KA of Gifford Hillary by Dennis Wheatley

Author:Dennis Wheatley [Wheatley, Dennis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Literary, Horror, History, Historical, Biography & Autobiography, Political, Military, World War; 1939-1945, World War II
ISBN: 9780749324025
Google: ky_JAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0749324023
Goodreads: 1160454
Publisher: Reed Consumer Book
Published: 1996-06-01T19:42:17+00:00

"No you're not," she retorted firmly. "You can't be. He is dead."

"Yes, of course I'm dead." I endeavoured to thrust conviction on her; and our strange conversation, audible only on her part, continued more or less as follows:

"Why should you think I'm not?" I asked.

"Because I don't see you as a dead person."

"I can't help that. Two doctors declared me dead three days ago, so I must be."

"Yes; if you were who you say you are. But you're not."

"What can possibly lead you to suppose that I am someone other than Gifford Hillary, and attempting to impersonate him?"

"Because he is dead and you are only dreaming."

"I would to God you were right. But dreams don't go on for the best part of four days."

"They may as far as the dreamer is concerned, even if in fact they occupy only a few minutes."

"Look; today is Tuesday, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"Well, for me this dream, as you call it, started on Friday night. In actual time that is, not dream time."

"In your present state you're not capable of judging actual time. What you really mean is that when you started to dream your mind went back to Friday night, and in your dream you have been reliving the past few days."

"I can't accept that. This is too utterly unlike any dream I've ever had. What is more your idea that I am not Gifford Hillary is positively absurd. If I were not how could I possibly be aware of all his interests, thoughts and emotions?"

"You might if you had been a great pal of his. Perhaps his death came as a great shock to you. That could explain your having identified yourself with the tragedy in a dream and believing yourself to be him."

"It would not explain my knowing how he died, and all the circumstances that led up to his death."

"It could if you had been there at the time."

"I was. I tell you I am him."

"Nonsense. You are only imagining that because his death upset you. Stop pestering me, and go back to your body."

"I can't. It is buried and as dead as a doornail."

"Not a bit of it. The odds are that you are one of Sir Gifford's rich friends; so you're probably snoozing in a comfortable study or a Club arm-chair."

"Damn it! If you don't believe me, Johnny will. Anyhow I want you to give him a message. Tell him that he is right in believing that I did not commit suicide, and that my death was an accident. But it happened through a misunderstanding and no one was to blame; so I am very anxious that no one concerned in it should be convicted for concealing their knowledge and, perhaps, be sent to prison. To ferret out the truth now can do me no good and may do several innocent people a lot of harm; so I want him to drop the whole business."

Daisy suddenly came to her feet. Her eyes narrowed and the expression on her pretty face was a strange mixture of fear, anger, and repulsion.

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