piece of wood was to be carefully preserved. The best way was to sew it inside a garment you wore most often. Then, if anything threatened your bodily welfare, mysterious forces would protect you. As a sign of danger averted, you would find the talisman split in two through the middle even if nothing had touched it. The hieroglyphs were an ancient exorcism to ward off evil.
As soon as you found the talisman broken, however, you were immediately to wrap it in a piece of clean paper and drop it into flowing water lest dire misfortune overtake you and the house you lived in.
The thing seemed really too childish. But I wouldn't for worlds have made light of Ine San's beliefs.
"Have you ever seen it work, Ine?" I asked rather sleepily. It was so early, and I had been up late the evening before.
"Oh, missee!" she exclaimed in a hurt tone; "all our people knows this saving holy thing. My family all keep it."
It developed further that a neighbor's daughter had been lifted just in time out of a pond into which she had tumbled. Also a distant cousin had been miraculously left uninjured during a railway accident. Needless to say, both carried the charm. It sounded particularly unconvincing, and in my heart I pitied poor little Ine San for taking her knickknacks so seriously.
Finally she got up, and, proffering several ceremonious bows, bade me good-bye. The door closed and I cuddled up in bed for half an hour's sleep.
When, two hours later, I dashed up to my room for a forgotten handkerchief, I perceived the charm neatly wrapped in its white covering, lying on my night-table. Grabbing it, I dropped it into the spacious pocket of my blue tailormade.
"The garment I wear 'most often,' I chuckled. "With the money I am receiving now, it will probably be the only dependable thing in my wardrobe."
At dinner that night I boasted of my new acquisition to the boarders, among whom there were collectors of Japanese curios. None of the foreigners had seen just such a charm, though they were familiar with dozens of others. Most of the guests began to tease, calling out to Bert never to invite me out with him any more, as I was now fully protected against evil influences.
Amidst laughter and jokes, I stuffed the charm carelessly back into my pocket. Lifting up my head, unaware, I perceived the dark eyes of Mitsu San, the amah, fixed upon me. I thought I read astonishment in that glance, and then reproof, even resentment.
But while I was still looking she turned away and began stolidly to wipe a plate. I comforted myself with the thought that the strange expression of her eyes was only a trick my imagination had played me.
ABOUT ten uneventful days had passed when, on a foggy afternoon, I returned home from my office earlier than usual.
Under my left arm was tucked a large package of newspapers—the latest mail from England and the United States.
The paper I worked on was especially interested in the newest developments in Siberia, and I had been given the assignment to gather up all the current news in the papers and to make it up into a short and concise article. This kind of work I always used to do at home far from the bustle of the editorial office.
After Mitsu San had finished "makee fire" in my grate and withdrew, I curled up on my favorite settee, laid out the papers, a memorandum-pad, a red pencil and a fountain pen all around me and set to work.
The room was warm and cosy, the flames in the fire-place danced merrily, and sometimes I could even hear the distant clatter of teaspoons from the far-off dining-room.
The settee was my favorite corner for rest as well as work when I was at home.
The former owner of the house, an Englishman, had fixed just above it a large and heavy row of shelves artistically carved out of good solid English oak. They contained dozens of volumes of standard authors and some of the newest Anglo-American novels. On top of the shelves were several fine ancient bronzes.
Soon I was deeply engrossed in an article dealing with the Japanese attitude in Siberia—just the thing I had been looking for—and was busily making notes.
I now come to the incident I find most difficult to describe.
All at once, without any reason whatsoever, I sprang up in feverish haste from the settee, scattering the papers in all directions. I just flew across the room and found myself near the opposite wall before I had time to consider what I was doing—and why. It was as if some superior will had thrown me out of my seat and precipitated me across the room.
My memorandum-book was still in my hand as I halted before the wall.
"What in the world—" I began saying to myself, full of astonishment, when I heard a dull heavy thud behind me.
Whirling around, I beheld a sight that left me breathless:
The weight of that oak set of shelves had proved too much for the several nails on which it had been hanging for some years. The nails had been wrenched from their sockets, and shelves, books, bronzes and all, weighing no less than some 400 pounds had been hurled on the settee at the exact place where I had been sitting several seconds before.
I would have been simply wiped out if that terrible avalanche had descended upon my head!
The room was quiet and cheery once more. The distant clatter of spoons could still be heard from afar. Yet the Angel of Death had passed through that room, and I had sensed the flutter of its wings.
When the full realization of the danger I had just miraculously escaped came to me, I sank weakly into a chair.
Of course the whole boarding-house, servants and all, flocked to my room to view the disaster. And it took two strong men, not to mention Mitsu San, to lift and fix up those shelves.
The rest of that evening I neglected my work. I was in no mood for it and went early to bed.
About four in the morning I awoke and found that even in my sleep I had been thinking of last night's happening.
There was something unexplainable about it. Why had I jumped out of my seat barely three seconds before?
And all at once I remembered Ine San's charm.
A cold little shiver prickled through the roots of my hair. What had that small piece of wood to do with it? And yet—
I wondered. And wanted passionately to find out.
Sure enough, I had my blue tailormade on when the accident had occurred. And later, when I undressed, I had hung it outside the door for Mitsu San to brush in the morning. And that talisman had reposed forgotten in the pocket of the blue tailor-made since that day Ine San had given it to me.
Well, I would find out in the morning. If the charm had really split in two, why—it would be rather uncomfortable, to say the least.
(Continued on page 92)
