Free The Compleat Crow by Brian Lumley

hypnotized,” Townley suggested, “without your knowing it?”
    “Is that possible?”
    “Certainly.” Again the doctor frowned. “What sort of company have you been keeping just lately, Titus?”
    “Fishy company indeed, Harry,” the other answered. “But you’ve interested me. Hypnosis and loss of memory, eh? Well, now,” and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Listen, could you possibly de-hypnotize me? Trace the trouble back to its source, as it were?”
    “I can try. If you’ve been under once—well, it’s usually far easier the second time. Are you game?”
    “Just try me,” Crow grimly answered. “There’s something I have to get to the bottom of, and if hypnosis is the way—why, I’ll try anything once!”
    An hour later, having had Crow in and out of trance half-a-dozen times, the good doctor finally shook his head and admitted defeat. “You have been hypnotized, I’m sure of it,” he said. “But by someone who knows his business far better than I. Do you remember any of the questions I asked you when you were under?”
    Crow shook his head.
    “That’s normal enough,” the other told him. “What’s extraordinary is the fact that I can get nothing out of you concerning the events of the last couple of weeks!”
    “Oh?” Crow was surprised. “But I’ll gladly tell you all about the last few weeks if you like—without hypnosis.”
    “ All about them?”
    “Of course.”
    “I doubt it,” Townley smiled, “for that’s the seat of the trouble. You don’t know all about them. What you remember isn’t the whole story.”
    “I see,” Crow slowly answered, and his thoughts went back again to those dim, shadowy dreams of his and to his strange pseudo-memories of vague snatches of echoing conversation. “Well, thank you, Harry,” he finally said. “You’re a good friend and I appreciate your help greatly.”
    “Now listen, Titus.” The other’s concern was unfeigned. “If there’s anything else I can do—anything at all—just let me know, and—”
    “No, no, there’s nothing.” Crow forced himself to smile into the doctor’s anxious face. “It’s just that I’m into something beyond the normal scope of things, something I have to see through to the end.”
    “Oh? Well, it must be a damned funny business that you can’t tell me about. Anyway, I’m not the prying type—but I do urge you to be careful.”
    “It is a funny business, Harry,” Crow nodded, “and I’m only just beginning to see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. As for my being careful—you may rely upon that!”
    Seeing Townley to the door, he had second thoughts. “Harry, do I remember your having a gun, a six-shooter?”
    “A .45 revolver, yes. It was my father’s. I have ammunition, too.”
    “Would you mind if I borrowed it for a few weeks?”
    Townley looked at him very hard, but finally gave a broad grin. “Of course you can,” he said. “I’ll drop it round tomorrow. But there is such a thing as being too careful, you know!”
     
    VI
     
    Following a very poor night’s sleep, the morning of Friday 18th January found Titus Crow coming awake with a start, his throat dry and rough and his eyes gritty and bloodshot. His first thought as he got out of bed was of Carstairs’ wine—and his second was to remember that he had given it to Taylor Ainsworth for analysis. Stumbling into his bathroom and taking a shower, he cursed himself roundly. He should have let the man take only a sample. But then, as sleep receded and reason took over, he finished showering in a more thoughtful if still sullen mood.
    No amount of coffee seemed able to improve the inflamed condition of Crow’s throat, and though it was ridiculously early he got out the remainder of last night’s bottle of his own wine. A glass or two eased the problem a little, but within the hour it was back, raw and painful as ever. That was when Harry Townley turned up with his revolver, and seeing Crow’s distress he