Leonard Bilsiter was one of those people who have failed to find
this world attractive or interesting, and who have sought
compensation in an “unseen world” of their own experience or
imagination—or invention. Children do that sort of thing
successfully, but children are content to convince themselves, and
do not vulgarise their beliefs by trying to convince other people.
Leonard Bilsiter’s beliefs were for “the few,” that is to
say, anyone who would listen to him.
His dabblings in the unseen might not have carried him beyond
the customary platitudes of the drawing-room visionary if accident
had not reinforced his stock-in-trade of mystical lore. In
company with a friend, who was interested in a Ural mining concern,
he had made a trip across Eastern Europe at a moment when the great
Russian railway strike was developing from a threat to a reality;
its outbreak caught him on the return journey, somewhere on the
further side of Perm, and it was while waiting for a couple of days
at a wayside station in a state of suspended locomotion that he
made the acquaintance of a dealer in harness and metalware, who
profitably whiled away the tedium of the long halt by initiating
his English travelling companion in a fragmentary system of
folk-lore that he had picked up from Trans-Baikal traders and
natives. Leonard returned to his home circle garrulous about
his Russian strike experiences, but oppressively reticent about
certain dark mysteries, which he alluded to under the resounding
title of Siberian Magic. The reticence wore off in a week or
two under the influence of an entire lack of general curiosity, and
Leonard began to make more detailed allusions to the enormous
powers which this new esoteric force, to use his own description of
it, conferred on the initiated few who knew how to wield it.
His aunt, Cecilia Hoops, who loved sensation perhaps rather
better than she loved the truth, gave him as clamorous an
advertisement as anyone could wish for by retailing an account of
how he had turned a vegetable marrow into a wood pigeon before her
very eyes. As a manifestation of the possession of
supernatural powers, the story was discounted in some quarters by
the respect accorded to Mrs. Hoops’ powers of imagination.
However divided opinion might be on the question of Leonard’s
status as a wonderworker or a charlatan, he certainly arrived at
Mary Hampton’s house-party with a reputation for pre-eminence in
one or other of those professions, and he was not disposed to shun
such publicity as might fall to his share. Esoteric forces
and unusual powers figured largely in whatever conversation he or
his aunt had a share in, and his own performances, past and
potential, were the subject of mysterious hints and dark
“I wish you would turn me into a wolf, Mr. Bilsiter,” said his
hostess at luncheon the day after his arrival.
“My dear Mary,” said Colonel Hampton, “I never knew you had a
craving in that direction.”
“A she-wolf, of course,” continued Mrs. Hampton; “it would be
too confusing to change one’s sex as well as one’s species at a
“I don’t think one should jest on these subjects,” said
“I’m not jesting, I’m quite serious, I assure you. Only
don’t do it to-day; we have only eight available bridge players,
and it would break up one of our tables. To-morrow we shall
be a larger party. To-morrow night, after dinner—”
“In our present imperfect understanding of these hidden forces I
think one should approach them with humbleness rather than
mockery,” observed Leonard, with such severity that the subject was
Clovis Sangrail had sat unusually silent during the discussion
on the possibilities of Siberian Magic; after lunch he side-tracked
Lord Pabham into the comparative seclusion of the billiard-room and
delivered himself of a searching question.
“Have you such a thing as a she-wolf in your collection of wild
animals? A she-wolf of moderately good temper?”
Lord Pabham considered. “There is Loiusa,” he said, “a
rather fine specimen of the timber-wolf. I got her two years
ago in exchange for some Arctic foxes. Most of my animals get
to be fairly tame before they’ve been with me very long; I think I
can say Louisa has an angelic temper, as she-wolves go. Why
do you ask?”
“I was wondering whether you would lend her to me for to-morrow
night,” said Clovis, with the careless solicitude of one who
borrows a collar stud or a tennis racquet.
“Yes, wolves are nocturnal animals, so the late hours won’t hurt
her,” said Clovis, with the air of one who has taken everything
into consideration; “one of your men could bring her over from
Pabham Park after dusk, and with a little help he ought to be able
to smuggle her into the conservatory at the same moment that Mary
Hampton makes an unobtrusive exit.”
Lord Pabham stared at Clovis for a moment in pardonable
bewilderment; then his face broke into a wrinkled network of
“Oh, that’s your game, is it? You are going to do a little
Siberian Magic on your own account. And is Mrs. Hampton
willing to be a fellow-conspirator?”
“Mary is pledged to see me through with it, if you will
guarantee Louisa’s temper.”
“I’ll answer for Louisa,” said Lord Pabham.
By the following day the house-party had swollen to larger
proportions, and Bilsiter’s instinct for self-advertisement
expanded duly under the stimulant of an increased audience.
At dinner that evening he held forth at length on the subject
of unseen forces and untested powers, and his flow of impressive
eloquence continued unabated while coffee was being served in the
drawing-room preparatory to a general migration to the
His aunt ensured a respectful hearing for his utterances, but
her sensation-loving soul hankered after something more dramatic
than mere vocal demonstration.
“Won’t you do something to convince them of your powers,
Leonard?” she pleaded; “change something into another shape.
He can, you know, if he only chooses to,” she informed the
“Oh, do,” said Mavis Pellington earnestly, and her request was
echoed by nearly everyone present. Even those who were not
open to conviction were perfectly willing to be entertained by an
exhibition of amateur conjuring.
Leonard felt that something tangible was expected of him.
“Has anyone present,” he asked, “got a three-penny bit or some
small object of no particular value—?”
“You’re surely not going to make coins disappear, or something
primitive of that sort?” said Clovis contemptuously.
“I think it very unkind of you not to carry out my suggestion of
turning me into a wolf,” said Mary Hampton, as she crossed over to
the conservatory to give her macaws their usual tribute from the
“I have already warned you of the danger of treating these
powers in a mocking spirit,” said Leonard solemnly.
“I don’t believe you can do it,” laughed Mary provocatively from
the conservatory; “I dare you to do it if you can. I defy you
to turn me into a wolf.”
As she said this she was lost to view behind a clump of
“Mrs. Hampton—” began Leonard with increased solemnity, but he
got no further. A breath of chill air seemed to rush across
the room, and at the same time the macaws broke forth into
“What on earth is the matter with those confounded birds, Mary?”
exclaimed Colonel Hampton; at the same moment an even more piercing
scream from Mavis Pellington stampeded the entire company from
their seats. In various attitudes of helpless horror or
instinctive defence they confronted the evil-looking grey beast
that was peering at them from amid a setting of fern and
Mrs. Hoops was the first to recover from the general chaos of
fright and bewilderment.
“Leonard!” she screamed shrilly to her nephew, “turn it back
into Mrs. Hampton at once! It may fly at us at any moment.
Turn it back!”
“I—I don’t know how to,” faltered Leonard, who looked more
scared and horrified than anyone.
“What!” shouted Colonel Hampton, “you’ve taken the abominable
liberty of turning my wife into a wolf, and now you stand there
calmly and say you can’t turn her back again!”
To do strict justice to Leonard, calmness was not a
distinguishing feature of his attitude at the moment.
“I assure you I didn’t turn Mrs. Hampton into a wolf; nothing
was farther from my intentions,” he protested.
“Then where is she, and how came that animal into the
conservatory?” demanded the Colonel.
“Of course we must accept your assurance that you didn’t turn
Mrs. Hampton into a wolf,” said Clovis politely, “but you will
agree that appearances are against you.”
“Are we to have all these recriminations with that beast
standing there ready to tear us to pieces?” wailed Mavis
“Lord Pabham, you know a good deal about wild beasts—” suggested
“The wild beasts that I have been accustomed to,” said Lord
Pabham, “have come with proper credentials from well-known dealers,
or have been bred in my own menagerie. I’ve never before been
confronted with an animal that walks unconcernedly out of an azalea
bush, leaving a charming and popular hostess unaccounted for.
As far as one can judge from outward characteristics,” he
continued, “it has the appearance of a well-grown female of the
North American timber-wolf, a variety of the common species canis
“Oh, never mind its Latin name,” screamed Mavis, as the beast
came a step or two further into the room; “can’t you entice it away
with food, and shut it up where it can’t do any harm?”
“If it is really Mrs. Hampton, who has just had a very good
dinner, I don’t suppose food will appeal to it very strongly,” said
“Leonard,” beseeched Mrs. Hoops tearfully, “even if this is none
of your doing can’t you use your great powers to turn this dreadful
beast into something harmless before it bites us all—a rabbit or
“I don’t suppose Colonel Hampton would care to have his wife
turned into a succession of fancy animals as though we were playing
a round game with her,” interposed Clovis.
“I absolutely forbid it,” thundered the Colonel.
“Most wolves that I’ve had anything to do with have been
inordinately fond of sugar,” said Lord Pabham; “if you like I’ll
try the effect on this one.”
He took a piece of sugar from the saucer of his coffee cup and
flung it to the expectant Louisa, who snapped it in mid-air.
There was a sigh of relief from the company; a wolf that ate
sugar when it might at the least have been employed in tearing
macaws to pieces had already shed some of its terrors. The
sigh deepened to a gasp of thanks-giving when Lord Pabham decoyed
the animal out of the room by a pretended largesse of further
sugar. There was an instant rush to the vacated conservatory.
There was no trace of Mrs. Hampton except the plate
containing the macaws’ supper.
“The door is locked on the inside!” exclaimed Clovis, who had
deftly turned the key as he affected to test it.
Everyone turned towards Bilsiter.
“If you haven’t turned my wife into a wolf,” said Colonel
Hampton, “will you kindly explain where she has disappeared to,
since she obviously could not have gone through a locked door?
I will not press you for an explanation of how a North
American timber-wolf suddenly appeared in the conservatory, but I
think I have some right to inquire what has become of Mrs.
Bilsiter’s reiterated disclaimer was met with a general murmur
of impatient disbelief.
“I refuse to stay another hour under this roof,” declared Mavis
“If our hostess has really vanished out of human form,” said
Mrs. Hoops, “none of the ladies of the party can very well remain.
I absolutely decline to be chaperoned by a wolf!”
“It’s a she-wolf,” said Clovis soothingly.
The correct etiquette to be observed under the unusual
circumstances received no further elucidation. The sudden
entry of Mary Hampton deprived the discussion of its immediate
“Some one has mesmerised me,” she exclaimed crossly; “I found
myself in the game larder, of all places, being fed with sugar by
Lord Pabham. I hate being mesmerised, and the doctor has
forbidden me to touch sugar.”
The situation was explained to her, as far as it permitted of
anything that could be called explanation.
“Then you really did turn me into a wolf, Mr. Bilsiter?” she
But Leonard had burned the boat in which he might now have
embarked on a sea of glory. He could only shake his head
“It was I who took that liberty,” said Clovis; “you see, I
happen to have lived for a couple of years in North-Eastern Russia,
and I have more than a tourist’s acquaintance with the magic craft
of that region. One does not care to speak about these
strange powers, but once in a way, when one hears a lot of nonsense
being talked about them, one is tempted to show what Siberian magic
can accomplish in the hands of someone who really understands it.
I yielded to that temptation. May I have some brandy?
the effort has left me rather faint.”
If Leonard Bilsiter could at that moment have transformed Clovis
into a cockroach and then have stepped on him he would gladly have
performed both operations.