Besides having to endure the
above-named horrors, pebbles were thrown through the windows, their
chairs were pulled away as they were about to sit down (the cook, who
was one of those upon whom this trick was played, thereby seriously
injuring her spine), and all sorts of obstacles were placed on the
stairs, so that those who ran down unwarily tripped over them and hurt
themselves (two successive housemaids broke their legs, whilst another
sprained her wrist). The meat, too, was a constant worry--it went so bad that enormous
maggots crawled out of it by the thousand and covered the table and
floor; and the milk, of which a large quantity was taken daily,
"turned" in a very curious manner. After being deposited, in its usual
place, in the pantry, it began to darken; first of all it became light
blue, then deepened into an almost inky blackness, exhibiting curious
zigzag lines; and, lastly, the whole mass began to putrefy and to emit
a stench so overpowering that every one in the house retched, and the
whole place had to be disinfected. This occurred day after day. Nothing would stop it. The dairyman who supplied the milk did all he
could to counteract it. He had his dairies constantly cleansed, he saw
that the cattle had a change of food, he bought an entirely new stock
of dairy utensils, and no milk was ever sent to the Cottage that he
had not had carefully analyzed. The troubles continued for three weeks, at the end of which period
John Martin received a telephone call from Hamar. "Hullo!" the latter said, "I guess you've had about enough of it by
this time. Wouldn't you like some sweet-smelling milk for a change, or
do you prefer to go on till you all get typhoid? The remedy, you know,
lies in your own hands. You've only to tell that daughter of yours to
accept me, and I'll undertake all your troubles shall cease." "I'll see you hanged first," John Martin answered. "Very well, then, you old mule," Hamar shouted, "look out for
yourself--and Miss Gladys." CHAPTER XXIII

LOVE


To bring about plagues of insects Hamar had resorted to a very simple
method. He had first of all made a wax image representing a
cockroach--scorpion--centipede, or whatever other species came into
his mind. Then, placing the image he had made in front of him, and
repeating the prayer he had learned from the Unknown, through the
medium of Mrs. Anderson-Waite's table, he had concentrated body, soul,
and spirit on plaguing Gladys with the insect, which the image
represented. When his concentration reached the highest degree,
insects in their actual physical bodies were transported from the
tropics;[23] but when he was unable to concentrate to the utmost, only
the ethereal projections of the insects were obtainable; hence the
hybrid--partly scorpion and partly beetle, that appeared and
disappeared in Gladys's bed and bedroom. To produce the rappings on the walls of Gladys's room, he had made a
wax representation of a wall, and whilst concentrating to the very
utmost, had struck it with his knuckles. The plaguing of the servants Hamar had also accomplished by means of
images and concentration. But in order to bewitch milk, he had been obliged to resort to other
means. He had converted the mumia of an idiot into a magnes
microcosmi; and bribing the man who delivered the milk, he gave him
instructions to soak the magnes microcosmi, for a few minutes, in
every portion that he left at the Cottage. [24]

At length Hamar having failed to gain his object by plaguing Gladys
and the servants, set about tormenting John Martin. He made a wax
image of the latter, and after pronouncing the necessary prayer, stuck
the image full of pins, crying out as he did so "John Martin, I hate
you. John Martin, I curse you. John Martin, a plague on you." And each
time Hamar stuck a pin in the image he had made of John Martin, the
real John Martin felt an acute pain in the region of his body
corresponding to that in which the pin was stuck. The doctor, who was called in, could make nothing of the malady, but,
following the etiquette of the profession, cloaked his ignorance with
a look of profound wisdom, and the pronouncement that he would tell
them, in a day or two, what was the matter. In the meanwhile, he found
it necessary and politic to prescribe a non-committal mixture of chalk
and rhubarb, which, although disguised under the usual fanciful
pharmacopoeia appellation, did not, however, allay the pain. Sharp,
agonizing pricks, now on the neck now in the chest, now in the most
sensitive part of the knee-cap, now under the toe-nail, now--most
painful of all--under the finger-nail--continued to torment John
Martin, who, though as a rule fairly stoical, could not stand these
attacks with any degree of composure. He screamed, and swore, and
cursed, until the whole household was terrified--and Gladys, pretty
nearly out of her mind. During a lull--an interval, wherein John Martin enjoyed a brief
respite, the telephone bell rang. "Hulloa," called a voice, "I'm Hamar. Haven't you had about enough of
it? Remember, you've only to say the word and I'll stop." "Tell him I'll do nothing of the sort," John Martin said, "that he'll
never get the better of me this way." Miss Templeton gave the message, and Hamar replied "Wait! Wait and
see!" He then thrust wool, pins, horsenails, straw, needles and moss into
the mouth of the image, and John Martin had such frightful pains in
his stomach that he went into convulsions; and, after an emetic had
been given him, vomited up all the above-named articles, save the pins
and needles which worked their way out through his flesh, causing him
the most exquisite tortures. Gladys, having given up going to the theatre in order to be with her
father during these attacks, now declared that she could no longer
bear to see him in such excruciating pain, whilst it was in her power
to prevent it. "Tell him," she said, "tell Hamar you'll accept his conditions. Don't
think of me! I would rather do anything than see you suffer like
this." "I can hold out a bit longer," he groaned, "at any rate I needn't give
in yet." Every now and then there came a respite--perhaps for several hours,
perhaps for several days--then the tortures recommenced. And always
John Martin steeled himself to bear them. At last came the climax. Hamar, infuriated that his efforts, so far, had proved fruitless,
resolved, since time was pressing, to play his trump card and either
win, or lose all. He rang up Gladys on the telephone. "My patience is exhausted," he said. "I'll give you one more chance,
and one--only. Agree to be engaged to me at once--or I'll smite your
father with the most virulent form of cancer, and leave him to die." There was no question now in Gladys's mind as to what she should do. Of all things in the world, she dreaded cancer most, and after the
many evidences Hamar had given her of his skill in Black Magic, she
did not doubt for one instant that he could, immediately he chose,
carry out his threat.