder, now, if he had already hatched this devilish plot to drive me insane once he succeeded in getting me down here?
Anyhow, on March the 14th last I arrived at Llanferdrack, and was duly installed with all the honours of a war-scarred hero. For the first fortnight I enjoyed the change of scene and the freedom from hospital routine enormously; then things began to happen. But I have already gone into that.
Perhaps I should add for the sake of anyone who, never having known me, may one day find and read this journal, that my hair and moustache—I still retain one of those fluffy affairs that many of us grew in the R.A.F.—are red. My face is freckled, my eyes are grey, my teeth are a bit uneven but white and strong. My shoulders continued to develop even while I was in hospital, and I swing a pair of Indian clubs for ten minutes every morning, so the upper part of my body is that of a minor Hercules; and if I couldn’t wring a python’s neck I could guarantee to give it one hell of a pain there for the rest of its life. I will eat and drink pretty well anything, but I am allergic to oysters, cauliflower, almond icing and pink gin. I was always keen on outdoor sports, but I now thank God that I have always loved reading too. My sex-life started early but, in all other respects, was, up to the time
of the crash, perfectly normal—unless it can be considered abnormal that I have never been in love. I am white—inside as well as out, I hope—but I am not free, and I am not yet twenty-one.
That, then, is all about me; and also all the speculations regarding the plot of which I believe myself to be the victim, that I have to make for the present. So, for the future, the entries in this journal will consist of little more than day-to-day jottings, recording the development of the battle I am waging to retain my sanity and regain my freedom.
Later
This evening I put Taffy into a trance again without difficulty. I gave him my letter and told him that after dinner he was to go down to the village on his push-bike and post it; and that he was not to mention the matter either before or afterwards to anyone.
I am furious. That oaf Taffy bogged it. But I suppose it was partly my fault, as I ought to have realised that the letter needed a stamp and that the village post-office would have already shut for the night when I gave Taffy my letter.
Naturally I was anxious to get confirmation as soon as possible that he had actually sent it off, so as soon as Deb had left us this morning and he started to dress me, I said: ‘Look at me, Taffy,’ and in a moment I had him under. It is as simple as that now, and I have only to point the two first fingers of my right hand at his eyes, then lower them slightly, for his eyes to shut.
To my amazement he immediately burst into tears. Of course, in his normal state he does not remember my having given him the letter, but directly I put him into a trance his sub-conscious again made him fully aware of that, and the fact that he had been unable to carry out my instructions.
Apparently, what happened was as follows: He had his supper with the other servants as usual, then, although he had no memory of my handing him a letter, it suddenly came into his mind that he
had one, with orders to go down to the village and post it, and, when he looked in his pocket, it was there.
But it was not stamped, and realising that he would not be able to buy a stamp in the village at that time of night, he asked the other members of the staff if any of them could lend him one. Unfortunately none of them were able to do so, but Helmuth’s man, Konrad, said at once: ‘There are always plenty in the office, and I am going up there now to take the Doctor his evening coffee, so I will get you one.’
A few minutes later he came downstairs again and told Taffy that the Doctor wanted to see him about something, and at the same time would give him the stamp for his letter.
Taffy went up all unsuspecting, but as soon as he reached Helmuth’s room, Helmuth said: ‘I hear you have a letter you wish to post. Is it one of your own or one of Sir Toby’s?’
That put the wretched Taffy in a first-class fix. His sub-conscious mind reiterated the instructions I had given him, that he was to tell no one about my letter, while in his conscious mind he knew quite well that he had standing orders that he was to bring every letter I gave him to post to Helmuth.
Apparently he stood there in miserable indecision saying nothing for a few moments. Helmuth then got up from his desk, glared at poor Taffy, seized him by the shoulders, shook him violently, took my letter from his pocket, and threw him out of the room with the warning that if he was caught in any further attempt to smuggle letters out for me it would result in his instant dismissal.
Angry as I was, I could not help feeling sorry for Taffy as he stood there with the tears running down his fat face; so I told him that it was not his fault that things had gone wrong, and woke him up.
Later
I think the fates must have decided that I was due for a little something to cheer me up, after the rotten setback I suffered this morning. Anyhow, just before Deb came to fetch me in for tea I caught one of the pike. He is not a very big chap, as they go, only
a ten-pounder; but I sent a message to Cook asking her to stuff and bake him for dinner, and I’ve told Taffy to get me up half a bottle of Moselle.
As a matter of fact, I darn’ nearly missed him, as when he took the bait my mind was on very different matters. I had been trying to work out the implications of this Taffy business and decide on my next move.
I wish I knew for certain the role that Konrad played. Did he inadvertently arouse Helmuth’s suspicions by specifically naming Taffy, instead of just saying: ‘Please may I borrow a stamp for one of the servants?’ Or was he deliberately responsible for what followed? Perhaps, though, even the unusualness of the request would be enough to set that quick brain of Helmuth’s ticking over.
I don’t know what the arrangements are about the staff’s outgoing mail here, but presumably it goes down to the village in the carrier’s cart each morning with that from upstairs, and if the servants are short of stamps they give the carrier the money to get them at the same time as they give him their letters.
Anyhow, as the servants in this part of the world live at such a slow tempo, it would be quite exceptional for any of them to have correspondence that they felt to be of such urgency that it could not wait until morning. That may have occurred to Helmuth, and caused him to ask which of them was in such a hurry to get a letter in the post overnight. Then when Konrad replied ‘Taffy Morgan’ Helmuth guessed the rest.
On the other hand Konrad is Helmuth’s man, body and soul. He looked after him for all those years at Weylands; in fact, he came over from Czechoslovakia with him in 1933 and has been in his service ever since. So it is quite probable that he is in Helmuth’s confidence about what is going on here, anyhow to some extent. If so, he probably smelt a rat directly Taffy asked for the loan of a stamp; especially if Taffy gave it away—as he very likely did—that he meant to go down to the village with the letter there and then. Konrad would certainly have thought that worth reporting if he is acting as Helmuth’s spy, and it was easy as winking for him to do so without Taffy suspecting his intention.
I wouldn’t mind betting that is what happened; and that Helmuth is using Konrad to keep him informed of any gossip that
may go on below-stairs which might jeopardise his secret intentions regarding myself. He would then be in a position to think up an excuse to sack anyone who seemed to be getting too inquisitive, before they found out enough to become dangerous to him. The way that servants get to know things is amazing, and Helmuth is too shrewd to neglect taking precautions against the truth leaking out through them.
Konrad would be just the man for such a job. He comes from Ruthenia, the eastern tip of Czechoslovakia that reaches out towards the Ukraine, and he is a typical Slav; big, fair and boisterous, with a hearty laugh that deceives people, until they come to know him well and find out how cunning he is below the surface. He is cruel, too, and there has never been any love lost between him and myself since the day I caught him torturing Julia’s pet monkey, at Queensclere.
Helmuth tried to laugh the matter off, and said that I was exaggerating, but Julia was so mad about it that she barred Konrad from the house for the rest of that holiday, and instead of continuing to live like a fighting cock with the rest of the servants he had to do the best he could for himself in the village.
One thing emerges from this catastrophe over my letter last night; it will be useless to attempt to get Taffy to take another. Helmuth scared him out of his wits, and as that was due to his having sought to evade the censorship of my mail that Helmuth has set up, his fright will crystallise a definite centre of resistance in his mind.
A hypnotist can make his subjects perform any physical feat that their bodies are capable of enduring and many mental feats which are far beyond their normal capabilities, provided he has their full—and by full I mean their sub-conscious as well as their conscious—co-operation. He can also make them do most things to which they are indifferent—or even mildly antagonistic—according to the depth of trance state in which he is able to plunge them. But if they are strongly opposed to doing something, either on moral grounds or through fear of the consequences, that resistance remains permanently active in their sub-conscious, and it is next to impossible for the hypnotist to overcome it.
So there we are. Having got Taffy just where I wanted him, it
is a sad blow that I should no longer be able to make him perform the one service that is of such paramount importance to me. I may be able to use him in some other way; but I have got to think again about a means of establishing some form of lifeline by which I might haul myself to safety from the menace that, Devil-impelled like the Gadarene swine of old, is now rushing upon me.
I have had a show-down with Helmuth. Ever since I came to Llanferdrack in the middle of March he has devoted an hour or so to visiting me between tea and dinner, except on the few occasions when he has been away on business.
Now and then we see one another at other times of the day, should we chance to meet in the gardens or the hall; but I am allowed to be up and about in my wheeled chair only between ten- and twelve-thirty, and between three and five o’clock, and those are the busiest hours of his day; so, should we meet during them, we rarely exchange more than a greeting.
On his evening visits he tell me of the latest problems that have arisen regarding the estate and any news he has had from mutual friends of ours, and we discuss the progress of the war and such books as either of us happens to be reading. His mind is so active and his comments so provocative of new ideas that I have always looked forward to his visits as a mental tonic—even when I have felt at times that he was secretly trying to probe my reactions to things about which he would not ask me openly. That is, I looked forward to them up till a week ago; but since I became convinced of the hideous treachery that he is practising towards me I have found it difficult to tolerate his presence in my room.