IN WHICH WE BECOME THOUGHT-READERS

Hill and I met daily in odd corners, to discuss our plans. The first step was obviously to get Hill adopted as my fellow medium. It would have been simple enough had Hill taken any prominent part in our sÉances, but all his work had been behind the scenes. He had been responsible for the manifestations, which was a task of an extremely private nature, so the Pimple had no acquaintance with him as a spookist. His sudden appearance as a medium might give rise to suspicion.

Fortunately there was a way out of the difficulty which, if properly handled, would not only solve it but at the same time add to my reputation as a student of the occult in all its branches. For a couple of months past Hill and I had been secretly engaged on getting ready a leg-pull for the benefit of the camp wiseacres. Hill knew from his study of conjuring that stage telepathy was carried out by means of a code, and we set to work by trial and error to manufacture a code for our purposes. By the middle of January it was almost complete, and we had become fairly expert in its use. With the object of bewildering the camp, Hill then announced to a few believers in spooking that he had learned telepathy in Australia and would give lessons to one pupil who was really in earnest. As a preliminary to the lessons, he said, the pupil must undergo a complete fast for 72 hours, to get himself into a proper receptive state. Most of us had had enough of fasting during the last few years, so his offer resulted, as we hoped it would, in only one application for lessons in the telepathic art—that one being, of course, from myself. For three days I took no meals in my Mess, and I made a parade of the reason. To all appearances I was fasting religiously. People told me I was getting weaker, and that the whole thing was absurd. Which shows what the imagination can do; because three times a day I fed sumptuously on tinned food (a luxury in Yozgad) and eggs, in the privacy of Hill’s room. At the conclusion of the “fast” Hill “tested” me, and announced to the few believers interested that I had attained the necessary receptive state, and that he had accepted me as a pupil.

This was the position when the Commandant was hooked, and after some discussion we saw how to use it to the greatest advantage. We did not let the grass grow under our feet. As luck would have it, there was an orderlies’ concert on the afternoon of February 2nd—just three days after my interview with the Commandant. Hill was down on the programme to give his usual conjuring entertainment. When his turn came to perform, he made a carefully rehearsed speech from the platform. He said (which was quite true) that he had injured his finger. He had found at the last moment that his finger was too stiff to allow him to perform, but rather than leave a gap in the programme he had decided to alter the nature of his show at a moment’s notice.

“As some of you know,” he said, “I once underwent a course of telepathy, or thought-reading, in Australia. Within the last fortnight an officer in this camp went through the painful preliminary of a three days’ fast, and became my pupil. Possibly because of his previous knowledge of the occult, he has progressed at a surprising rate; and, although he considers himself far from ready for a public exhibition, he has very kindly consented to help me in this predicament. (Loud applause.) I ask you to remember that he is only a beginner, and if our show turns out a complete failure you will, I am sure, give him credit for his attempt.”

Heaven knows it takes little enough to interest an audience composed of prisoners of war. During the intervals between our concerts and pantomimes and dramatic performances the crowded camp was driven half crazy by fellows “practising” for the next entertainment on landings and in bedrooms, and all over the place. We knew every tune, and every mistake it was possible to make in singing it, long before the “first” (and usually only) “night.” And especially did we abhor to distraction the clog-dance practices. Yet, when the great day came, we enjoyed every turn, and shouted vociferous and most genuine applause. Everything was appreciated, from the scenery painted on old Turkish newspapers to the homemade instruments of the band. “As good as the Empire,” or “Drury Lane can’t beat that,” we would say.

The camp knew nothing of the long hours Hill and I had spent together asking and answering such innocent sounding code questions as, “Quickly! What have I here?” “Tell me what this is?” “Now, do you know what this article is?” and so on. It was something new for them to get an apparently unrehearsed show. The fact that the audience contained a number of converts to spiritualism assisted us greatly in obtaining the necessary atmosphere of credulous wonder. Hill walked through the audience, asking me (blind-folded on the platform and “in a semi-hypnotic state”) to name the various articles handed to him, to quote the numbers on banknotes, to read the time on watches, to identify persons touched. Our failures were few enough to be negligible—not more than half a dozen in all—and our successes were numerous, and sometimes (as when Slim Jim produced a stump of a candle from the “cag” in his pockets) startling. Naturally, in the end, we were “as good as the Zanzigs,” and so on. A few suspected a code, and said so, but were utterly in the dark as to how such a code could be arranged.^[12] Others were simply bewildered. And still others, and among them none more ardently than the Pimple, professed themselves entirely satisfied that here at last was genuine telepathy and nothing less. We learned afterwards that the Pimple left the concert before its close to inform the Commandant of the supernatural marvels he had witnessed.

On the evening of the same day (February 2nd, 1918), the Pimple came round for his sÉance. He asked that it should be as private as possible. It was therefore arranged that only Mundey and Edmonds should be present in addition to myself and the Pimple. There was, of course, no mention of Hill.

The sÉance began in the usual manner. After a few questions and answers, the Pimple asked and obtained permission from the Spook to read out a written statement. It was as follows^[13]—

“There is a treasure in the Schoolhouse. A man came from Damascus and related to an acquaintance of mine the following facts: (i) Before the Armenians were driven out of Yozgad the wife of the owner of this Schoolhouse with a little boy and one or two other relations went at night to the garden of the Schoolhouse and dug out a hole and buried about £18,000. He is not certain of the amount. There were jewels. A few days after, I think, they were all ‘sent away.’ (ii) This man, hearing this news, escaped from Damascus, where he was a soldier, came here, and told this to my acquaintance, but as he did not know exactly the place his information was of little value. (iii) If what this man says is true, will you kindly tell me the place? I make the following propositions to the three persons here to-night—

It was needless to ask why he applied to the Spook for information instead of to the woman who had buried the treasure. She was dead—long since—very probably tortured to death in a vain effort to get her to reveal the whereabouts of her wealth. For the late occupants of the Schoolhouse had been wealthy people, and after they were “sent away” (we all knew what that meant) nothing had been found. Behind the bald, cold-blooded statement which the Pimple read out there lay a great tragedy, the tragedy of the Armenians of Yozgad. The butchery had taken place in a valley some dozen miles outside the town. Amongst our sentries were men who had slain men, women, and children till their arms were too tired to strike. They boasted of it amongst themselves. And yet, in many ways, they were pleasant fellows enough.

The mentality of the Turk is truly surprising. Supposing I had the supernatural power which the Interpreter and Commandant thought I possessed, was it likely that I, presumably a Christian and avowedly an enemy, would be ready to help them to the property of fellow Christians whom the Turks had most foully murdered? Yet they had put the proposal to me without a hint of shame. Englishmen are often upbraided with their inability to understand the Oriental. But sometimes it is the Oriental who fails to understand the Englishman.

“I revoke all claim to a share in this treasure,” I said. “As a medium, I am not allowed to gain.”

Then we turned to the board for advice as to procedure. The Spook promised to tell all, but warned us it would take time. It instructed us to get proper mediums and place them in a proper environment. It indicated Hill as the best medium in the camp, but informed us that he was afraid to “spook,” and had kept his powers dark.

Next day the Pimple came to me beaming. He reported having approached Hill, who with great reluctance had confessed to being a medium. Hill had not seemed anxious to take part in a sÉance, but under great pressure had agreed to do so. The Pimple was greatly pleased. He did not know how carefully Hill’s reluctance had been rehearsed. He reported to the Commandant that thanks to a hint from the Spook and his own persuasive powers, he had secured the best possible man to help me in my task. Nothing was further from his thoughts than that Hill and I were confederates.