The Compleat Crow Read Online Free PDF Page A

mummy.
    And yet there was also a wisdom in those dark eyes, which at least redeemed for the moment an otherwise chill and almost alien visage. While Crow could in no wise appreciate the outer shell of the man, he believed that he might yet find virtue in his knowledge, the occult erudition with which it was alleged Carstairs had become endowed through a life of remote travels and obscure delvings. And certainly there was that of the scholar about him, or at least of the passionate devotee.
    There was a hidden strength there, too, which seemed to belie the supposed age-lines graven in his face and bony hands; and as soon as he commenced to speak, in a voice at once liquid and sonorous, Crow was aware that he was up against a man of great power. At length, after a brief period of apparently haphazard questioning and trivial discourse, Carstairs abruptly asked him the date of his birth. Having spoken he grew silent, his eyes sharp as he watched Crow’s reaction and waited for his answer.
    Caught off guard for a moment, Crow felt a chill strike him from nowhere, as if a door had suddenly opened on a cold and hostile place; and some sixth sense warned him against all logic that Carstairs’ question was fraught with danger, like the muzzle of a loaded pistol placed to his temple. And again illogically, almost without thinking, he supplied a fictitious answer which added four whole years to his actual age:
    “Why, the 2nd of December, 1912,” he answered with a half-nervous smile. “Why do you ask?”
    For a moment Carstairs’ eyes were hooded, but then they opened in a beaming if cadaverous smile. He issued a sigh, almost of relief, saying: “I was merely confirming my suspicion, astrologically speaking, that perhaps you were a Saggitarian—which of course you are. You see, the sidereal science is a consuming hobby of mine, as are a great many of the so-called ‘abstruse arts.’ I take it you are aware of my reputation? That my name is linked with all manner of unspeakable rites and dark practices? That according to at least one daily newspaper I am, or believe myself to be, the very antichrist?” And he nodded and mockingly smiled. “Of course you are. Well, the truth is far less damning, I assure you. I dabble a little, certainly—mainly to entertain my friends with certain trivial talents, one of which happens to be astrology—but as for necromancy and the like…I ask you, Mr. Crow—in this day and age?” And again he offered his skull-like smile.
    Before the younger man could make any sort of comment to fill the silence fallen over the room, his host spoke again, asking, “And what are your interests, Mr. Crow?”
    “My interests? Why, I—” But at the last moment, even as Crow teetered on the point of revealing that he, too, was a student of the esoteric and occult—though a white as opposed to a black magician—so he once more felt that chill as of outer immensities and, shaking himself from a curious lethargy, noticed how large and bright the other’s eyes had grown. And at that moment Crow knew how close he had come to falling under Carstairs’ spell, which must be a sort of hypnosis. He quickly gathered his wits and feigned a yawn.
    “You really must excuse me, sir,” he said then, “for my unpardonable boorishness. I don’t know what’s come over me that I should feel so tired. I fear I was almost asleep just then.”
    Then, fearing that Carstairs’ smile had grown more than a little forced—thwarted, almost—and that his nod was just a fraction too curt, he quickly continued: “My interests are common enough. A little archaeology, paleontology…”
    “Common, indeed!” answered Carstairs with a snort. “Not so, for such interests show an enquiring nature, albeit for things long passed away. No, no, those are admirable pastimes for such a young man.” And he pursed his thin lips and fingered his chin a little before asking:
    “But surely, what with the war and all, archaeological