Now although Dentham intended to betray the confidence both of Dr. Roversmire and Olive Maunders, yet it was an operation of some difficulty, as he foresaw on taking a quiet view of the situation. So far he had made twenty-five pounds out of the transaction, but he would not obtain any more money from Adrian Lancaster's betrothed until the house had been thoroughly searched, and the unhappy young man found. If they did discover Adrian shut up in a secret chamber, as Rudall surmised, he would certainly gain the balance of the reward from Olive Maunders, but on the other hand he would obtain nothing from his master, as he would be unable to warn him and make terms.
"If he's murdered Mr. Lancaster," mused Dentham to himself, as he took his way homeward, "they'll arrest him straight off, and then I won't be able to give him the straight tip, and get paid for it; but then he'll be away from the house if they find anything, so I'll be able to wire the old cove at Marlow, and make an appointment in town—once I get a hold of him I'll bleed him freely, or else hand him over to the law. Yes, that's what I'll do; they can't put him in gaol straight off, so I'll fix up things with him before they get a chance."
Mr. Dentham was quite delighted with his villainous little scheme, and could not help admiring himself for the dexterous way in which he turned things to his own advantage.
"She said she'd double the reward," he resumed, referring to Miss Maunders, "does that mean the twenty-five or the fifty? If she only doubles the twenty-five, I'll only clear seventy-five pounds, but if she means the fifty, it will be a hundred and twenty-five in my pocket, that will be something on account, and if I can only get another hundred and twenty-five pounds out of the old cove, I'll be able to sit down with three hundred clear, that will set me up for life and not much trouble either. Ah! I knew something would come out of the old cove's way of living. Lord, what a scoundrel he is to be sure—it's a wicked world, and the old cove's about the worst in it."
So mused the virtuous Mr. Dentham, who, while blaming the presumable wickedness of his master, concerning which he had no proof, was quite blind to the despicable part he was playing himself. But then Mr. Dentham called his baseness business, which placed the whole transaction in quite a different light, and, moreover, being without the least atom of conscience, he was quite at rest on the score of moral considerations, regarding his possible three hundred pounds as honestly earned money.
Adrian Lancaster, still hidden in the personality of Dr. Roversmire, was quite unconscious of the perilous situation in which he was placed. It was true he mistrusted Dentham, but he never expected the valet would be so dexterous in piecing evidence together and so establish a case against him. As to Dentham communicating with Olive Maunders, it never entered his brain that such a thing could occur, as he had said nothing to the servant, and, to all outward appearance, there was nothing to connect the so-called Dr. Roversmire with the disappearance of Adrian Lancaster.
The morning after Dentham's satisfactory visit to town, Adrian received a letter from Sir John Maunders asking him to come down to Marlow and stay the night, as he wanted to speak with him on a particular subject.
"I know," wrote the cheery baronet, "that you are kept busy with your philosophical studies, but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, so if you give us the pleasure of your society for a few hours. I am sure it will do you good. I am sorry to say my daughter will be away during your visit, but may probably return before you take your departure."
At this point, Adrian laid down the letter and debated seriously with himself as to whether he should accept the invitation, seeing that Olive would be absent. On the whole, after much consideration, he came to the conclusion that he would do so, as he was now in such a desperate state of mind over the difficulties of his situation that he determined to tell Sir John everything and ask his advice as to his future movements. He was afraid to reveal the secret of his transformation to Olive, as he knew how she scoffed at the powers alleged to be exercised by theosophists, and thought, with a great show of reason, that she would look upon him as a madman. But with Sir John it was very different, as Adrian remembered he had had a good deal of experience in occult sciences and knew many strange things which had occurred quite outside the laws of Nature, that is, the laws of Nature as seen by the world at large.
Under these circumstances, he would not deny that such a curious event as the transposition of souls might take place, and Adrian knew he would give him enough proofs of his own life to convince the baronet, however sceptical, that the soul of Adrian Lancaster was really concealed in the body of Dr. Roversmire. Then he would be able to ask Sir John's advice as to the chances of getting rid of Roversmire's body and resuming his own identity, for Sir John was acquainted with many votaries of theosophy who might be able to hit upon some solution of the enigma. Surely among theosophists there could be found some one equal in knowledge to Dr. Roversmire, who could undo the harm which had been done, and releasing his soul from this aged body, restore it once more to its proper habitation.
Having come to this conclusion, Adrian wrote a letter accepting the invitation, but declined to stay all night as he wanted to get back to his studies. The fact was that he was afraid during his absence something might happen to solve the difficulty, and he was unwilling to be absent should any chance of regaining his freedom present itself. The whole house was permeated with the influence of spirits, for, of course, Dr. Roversmire, during his tenancy of his earthly body had been constantly visited by his friends of the spirit world, and sometimes a weird feeling would seize Adrian as if he was in the centre of a crowd of ethereal beings whose bodies, impalpable and invisible, were pressing around him on all sides. He would have given anything could he have known of some invocation by which to communicate with them and find a means of release from his unpleasant position, but although he read most of the books in the house and all the favourite papers of Dr. Roversmire, no spell or ceremony presented itself by which he could do so.
There were times when the strange influence which brooded over the house almost proved too much for his nerves, and he longed to escape from this spirit-haunted atmosphere into the matter-of-fact frivolity of the outside world. By his prolonged fasts, by his terrible ordeals and his ascetic mode of life, Dr. Roversmire had rendered his body peculiarly sensitive to spiritual influences, and now that he had transferred this body to Adrian, the material soul of the unhappy young man felt strange to the subtle contact he seemed to feel with the unseen world about which he knew absolutely nothing. Dentham, of course, felt nothing, as his soul was too sensual and his body too gross to vibrate or come in contact with spiritual things, but Adrian's body being strange to him, was not under his control, and he felt as though he stood on neutral ground between two worlds, powerless to leave the one and equally powerless to enter the other.
"I'll go mad if this continues," he said to himself as he directed the envelope, "it is like putting a savage to live among people highly cultivated. I feel the influence, but cannot respond, so I have all the pain and none of the pleasures; an afternoon at Marlow will do me a lot of good and drive away all this phantasy of moonlight and spirituality."
So he sent the letter and told Dentham he was going to leave Hampstead the next day for a visit, at which the valet was highly delighted, and sent off a telegram that evening to Miss Maunders, telling her the house would be able to be searched the following day.
Olive, on her part, had told her father nothing of the revelations of Dentham, but had got him to ask Dr. Roversmire down to Marlow and then intimated her intention of going away. Sir John at first objected to this strange mode of proceeding, but was ultimately over-ruled by his clever daughter.
"I don't know what you mean to do," he grumbled good-naturedly, "but I'll be glad to see Roversmire, who is a very clever man, although you do not seem to like him."
"Whether I really like him or not depends entirely upon what I learn during the next few days," she replied.
"But where are you going to learn anything about Roversmire?" asked her father curiously.
"I'll tell you when I come back," responded Olive promptly.
"Well, have your own way," said the baronet with a sigh; "you certainly are an enigma."
"Of course," said Teddy Rudall, who entered at that moment, "she is a woman, and that answers everything."
In due time Adrian, feeling depressed and dreary, departed by the early train to Marlow, leaving Dentham in charge of the house at Hampstead. He expected Miss Maunders and Mr. Rudall to call about mid-day, but, prior to their arrival, made an exploration of the sitting-room on his own account, with a view to finding out, if possible, the secret chamber, which Rudall said must exist. But Dentham, though crafty enough in small villanies, was woefully ill-fitted for such a task, and after an hour's hard work, during which he examined the most unlikely places, gave up the search in disgust. If he had calmly sat down and logically argued the matter out, he might have come to some satisfactory conclusion, but, instead of doing this, he hunted about in blind confusion, with the natural result that nothing came of his work.
"It's all bosh," muttered Dentham to himself, sitting on a chair and mopping his heated brow. "I don't believe there's any such place—it's my opinion the old cove's killed Mr. Lancaster, and hid his body in the garden."
His meditations were brought to an end by the arrival of Olive and Teddy Rudall, both of whom were in a state of suppressed excitement as to the issue of their plan to examine the house during the absence of its owner.
"I say, you know," said Rudall, when they were seated in the room for a rest preparatory to beginning their search, "we've no right to do this sort of thing without a search-warrant."
"Oh, that doesn't matter," replied Olive, with that sublime disregard for the majesty of the law, which the feminine sex sometimes display. "Dr. Roversmire will never know anything about it, unless we find something, and then he'll have enough to do in clearing himself, without bothering about the search."
"You don't think he'll come up unbeknown, mum?" asked Dentham uneasily, for he had a wholesome dread of his mysterious master.
"No! you can set your mind at rest on that point," said Olive decisively, "he has no suspicions of our visit here, and will stay down at Marlow till the evening—even if he did wish to return he could not arrive back here for at least two hours, and that will give us plenty of time."
"I hope so, mum," answered Dentham respectfully, rubbing his hands together; "but it's like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. I've hunted everywhere in the room, and can't find any signs of a secret door."
"No doubt you went blindly to work, without considering the situation," said Teddy cheerfully; "the first thing to be ascertained is how this room lies."
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Dentham in a puzzled tone.
"I'll explain later on," answered Teddy, "but before doing so, we are agreed upon one thing, that Adrian Lancaster came to this room and never left it."
"To all appearances—yes," assented Olive promptly.
"I'd better state the case exactly," observed Rudall cautiously, "so that we may run no chance of making any mistake; the facts, as we have gathered them, are simply these—Adrian Lancaster disappeared from his rooms in Piccadilly about three weeks ago; we hear nothing of him till this man comes to us and produces a walking-stick, which we both recognise as Adrian's property—it was found in this room, so the presumption is that on the night of his disappearance Adrian was here. Dentham heard the murmur of voices, and asserts positively that Lancaster could not have left the room by that door leading to the passage, or he would have heard him."
"Yes!—easily," said Dentham emphatically.
"On the other hand," resumed Teddy learnedly, "the night in question was wet, and Dentham traced Lancaster's footsteps more or less clearly from the garden door to that window which leads on to the lawn—but, although he looked carefully, he could find no footmarks leading away from the house, so that, having left neither by the door nor the window, it stands to reason he could not have gone at all. Under these circumstances the most logical conclusion is that he did not leave this room. We cannot see him, and, as none of us are foolish enough to believe in the theory of disintegration, he must be concealed somewhere in a secret chamber, the entrance to which is from this room. Now what we have to do is to find this entrance."
"Yes, but how?" asked Dentham dispiritedly.
"First by finding out the position of this room," said Teddy, rising to his feet and glancing round; "two sides of it are bounded by the outside walls, and as they do not appear to me to be thick enough to contain any hiding place, we may be certain that the secret door can be in neither of them—the third wall stands between this room and the passage, so that the same objection applies—now what about the fourth wall in the centre of which is built the chimney?"
"There is a room beyond; the same as this," explained Dentham.
"In that case the objection applies to the whole four walls," said Rudall ruefully. "What about the roof?"
"My bedroom is above it."
"Humph! in that case Lancaster cannot certainly have gone heavenward—and the floor?"
"There's a cellar below this!"
"A cellar!" ejaculated Teddy thoughtfully. "That looks more promising—let us examine the cellar."
"I think it would be better to look at the floor first," suggested Olive, "for Adrian can't have got into the cellar without some mode of exit."
The floor was of polished wood, consisting of narrow planks laid horizontally, and these were partly covered here and there with Turkish mats. Collecting these in a heap, Teddy and Dentham made a thorough examination, but were quite unable to find any trapdoor
through which entrance could have been gained into the cellar.
"Is the cellar open to anyone?" asked Rudall rising to his feet and dusting the knees of his trousers.
"Yes, sir," answered Dentham quickly. "I'm out and in it a dozen times a day, there's wood and coal stored there."
"Doesn't seem much use examining the cellar!"
"In that case I fail to see that there can be any secret hiding-place," said Olive in despair. "You are quite sure, Dentham, you did not hear the doctor or Mr. Lancaster leave the room."
"Quite sure, mum," replied Dentham decisively, "my room is above, but I wasn't in it, as I came out and looked over the stairs, so if either of 'em left the room I'd have seen as well as heard."
"Then," observed Olive disconsolately, "this disintegration theory—"
"Is all bosh," interrupted Teddy angrily. "I don't believe in theosophy, and as I told you, even if they can disintegrate bodies they can only meddle with their own and not with those of other people—there must be some secret hiding-place to which the entrance is from this room."
"But where?" demanded Olive, "walls, roof and floor all give no clue."
Teddy fastened his eyes upon the chimney.
"What about the fireplace," he asked, going over to it and surveying its cumbersome proportions.
"Oh, there's nothing there, sir," said Dentham with a wriggle of scorn.
"I don't know so much about that," replied Teddy, "see, there's a half-burnt candle on the mantelpiece."
"He always had a candle," said Dentham, referring to his master. "Why, I don't know, as there was lots of gas-light."
"Always had a candle," murmured Rudall thoughtfully, "humph—I dare say it was to light the way to the lower regions—what is under the flooring of the next room," he added, turning to Dentham.
"Nothing, sir, except earth! the cellar below here was dug out, I think, sir."
Teddy gave a cry of delight.
"Then depend upon it there is a secret chamber under the next room, and the entrance to it is from this chimney-piece."
"Impossible!" said Olive, rising and coming forward.
"It's the most reasonable explanation I can offer at all events," said Teddy, "suppose we examine the fireplace."
Dentham and Miss Maunders, now very much excited at the chance of a possible discovery, assisted, and Teddy began to make a minute inspection of the fireplace.
It consisted of an ordinary steel grate, surrounded by a bordering of encaustic tiles, and the mantelpiece was a heavy oaken one, elaborately carved with fruit and flowers. Although Teddy pushed and shook the grate it remained immovable and there certainly seemed no possibility that such a heavy mass could be moved at all.
"Perhaps there's a spring," suggested Olive, and began to feel among the carvings of the mantelpiece with deft fingers. The attempt proved successful, for by chance her fingers came in contact with the spring; there was a click as she pressed it, almost involuntarily, and the three present gave a cry of surprise as the whole of the grate swung round upon a central pivot, disclosing the space beyond.
"I knew I was right," cried Teddy in ecstasy, "this leads to some secret chamber, and I would not be surprised if we found Adrian Lancaster a prisoner below."
Olive turned pale as he lighted the candle and bending down crept into the black cavity. At first she feared to follow in his steps, but her love for Adrian prevailed and she cautiously entered also. Dentham, who was shaking in every limb with terror at this strange discovery, remained in the room, but when Teddy and his companion disappeared down the narrow steps his curiosity got the better of his fear and he groped his way in the same direction.
"Is this the secret chamber?" asked Olive in a disappointed tone, when they found themselves in the square vault.
"I don't think so," replied Teddy doubtfully, holding the candle above his head, "or surely Roversmire would have made it more comfortable."
"There may be another door," suggested Miss Maunders hopefully, "examine the walls."
Teddy did so, and running his hand rapidly down on the smooth surface of the stone, he felt a round button which he pressed with all his strength and immediately the blank wall before them seemed to disappear, showing only a dense black space.
"Dentham," cried Teddy on seeing this, "go and get more candles or a lamp." Upon which Dentham sped rapidly up the steps without being required to be told twice.
"Adrian," cried Olive peering forward into the darkness, dimly lighted by the glimmer of the candle, "are you there?"
No voice answered, and in vague terror the girl caught Teddy by the hand.
"Oh! do you think he is dead?" she whispered!
"I don't know," he replied blankly; "perhaps he is not here, or there may be some more doors to open. See, here is Dentham, with two more lights."
Olive took one of the candles, and headed by Teddy the little band went forward along the narrow passage and at length found themselves in the circular vault, which looked weird and spectral-looking with its strange decorations.
"Looks like the cave of a magician," said Teddy, slowly waving his light to and fro. "Hullo, what's up?"
His sudden exclamation was caused by Dentham, who had dropped his candle, and with chattering teeth, shaking limbs and pale face, pointed to a dark form extended on a couch. With a cry of terror Olive rushed forward and held the light close to the figure's face, and fell on her knees with a shriek.
"It's Adrian!—Adrian!—and he's dead."
"Dead!" echoed Rudall in an awed tone, "impossible."
"No, it's true; quite true," she shrieked, setting her candle down on the floor. "His limbs are cold, his eyes are closed, and I can't feel his heart beat."
"Roversmire may have thrown him into a trance," said Rudall reassuringly, who in the face of this strange discovery was willing now to credit Roversmire with all kinds of superhuman powers, "here, Miss Maunders, take up your candle and hold mine—Dentham and myself will carry—the—I mean will carry Adrian upstairs to the light." Almost overcome by grief, Olive was yet sufficiently mistress of herself to do what he asked, and arose to her feet, holding a light in each hand, while the tears she was unable to wipe away streamed down her pale face.
"Come on," said Teddy, seeing that Dentham, overcome with fear, made no move, "take Mr. Lancaster by the head."
"I dare not," whispered Dentham, shrinking back, "he's dead."
"How do you know he is dead?" said Rudall, angrily, "he may be only in a trance—do what I tell you, or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life."
On hearing this Dentham with manifest reluctance did as he was told, but gave a shudder of fear as he seized the inert feet of the figure on the couch. Teddy held up the head, and, preceded by Olive with the lights, the two men with great difficulty managed to carry the body upstairs to the sitting-room.
Olive's courage sustained her thus far, but when she saw Adrian's body lying on the floor stiff and cold, she let the candles fall from her hands and flung herself down in a paroxysm of sorrow.
"Oh, Adrian!—Adrian!" she wailed, clasping one cold hand, "he is dead!—dead!"
"Nonsense," said Teddy roughly, kneeling beside the still form, "if he were dead, symptoms of decay would have set in long ago—he's not dead, I tell you, but in a trance."
The girl dried her eyes, summoned up all her courage, and arose to her feet.
"Are you certain he is not dead?" she asked breathlessly.
"It's rather difficult to say," answered Teddy, rising also and leading her to a seat, "but we'll send at once for a doctor and, meantime, you must have a glass of wine. Dentham, get some wine for Miss Maunders."
Dentham disappeared and, meantime, Teddy comforted Olive as well as he was able.
"I'm sure he's in a trance," he insisted quietly, "look how firm and healthy the flesh looks. If he were really dead he would not look like this after three weeks."
Here Dentham returned with the wine and Teddy made the girl take a good glass of it.
"Dentham," he said, when Olive grew more composed, "go down to the police station and send the police here. Then come back with a doctor as hard as you can."
Dentham took the money Teddy held out towards him, and, putting on his hat, left the house chuckling quietly to himself.
"Yes, I'll get the police and the doctor," he muttered, as he walked rapidly down the road, "and I'll telegraph to the old cove at Marlow. It's just as I thought. He's killed Mr. Lancaster, so as soon as he knows the body is found, I'll be able to fix him up, and I won't let him off unless he pays me jolly well."
Jintle's Hotel was situated in that very unfashionable neighbourhood, The Seven Dials, and Mr. Jintle, the proprietor thereof, was a friend of Dentham's. On the evening of the day upon which the strange discovery had been made at Hampstead, Dentham was seated in a small, stuffy back room of the hotel, talking eagerly to no less a personage than his master, Dr. Michael Roversmire, who had come up from Marlow to Jintle's by the four-o'clock train in answer to a telegram sent by Dentham.
Adrian was in a terrible dilemma, as he did not know which way to turn. The telegram which warned him not to go back to Hampstead or he would be arrested, had fallen upon him like a thunderbolt, and he had come up to town at once to see Dentham. That gentleman had gained his reward from Olive Maunders, and was now the happy possessor of one hundred and twenty-five pounds, but not satisfied with even such a sum, which represented wealth to him, he was now trying to make terms with his master. All his cringing manners had disappeared, and he sat opposite to Adrian with his elbows resting on the table and a look of coarse triumph irradiating his mean-looking face.
"I knew how it would be," he was saying in a sneering tone. "If you'd only trusted me about the young man I could have helped you, but now it's too late—unless you make it worth my while."
"What do you want me to do?" asked Adrian hopelessly, fully aware that he was in the power of this man and quite at a loss what course to pursue.
"What do I want you to do?" said Dentham jeeringly. "I want you to give me a cheque for two hundred straight off."
"And if I do that?" queried Adrian, fixing his eyes on Dentham's face.
"Well, I'll do my best to help you to get off," retorted Dentham with a silky smile.
"And suppose I refuse?"
"Oh, in that case, I'll go straight out and tell the police."
"Will you, indeed?" said Adrian with a grim smile, stroking his long grey beard. "And what about your warrant for my arrest?—you can't do it on suspicion."
"Now don't you try any larks on me," said Dentham in a bullying tone, "because I'm the only person who can help you out of this mess, and I won't unless you're civil."
"Oh, yes you will—for money," retorted his master coolly, "besides, I want first to be assured of the truth of your story."
Dentham was quite exasperated by the quiet tone in which the doctor spoke. He had expected to find a terrified man, who would give any sum to be placed in safety, instead of which, the proposed victim talked as calmly and sedately as if no terrible charge of murder was hanging over him.
"If what I've told you don't convince you, nothing will," he said sarcastically. "Ain't I said all your being asked to Marlow was a blind? I found out Mr. Lancaster had been with you on that night by means of the stick."
"Which you denied having seen," interpolated Adrian quietly.
"That's my business; you said it was your stick—which was a lie. Well, I answered Miss Maunders' advertisement and told her all I knew."
"In other words, you betrayed me."
"You can call it what you like, but I had to look after Number One, and she paid me well for what I told her."
"So now, having betrayed me and getting paid, you are going to betray her in the hope of a similar reward?"
"I always make hay while the sun shines," retorted Dentham with an ugly smile, for he did not like his villainies to be put before him so plainly. "Whatever I did is none of your business, all I know is, this Miss Maunders and Mr. Rudall came to your house this morning, found Mr. Lancaster's body where you hid it and called in the police; if I hadn't sent that telegram to Marlow, you'd have gone back home and been arrested, but I saved you."
"For your own ends," said Adrian with a dreary laugh. "Good heavens, what scoundrels there are in this world! So you think I killed Adrian Lancaster?"
"I'm sure of it," replied Dentham promptly. "I saw it myself."
"And where is it now?" demanded Adrian, leaning back in his chair.
"At Number Forty Beryle Square. Miss Maunders had it taken there with permission of the police this afternoon."
"So there is a warrant out against me?"
"Yes; on a charge of murdering Mr. Lancaster."
"And if I give you a cheque for two hundred pounds you will help me to escape?"
"I'll do my best," replied Dentham evasively.
"Do you know you are compounding a felony?" said Adrian, rising.
"Whatever I'm doing, it's better than being a murderer; but I've not got any more time to talk, you know my offer and you can do what you like."
"I must have time to think over it," said Adrian calmly. "You can go away and leave me for a time."
"Don't you try to escape," cried Dentham, moving towards the door, "'cause you won't I'll keep a watch outside."
"I may escape yet, in spite of you."
"Oh, will you?" scoffed Dentham. "I daresay you're a juggler, ain't you? Perhaps you can get through the keyhole, but all your juggles won't get you out of this mess, unless you pay me well," and with this parting shot Dentham took his departure and closed the door after him.
Left alone in the dirty, ill-lighted little room, Adrian walked up and down, pondering over the situation. He saw plainly he was in Dentham's power, and if he refused to accede to his demand, he would be at once arrested, tried—in the person of Dr. Roversmire—for the murder of Adrian Lancaster, and as the proofs were so strong against him, ultimately hanged. But it was not this prospect that made him shudder; no, it was something far more terrible, for he knew that his own body, being to all intents and purposes dead, would be duly buried, and then—Oh, God, how terrible!—when he was hanged as Dr. Roversmire, his soul would have to go back to find its original body, and find it!—where?—in the darkness of the coffin. He would be lying under the earth a living man, and would die by that most terrible of all deaths—suffocation.
The bare idea of such an appalling death made a cold sweat break out on his forehead, and leaning his arms on the mantelpiece he groaned with anguish. He would die two horrible deaths, first on the gallows, as Dr. Roversmire, and then in the narrowness of the coffin, as Adrian Lancaster. What was he to do—consent to Dentham's offer and be saved, or give himself up and try to explain the whole affair?
Alas, he knew that if he did so he would be looked upon as a madman, and even if his life was spared, he would be put in a lunatic asylum. Sooner or later the life of Dr. Roversmire's body would end, and then he would most certainly, by returning to his own, die a terrible death in the grave.
On the other hand he recognised fully the treacherous nature of Dentham, and foresaw that even if he did pay him what he asked, the valet would first make certain of his money by cashing the cheque, and then betray him into the hands of the police in the hope of further reward. There seemed no escape—on all sides he was hemmed in by perils, and he was the helpless sport of circumstances.
He raised his head from his arms and stared steadily at the old wrinkled face that looked at him from the dimness of the mirror. As Adrian Lancaster he had been accused of murder, and hidden his personality in the body of Michael Roversmire to escape, but now he was accused of murder as Michael Roversmire, and where could he hide now—where?
Like a flash of light a solution of the problem broke on his bewildered brain. The old man whose personality he had assumed had told him that if the body of Dr. Roversmire died by accident or suicide, the soul would have to go back to its own body. Well, he would do so—he would kill himself in the body of Dr. Roversmire and wake as from a trance in the body of Adrian Lancaster.
Yes, that would be the easiest way out of the difficulty. He shrank from the idea of suicide, but it was the only way to avoid two terrible deaths, by hanging and suffocation, so he saw that the only means of escape was to at once destroy the body of Roversmire.
Thinking that such a contingency might occur—although it had come sooner than he expected—Adrian had provided himself with a phial of deadly poison, distilled from some rare Eastern herb, which he had found in the medicine-chest of Dr. Roversmire. He always carried it about with him, and now, producing it from his pocket, held it up towards the light. It contained a dark, ruby-coloured liquid, which he knew was swift to kill, as he had found a full description of its effects in the diary of the old Indian fakir.
"Thank God!" he murmured to himself as he removed the stopper, "this will save me. Roversmire said suicide was punished bitterly in the spiritual world, but he surely cannot blame me for taking the life of his body in order to escape two terrible deaths. No! I have bitterly expiated the sins of Adrian Lancaster in this old body, and I will destroy it without fear of the consequence. It will at least restore me to my proper self and to the arms of the woman I love."
At this moment the door was pushed roughly open and Dentham made his appearance in swaggering triumph.
"Well," he said, rubbing his lean hands together, "have you made up your mind?"
"Yes, I have," answered Adrian, holding the phial closely in his hand. "I have made up my mind not to give a scoundrel like you one penny."
"Then I'll have you arrested," yelled Dentham, furious at seeing his chance of making money fading away.
"You will not arrest me," replied his master with a strange smile, "for I will be far beyond the reach of your malice. Bring in your detectives as soon as you like, for they will only find a dead body."
Dentham, seeing his intention, darted forward to stop him, with a cry of anger, but Adrian was too quick for him, and raising the phial to his lips, drank off the contents.
The valet recoiled as he did so, for an awful change passed over the face of his master—the thin hands plucked wildly at the grey beard, and with a choking cry Dr. Roversmire fell down on the floor—dead.
And the clock struck nine.
When Dentham asserted that the body of Adrian Lancaster had been removed to Beryle Square, he told a lie, as the police refused to allow any such thing. A doctor had been called in, who pronounced life to be extinct, and the body was now lying on a couch in the sitting-room, where it was to remain until the inquest. Olive had refused to leave the house since the discovery, and in despair, Teddy, afraid to leave her by herself, had telegraphed to her father to come to Hampstead. Sir John immediately obeying the summons, had come up by the night train, and the three of them were now in the room, talking over the affair. Dentham had disappeared. The police were in possession of the house, and now Sir John was trying to persuade his daughter to come into town to the Metropole Hotel, and take the rest she so sadly needed.
In spite of the verdict of the doctor, Teddy Rudall firmly refused to believe that Adrian was dead, and declared with the greatest confidence that he was only in a trance. It was this statement that made Olive refuse to leave the house, as she half thought that Teddy might be right in his belief, and Adrian would come back to life again, so she was unwilling to be absent in case he should revive while she was away. The sergeant of the police, who was present, now insisted respectfully that they should all leave the house, as it was nearly nine o'clock, and he was unable to retire until they did. Under this pressure, Olive had consented to accompany her father and Teddy into town.
"I'll come back in the morning," she said turning to the sergeant, "and if he shows any signs of reviving, mind you send a messenger at once to the Metropole.
"Yes miss—certainly!"
"What nonsense, Olive!" said her father testily, for the unpleasantness of the situation was beginning to tell even on his genial temper. "I'm afraid there's no chance of poor Adrian's revival, he is dead—quite dead."
"There I disagree with you," interposed Teddy quietly, "he is in a trance."
"But the doctor?"
"I don't care what the doctor says—he isn't the Pope, to be infallible—if Adrian were dead, his body would have decayed long ago."
"I'm sure, papa, if you believe in theosophy you can see that Dr. Roversmire has hypnotised poor Adrian," said Olive firmly, "I daresay if Dr. Roversmire were here, he could bring him to life again."
"Oh, he'll come back here, miss," observed the sergeant confidently, "then he'll be arrested at once and to save his own skin, he'll do what he can."
"I'm not so sure that Roversmire will return here," said Sir John thoughtfully, "because he received a telegram to-day and went up to town by the afternoon train, in a very agitated state."
"Who could the telegram have been from?" cried Olive.
"I daresay Dentham sent it," suggested Teddy "for I don't believe in that fellow at all—he's away now."
"When he comes back sir, we'll not lose sight of him again," said the policeman, "but now we really must go."
Olive assented in silence, and moved towards the door, followed by the others. On the threshold however, she turned to take a last look at Adrian, and truly it was a strange scene which met her eye. On the table burned an oil lamp with a bright yellow flame, which only illuminated half the room, the rest being in a kind of semidarkness, and on the verge of this radiance was the couch, covered with a tiger skin, upon which lay the body of Adrian Lancaster, still arrayed in the ulster he had worn, with the quiet hands crossed on the placid breast, the eyes closed, the lips smileless, and a look of terrible calm on the white face.
Olive had placed a great bunch of tuber-roses in his hands, and the sickly odour permeated the whole apartment, while, as the group stood silently at the door, dead stillness seemed to reign around.
Suddenly from the black marble clock over the mantelpiece there sounded the hour of nine, in deep hollow tones, like the knell of a funeral bell. One! two! three! four! five! six! seven! eight! nine!—they rang heavily through the silence of the night, while the listeners, overcome by the strangeness of the scene, stood immovable, counting each sonorous stroke with mute lips. As the last died away in silence, there was an awful pause, as if the absence of sound made the quiet more ghastly, and then—
The figure on the couch stirred and sighed—the hands raised themselves off the breast, and the flowers fell with a muffled sound on the floor. The onlookers gazed at this awesome resurrection in paralyzed silence, and it was only when Adrian opened his eyes, and languidly tried to rise, that the spell broke, and Olive fell on the floor, while the three men rushed forward in a state of uncontrollable agitation.
"He lives! he lives!" cried Sir John, placing his arm under Adrian's head, and cautiously lifting him to an erect sitting position.
"I knew it was a trance," said Teddy triumphantly, "poor old chap, he seems quite worn out," and with great presence of mind, he poured out a glass of wine, and held it to Adrian's lips.
While he was drinking it, the sergeant stood scratching his head in amazement.
"I never saw such a queer thing in my life," he said, staring at Adrian with a look of awe on his face, "it's like the raisin' of Lazarus."
Adrian, revived somewhat with the wine, spoke in a faint voice. "Olive," he whispered, "Olive." The woman on the floor heard the beloved voice, and, raising herself to her knees, dragged herself across the floor to the side of the couch and, with one cry of joy, clasped Adrian to her breast.
* * * * * *
EXTRACT FROM "THE MORNING PLANET."
"A curious case of suspended animation is reported to have taken place in London within the last few weeks. Most of our readers will remember the extraordinary disappearance of Mr. Adrian Lancaster, who, having quarrelled with a friend, left his chambers in Piccadilly and was not heard of for some time. He was ultimately discovered in the house of a Dr. Michael Roversmire, who appears to have made him the subject of some mesmeric experiment, for the unfortunate gentleman had evidently been cast into a trance, and was to all appearances dead. And now comes the curious part of the story. Dr. Roversmire, no doubt dreading the questions that might be asked him, disappeared on the discovery of Mr. Lancaster's inanimate form, and was found dead in a low public-house situate in the Seven Dials. It appears his valet, Dentham (who had given most valuable information to the police concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Lancaster), was with him at the time of his death, which took place, so he asserted to the landlord of the hotel, at nine o'clock. It is worthy of remark that, as the man who exercised the mesmeric power died at The Seven Dials, Mr. Lancaster, the person over whom such power had been exercised, revived, and has been in perfect possession of his faculties ever since. So we beg all professors of Mesmerism, Hypnotism or Occult Science to note that this power over their victims evidently ceases upon their death. Mr. Lancaster, who has been in a trance state for at least three weeks, steadily refuses to give any information of his experiences during that period, but we suspect the reason of such refusal is simply that he has nothing to tell, as his faculties were no doubt absolutely powerless to exercise themselves while under the evil influence of the hypnotic power of Dr. Roversmire.
"Dentham, the valet of the deceased, has disappeared, and is supposed by the police to have gone to America. Dr. Roversmire, whose death is ascribed to suicide (proved by the small portion of deadly poison found in the phial clenched in his hand and the appearance of the stomach after a post mortem examination), was a wealthy man, and, as no relatives or friends of the deceased can be found, nor to all appearances is there any will in existence, the whole property of the deceased will go to the Crown.
"We hear Mr. Lancaster is about to marry Miss Olive Maunders, the daughter of Sir John Maunders of No. 40, Beryle Square and The Nook, Marlow; and we heartily congratulate him on his narrow escape from the hands of such an unscrupulous charlatan as Roversmire seems to have been."
* * * * * *
So far the oracle of the Press, but no one ever knew the real truth except Olive, to whom Adrian told the whole story, and, in spite of her scepticism, she was forced to believe, if not the whole, at least a portion of the strange recital. With Philip Trevanna, who was indirectly the cause of all his strange experiences, Adrian became good friends, so much so, that Mr. Trevanna acted as his best man, and, in conjunction with Teddy Rudall, saw the bridal pair off to Dover, from whence they departed to the Continent for their honeymoon.