XIIAMATEUR TACTICS—A FRIGHTFUL CURE
DINNER served, the conspirators enjoyed a promenade on deck, keeping an eye upon Mr. Onset and Mrs. Thorn as they sat conversing. No doubt vibrations were at work, the most approved methods of the wonderful Mystic Department of the Sanitorium Universitasque making some sort of an impression; because, as Mrs. Thorn remarked afterwards, “Mr. Onset was already oscillating between the old and the new, and whenever that condition arose she felt sure that the preliminary tendencies of the occult influences towards a cure were already taking effect.” Mrs. Thorn could be quite as perspicacious as the Doctor when she chose, her theories decidedly new as well as lucid, in fact unique.
At last James appeared, to take the patient to his state-room; this was the signal for the Doctor’s party to fly to their stations. The rolling chair was brought to one of the narrow gangways leading directly to Mr. Onset’s quarters below; the passage entered through a door at the top, the short flight of steps down closed by partitions on either side. The chief conspirator noticed that when James went off with the patient Professor Cultus was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Thorn; evidently one of those curious coincidences most opportune, which occult influences often exert in favor of the one conspired against. “Good!” exclaimed the Doctor. “I now know where our marine-angel is to be found when I want him; now for an impression less occult.”
When James reached the head of the gangway, there stoodthe Doctor, apparently by accident; and of course he offered to assist in carrying the invalid down the steps. Onset appeared more helpless than usual when, the Doctor supporting his shoulders and James his feet, the trio began to descend. If ever a subject for treatment had weak legs, it was Onset at that moment.
All progressed favorably until they reached the bottom, and were about to make the turn into the state-room passage; “Look out for that awkward corner, James.”
“All right, sir! Keep his head up, I’ll take his feet round first.”
“Go ahead!” exclaimed the Doctor. (The signal.)
No sooner said than a brilliant flash of light burst forth, a little way ahead down the passage, accompanied by a hissing noise not unlike an explosion.
Onset gave a start. “What’s that? Look there! Oh, Lord!” replied to by shrieks from female voices, and a cloud of white smoke with pungent odor. In an instant the passage seemed filled with frightened voices and smoke.
It was merely some of Paul’s photographic flash-light powder, accompanied by very realistic exclamations in consequence, but in such close quarters it seemed much more serious.
“God help us!” cried Jimmy, dropping Onset’s legs and turning around to discover what had happened. Through the smoke he saw Paul violently beating back flames which came from one of the cross-passages.
It was only Miss Winchester and Adele, invisible behind the angle, holding at arm’s length some burning paper upon a plate, but quite enough for faithful James. Seizing Onset by the ankles he would probably have dragged him on deck feet foremost if the Doctor had not ordered him in sharp tones:
“Keep your head, man! Don’t yell! I’ll attend to this! Go find Professor Cultus near the head of the gangway, quick! Don’t yell! It’s bad enough as it is!”
The last remark settled Jimmy; he vanished up the steps, and Onset groaned at the thought of being caught helpless below decks.
“Now,” said the Doctor, quickly turning to the patient, “we’ve got to hustle—it looks like an explosion, near by!—before a panic seizes the passengers.” Poor Onset, in the narrow passage lit by the flames, seized the Doctor with a grip of terrible fright, his well arm jerking the Doctor as if he had a spasm. “For God’s sake, don’t leave me!”
“I don’t intend to, I’ll stick by you,” said the arch conspirator, “but you must make an effort, too,” and he lifted the fellow upon his feet.
At this instant, down the steps came Professor Cultus and, by another prearranged “coincidence” to which he was not a party, the door above closed behind him.
Darkness indeed. The place might prove a veritable death-trap, surely, so thought Onset.
“What mischief are you up to?” exclaimed the Professor, serious in tone, but his countenance (which none could see) somewhat suspicious if not humorous.
“Lend a hand!” cried the Doctor, and then in a whisper, “I’m trying to get an idea into this chap’s legs—— Sh!”
Professor Cultus took hold of Onset’s opposite shoulder, and together they turned him around, moved him in an upright position towards the steps. He seemed indeed helpless, but his eye was now fixed toward that gangway, the way to escape. To get there and escape was the only thought potent in his mind. The Doctor turned and again nodded to Paul. Off went another flash-explosion, more pungent smoke, the sort of choking fumes that scare you off. This time nearer, the vivid light and more excited screams seemed hardly ten feet away.
Onset gave a plunge with his well leg, and would certainly have fallen flat but for his strong support.
“Now for it, Onset,” urged the Doctor, lifting the limplimb, assisting to put it on the next step. Professor Cultus nodded and took the weight.
“Now for another step!” urged the Doctor. Onset put his well leg up by his own effort, but when the Doctor helped the other to follow he noticed a change for the better, the paralyzed limb was not quite such a non-active member as before. Onset’s fright and desire to escape were getting their hold on him in spite of himself, his legs asserting and maintaining themselves without his realizing the fact that paralyzed legs should not be able to behave that way.
The critical moment was approaching, the crucial test, the final effort to force Onset to put forth his whole strength spontaneously as for his life. The closed door above made the passage still darker at the top, the smoke from behind made the atmosphere more oppressive each moment. “Only three more steps,” exclaimed the Doctor, “to burst through that door or be suffocated.” Onset heard this. The Doctor pressed his elbow against Professor Cultus to signal he was now ready. The Professor gradually lessened his support, and then quietly let go, slipping behind him to catch the man if he fell.
Nothing of the kind occurred. Onset was so frantically determined to get out that he stood supported on one side only without realizing the fact, both legs commencing to work together. Almost alone he managed to force himself higher. Seizing the auspicious moment the Doctor gave Paul the final signal. Flash! hiss-s-s-s-s! red lights, jumping shadows; cries, more jumps; something yellow—ghastly! “Rush for your life!” Onset and the infernal regions close behind him, at the foot of the steps!
Paul had prolonged the agony by some red-burning powder from one of the ship’s signal lights. Miss Winchester waving a sheet of yellow glass from Paul’s photographic lantern before her portable flames—great effect! Screams certainly diabolical; one could hear the wild laughter amid the cries.At such close quarters none could stand the racket a moment longer. Professor Cultus, in the thick of the fumes, was the first to protest. “Open that door! open I tell you, we’ll be smothered!” which was a fact. Onset in a spasm of despair, “Let me out! Let me out!” Miss Winchester, also spasmodic, “I’m getting roasted—fried!” Adele, “Iamroasted!”
Onset never knew the exact moment when the Doctor left him standing alone; all he realized was the bursting open of the door, the flood of electric light—it seemed like daylight—and the Doctor above offering his hand to assist, the hand not quite within reach, an effort necessary to reach it; all depended upon the invalid’s own effort.
Without a thought but to escape, Onset started up those remaining steps as one flying for his life, forgetful of weak legs, paralysis, or any other incumbrance. Actuated by the mental and spiritual impulse towards self-preservation he plunged through the opening out upon the deck. Thoroughly scared by a vivid realization of things as they were, his previous hysteria which had clouded the mind vanished before a more potent impression which cleared his mental atmosphere, vanquished by a forced acceptance of the actual facts—he was not paralyzed.
The Doctor steadied him an instant; only a moment of assistance was necessary, until he realized himself standing without support. Dazed and frightened, choking from the fumes, while those who followed made an uproar of coughs and laughter, the poor fellow could not take in the situation at a glance. No one seemed excited, however, about any explosion; all interest seemed centered in himself, congratulations from everybody, Mrs. Cultus in particular.
“Why, Mr. Onset! I’m delighted to see you looking so well” (social fib; Onset looked like an escaped lunatic), “and able to walk” (conversational stretch), “cured” (perhaps), “and quite like yourself again” (since when?).
Not until Onset heard these highly appropriate congratulationsdid the whole situation dawn upon him. Yes, he had escaped by his own unaided efforts at the last, and of course it was too ridiculously evident to be denied that he was then and there standing alone. The very thought was paralyzing to the former impression that he could not stand. And behold the power of a new lively idea, affecting matter as well as mind—instead of melancholy Onset and an old scared impression, behold Onset smiling in spite of himself. Everybody thought he was going to make a speech. He did.
“Ho there, Jimmy! James, where are you?—Jim!”
Now, James had been in a terrible quandary during all the latter part of these proceedings. After Professor Cultus had descended, at his request, James had been confronted by Mrs. Cultus, who calmly moved her seat directly in front of the passageway and with apparent carelessness closed the door. She had moved not an inch until just in time for the Doctor to make his exit, followed by the demoralized Onset. It was Mrs. Cultus who had amused herself by giving her impressions as to the vibrating Jimmy, keeping him there until the proper time came. The valet was as much surprised as the master when he saw the melancholy Onset rise to the surface in a cloud of smoke and then favor the company with a smile. He received a further new impression when Onset remarked:
“We’ll clear the deck, Jimmy; I go it alone.”
Would Onset remain cured? Could a man so unstable in legs, mode of thought, and possibly character, remain steadfast? Adele was the first to ask herself this question.