One evening after a hard morning's work on my book, and a particularly fatiguing afternoon spent in vainly trying to lift Hubbard out of a funereal mood, I thought I should make myself a present of a few minutes' conversation with Miss Ottley. I argued that she would be sure to spend the evening out somewhere, so I knocked at her father's door a few minutes before eight o'clock. A gloomy-looking footman opened the door. Yes, Miss Ottley was at home. He would give her my card. Would I wait? I would, though I wondered. I heard Dr. Belleville's voice. It issued from a room that opened on the hall. He was talking shrilly as though he were angered, and in French, perhaps to spare the feelings of the servants. He kept repeating that he had made up his mind and that he would not wait another day for God Almighty. All of a sudden the door opened and he stalked out looking like the baffled villain in a melodrama. We came face to face. He stopped dead and glared at me. "You!" he gasped. "What are you doing here; what do you want?"
I glanced beyond him and saw Miss Ottley. He had been speaking to her, then, and like that. My blood began to boil. I advanced upon him trying to smile. I had seen Miss Ottley's face. "I want you to go right back into that room and pretend you are a gentleman," I said. The girl had put a kerchief to her eyes. "Quickly!" I added.
Dr. Belleville returned into the room. I followed and closed the door.
"Dr. Pinsent——" he began as I turned. But I cut him short.
"On your knees," I commanded. He went livid. "Dr. Pinsent," said Miss Ottley, "I beg you not to interfere. You will only make it the harder for me."
She might as well have spoken to a fence. I never took my eyes from Belleville. "You know what you ought to do," I murmured. "If you compel me to teach you, you'll repent the object lesson in a hospital."
He fell on his knees before the girl. "I apologise," he groaned out in a choking voice.
I bowed him out of the room as deferentially as if he were a woman. He vanished silently. Miss Ottley was dressed for the opera.
"You are going out?" I asked.
"Y-yes," she said. She was powdering her face before a mirror.
"To the opera?"
"Yes. To meet there Mrs. Austin."
"Dare you walk there—with me for a companion?"
"Oh, yes," she said.
A moment later we found ourselves in Curzon Street. She took my arm. We walked for two blocks in absolute silence, save that every now and then she choked back a sob. She was her own mistress again at length, however. "Why did you come—of all times to-night?" she asked.
"I do not know."
"Did you wish to see my father?"
"No. You."
"Why?"
"I had a subconscious conviction that you might be needing me."
"Truly?" she cried—and pressed my arm.
"That or something else. At any rate, I felt obliged to call. It may have been from a desire to reassure myself about the colour of your eyes."
"Ah! I suppose you are wondering—because—Dr. Belleville—because—I——," she paused.
"I am human," I observed.
"I want you to forget it. Will you, Dr. Pinsent?"
"On the spot."
"That is good of you." Her tone was crisp with disappointment. "You are indeed a friend."
"But not in need a friend, eh? Come, come, Miss Ottley, you are in trouble. I am strong andtrustworthy and capable. There are times when a man may tell the truth about himself, and this, I think, is one of them. Can I help you?"
"No one can help me," she said sadly, "you least of all."
"And why least of all?"
"Because you hate my father."
"Is he in trouble, too?"
"He is the willing but unwitting victim of a wicked, wicked man—but, oh, what am I saying? Dr. Pinsent, please, please let us talk of something else."
"You are trembling—May."
"Oh!" she said—and looked at me.
"It slipped out—unconsciously," I stammered. "I did not mean to be impertinent. I think of you—by that name. Is it impertinent to think——"
"No, no."
"Then you'll forgive me?"
"What is there to forgive?"
"All that the circumstance implies. Come, after all, I am not sorry for the slip. Why should I twist its meaning either, like a coward. It is only the weak who need the shelter of hypocrisy. Look straight before you—May—and do not turn your eyes. May again, you see."
"You have something to tell me," she said gravely.
"The old, old story, May," I answered with a short but reckless laugh.
"Should you—Dr. Pinsent—do you think?"
"Yes, because the husband you have chosen is a gallant fellow and my friend. I am too fond of him to wish to do him an ill turn, even in my own adventure. Why, look you, May, were you to turn to me and say, 'I love you, Hugo Pinsent,' I would answer, 'Yes—and we both love Frankfort Weldon.'"
"Yes," said Miss Ottley. She stopped and we looked deep into each other's eyes.
"Yes," she said again. "And we both love Frankfort Weldon."
"God help us," I exclaimed.
"It is a good prayer. God will hear it," she said softly.
"What made you?" I asked a little later; we were walking on again—but now apart.
"You," she said.
"It is very wonderful."
"And sad," said she.
"But grand and beautiful."
"I shall not go to the opera to-night," she said. "Will you put me in a cab?"
"You will go home?"
"Yes."
"And Belleville?"
"He will be at work. I shall not see him."
"He threatened you?"
"Not me, but Captain Weldon. He demands that I shall marry him. My father also wishes it.You see I tell you everything—now. You will help me, will you not?"
"Of course. But you must teach me how. In what fashion does Belleville threaten Weldon?"
"He vows—that unless I do as he demands within this week—Captain Weldon will be found dead in his bed."
"Murder!" I cried.
"He does not scruple to conceal the fact. He declares he has nothing to fear. He pretends to possess a secret which gives him as great a power over life and death as Providence. An esoteric power, of course. It is connected with the discovery of Ptahmes. He claims to have already tested it. My father has used it in other ways. He has been experimenting on the Stock Exchange. In ten days he has already doubled his fortune. Surely of that you must have heard."
"I have heard that he has been speculating with extravagant success. But that his luck was due to supernatural agency I decline to believe. In my opinion Belleville is simply putting up a scoundrelly game of bluff."
"I wish I could think so, too. But I cannot."
"But, my dear girl, consider the probabilities. Belleville's story belongs to the Middle Ages."
"Yes—but he believes it. I am as sure of that as that I live."
"And is that a reason why you should believe it, too? The man is perhaps a lunatic."
"Ah!" she said. "I knew that you would take this view. That was partly why I felt you could not help me."
But her distress cut me to the quick. "It does not matter what view I take," I muttered hastily. "I'll do anything you wish."
"Anything?"
"Did you doubt it?"
"No."
"Then——"
"Then go and stay with Captain Weldon. He will welcome you, for he likes you out of mention. Spend the week with him. Do not let him from your sight at night. Especially guard him while he sleeps. Is it too much to ask?"
"No."
"There is a cab—stop it, please! Thanks. Now say good-bye to me."
"Good-bye—May." I helped her into the vehicle. "Would it be permissible to kiss your hand?"
"No!" she said, "but give me yours."
I felt her lips upon my fingers, and with a sort of groan I snatched them away from her grasp. That was our good-bye.
Next morning early I picked a quarrel with Hubbard, and left him biting his finger nails. I went straight to Jermyn Street with my valise. Weldon was in bed. I told him I had had a fight with Hubbard and asked to be put up for a few days. He agreed with acclamation, though I am sure he was perfectly astounded at my strange request. I proceeded to astound him further. I mendaciously informed him that my nerves were in rags and that I was obsessed with a horrible hallucination of a mysteriously threatened life at night. Would, then, he give me a shakedown in his own bedroom, just for a week? It is wonderful how easy lying comes to one after the first plunge. I did the thing thoroughly. Mind you, I felt all along the utmost scorn for Dr. Belleville's threats against young Weldon's life. But Miss Ottley had asked me to look after him, and I was determined to fulfil the trust to the very foot of the letter. He was a splendid fellow to live with. It gives me a heartache to remember the anxiety to make me comfortable, the almost absurd cordialityof his welcome, the unselfish sincerity of his desire to please. One would have thought me a superior creation, a sort of divinity in disguise, the way he treated me. I had never awakened such affection in any living thing before, except in a mongrel retriever which once upon a time followed me home and which I had to turn away after it had licked my hand. And the amazing thing was, I had done nothing in the world to deserve it. I had never put myself out of my way in the smallest particular to serve the Captain. When we first met I had treated him with the scantest courtesy and afterwards with a sort of good-natured contempt. Even now I cannot understand it properly. It may have arisen from a secret disposition to hero-worship. Some men are like that. They are fond of investing a sentient figure-head with exaggerated attributes of majesty and bowing down before it. It is the survival of an aboriginal instinct to glorify the insubordinate. Weldon admired two things above all others: strength of body and strength of mind. In both these gifts he felt himself inferior to me, therefore he must needs put me on a pedestal. His gratitude in finding me willing to stoop to ask a favour of him was unbounded. It resembled that of an Eton fag to a monitor kind enough to take an interest in his doings. I have said before that he was essentially a boy at heart. But what an honest, clean-minded, fresh, wholehearted boy! I found myself liking and admiringhim more and more each day. He taught me one of the greatest truths a man may learn. It is this—there is a more admirable thing in the world than intellect. Weldon's intellect was not of the first order. That is why I began by very nearly despising him. But he was the straightest, truest, manliest and simplest-minded man I have ever met. And I ended by half-humorously but none the less sincerely, reverencing him. If it were only for his sake I shall while I live regard the highest type of brain as incomplete without a paramount ideal of morality. And the best thing about Weldon was that he was utterly unconscious of his goodness. He was perfectly incapable of posing, but he had a fine, robust vanity of sorts, and he liked to regard himself as a bit of a "sad dog!" Romance was at the bottom of this. He envied the more than questionable experience of some of his acquaintances. It was because of the glamour of their perfumed wickedness. But their callous self-extrication from entanglements after growing weary of their chains made him long to wring their necks. For his own part, a certain shop girl had once fallen in love with him. He twirled his moustache and cast furtive glances at the mirror near him. It appears he had dallied with the temptation for a while—the "sad dog"—but Miss Ottley's portrait had saved him. He had kissed the shop girl once—horror of horrors!—in the Park after dark. He apologised to her father with a thousand pounds and fled toSouth America. When he came back she was married. He had confessed the whole of his truly dreadful criminality to Miss Ottley in a letter—and she had kept him waiting three miserable days for a reply. He believed he would have gone to the dogs headlong if she had refused to pardon him. But she did not. Vanity told him the reason. But it was beautiful to see the colour flush his cheeks and his eyes sparkle as he protested that he couldn't understand why she ever brought herself to speak to him again. I believe that was as far as Weldon ever got to telling a downright falsehood; the dear, great gander.
On the third afternoon of my stay at Jermyn Street I was busily at work writing, when a knock sounded. Weldon was out; he had gone to take Miss Ottley for a drive in his newest dogcart. His man, too, had a day off, so I was quite alone. I said "Come in," and there entered Lady Helen—Hubbard's wife. She was a vision of lace fripperies and arch, mincing daintiness.
"So! run to earth!" she cried.
I sprang up and offered her a chair.
She settled into it with a swish and a sigh. "Been searching for you everywhere! I had thought of applying to the police."
I suppose I looked astonished, for she laughed.
I stammered, "Why have you been searching for me?"
She gave me a glance of scorn. "Should adutiful wife regard with indifference the sudden desertion of her husband by the only friend he possesses? Just tell me that."
"You take my breath away."
"No," she flashed, "the 'dutiful wife' did that. Confess!"
"Well, since you insist—I admit that Helen becomes you better than Joan," I said audaciously.
Her eyes glittered. "May be, my fine gentleman—but would you say 'Dixon' was synonymous with 'Darby'?"
"Not quite. Still, they both commence with a 'D.' That is something, eh?"
"So does another word which rhymes with lamb," she retorted cuttingly. "Oh! I might have known that you would take his part. You men always stick together."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Helen. I consider that you deserve well of your country. You have improved Hubbard past belief. He is worth improving."
She smiled. "I have humanised him, just a little, don't you think?"
I nodded.
She leaned forward suddenly and looked me in the eye. "It's only the commencement, the thin edge of the wedge."
"Oh!"
She began speaking through her teeth. "I'llmake a man of him yet if I have to beggar him in the process."
"I beg you to excuse me."
She fell back and began to laugh. "Oh, how solemn you are. You disapprove of me. Ha! ha! ha! You don't even begin to hide it."
"You see I do not understand you."
"Yet you disapprove?"
"No. I wonder."
"You are a man, Doctor, that one can't help trusting!" She stood up and began to move about the room. "I am going to confide in you," she announced, stopping suddenly.
"A dangerous experiment," I observed.
"One risks death every time one crosses a car-crowded thoroughfare. I'll take the risk."
I shrugged my shoulders.
She frowned. "You used to like me once. What stopped you?"
"I haven't stopped."
She smiled bewitchingly and, gliding forward, placed her hand upon my arm. "He wanted to take me away to South America—he owns a ranch there—and to bury us two for ever from the world. That was his idea of marriage. It all came of a rooted disbelief in his own ability to keep me interested in himself while I possessed an opportunity to contrast him with his social equals. He saw a rival in every man I looked at or who looked at me. He should have been born a Turk. I shouldthen have been the queen of his zenana. But no, I must do him justice—he is not polygamously inclined. Still, he would have shut me up."
"The poor devil," I muttered. "It is his disposition. He cannot help himself."
"But he may be cured of it," said Lady Helen. "He thinks every woman is a rake at heart. But he is mad. I for one am not. Mind you, I love society. I like men. I live for admiration. But as to—pshaw!"—she spread out her hands.
"You quarrelled?" I inquired.
"No, we argued the matter out and came to an arrangement. We are good friends. But he does not conceal his opinion that some day or another I will go to the devil. He thinks it inevitable. Pride, however, forbids him from looking on except at a distance. That is why he separated from me. He imagines that no woman can keep true to one man unless she is immured. The fool, the utter fool! As if walls and locks and keys were ever an encumbrance. Love is the only solid guarantee of a woman's faith."
"But my dear Lady Helen, your husband has not the faintest idea that you love him!"
She drew back gasping. "You—you—you!" she cried. She was scarlet. Then she said, "How dare you!" She looked so lovely that I no longer wondered at Hubbard's infatuation.
"You should not have kept it from him," I said severely. "But there, it's wonderful. How didyou ever manage it? He is not an attractive man. And you—a butterfly. It is a miracle. There must be depths in you. Are marriages made in Heaven? I thought—he thinks—you married him for his money. And you love him! I shall never get over this. Lady Helen, you are a most amazing woman!"
She rushed at me panting with rage and, seizing my arm, shook it with both hands. "If ever you tell him—I'll—I'll kill you!" she hissed.
"But why?"
"He must find out himself. He must suffer. He deserves it. He has bitterly insulted me. He has shamed my sex. He must gnaw out his heart. In no other way can he be made like other men. I'll teach him. I'll teach him. Oh, if you dare to interfere! But you shan't—you would not dare."
"No," I said, "I would not dare."
Next second she was in another mood. Her anger melted to pathos and the little siren began to plead to me. "You know what I really want you to do is to help me," she murmured, oh! so prettily. "And it is all for Dixon's sake, or really and truly I would not ask. You see, Doctor, I am working on a system. Goodness, how I am trusting you! And you can help, oh! ever so much."
"Only tell me how."
"Do not lose a chance to revile me."
I was staggered. "I beg your pardon, Lady Helen!" I cried.
"Ah! I thought you would understand. Don't you see you are his only friend? More than that, you are the only man he ever speaks to. He is a hermit. Well, then, who else is there to reproach me to his ears? To put his own thoughts of me into words?"
"But what on earth do you want that done for?"
"It will compel him to defend me, first by lip, then by heart."
I confess I whistled.
"I felt it to be necessary to have this talk with you," went on Lady Helen. "Hitherto he has done all the reviling and you the defending of me. Is it not so?"
"You little witch."
"And that is not right, since it is he, and not you, who is my husband."
"Lady Helen, you are surely the cleverest woman in the world."
"I have thought the matter out," she answered, with a sad little smile. "Is it wonderful that a woman should wish to be happy and that she should fight for that with every weapon she can find?" She rose and held out her hand. "You will go and make friends soon, will you not? He is fretting because you have deserted him."
"In a very few days, Lady Helen. I wish I could this moment, but I cannot."
"You are very busy, eh?"
"I have a task to carry out. It will be finished at the end of the week."
"So!" she said and shrugged her shoulders. "And are you quite engaged? Could you not come to me to-night? Your friend Captain Weldon comes, and some others. We are to have our fortunes told. Signor Navarro has promised us a séance. Miss Ottley has arranged it. She tells me he is a truly marvellous clairvoyant, medium, et-cetera. Have you a curiosity to know your future? Do come! Dixon will be there."
"Thank you very much; yes, I shall be glad to go."
I opened the door for her and she blew me a kiss from the stairs. I returned to my work, but it was very little I was able to do the rest of that afternoon. What could have induced Miss Ottley to arrange this séance? Were her nerves giving way under the strain of Dr. Belleville's threats? Did she really believe this rascal Navarro capable of predicting events? Was she becoming superstitious? These reflections profoundly disturbed me.
Navarro evidently belonged to the highest and most ingenious order of charlatanry. He had no assistant, no machinery, no accomplice. It was almost impossible to suspect any of the audience. There were only Lady Helen, Miss Ottley, Mrs. Greaves (wife of a Parliamentary Undersecretary), the Countess von Oeltzen (the Austrian Ambassador's wife), Weldon, Hubbard, the Count von Oeltzen and myself present. And the medium scouted the idea of turning down the lights. He left such devices to impostors, he remarked. He was a tall, thin fellow, with big, black eyes and a thick-lipped mouth. He had the most beautiful hands and feet. His fingers were covered with valuable diamond rings. He had a big bulbous nose and he wore atire-boucheaumoustache and beard consisting of about sixteen coarse stiff black hairs; four on each side of his upper lip and eight on his chin. He plucked at the latter continually in order to display his hands and his rings. It would have been a difficult matter to find his match in vulgarity, in ugliness, and impudence. But he was certainly impressive.He talked of himself in a booming baritone, like a Barnum praising an elephant. He adored himself and expected to be adored. He spoke with a strong Irish-Spanish accent. Probably he was an Irishman who had lived in Spain. But he posed as a full-blooded Castilian who had learned English from a Cork philomath.
After he had exhausted his vocabulary in describing some of his clairvoyant achievements he needlessly directed us to be silent. He had permitted none of us a chance to speak thitherto. We were to wait, he said, till he began to breathe in a peculiar heavy manner, and then who so wished to experiment, must take his hands and hold them firmly for a little while, thinking of the matter next the experimenter's heart; and then we should see what we should see. With a smile of lordly self-confidence he reposed his limbs upon a couch and sank back on the cushions. I glanced around the throng and saw they were all staring at Navarro—Miss Ottley with parted lips and rapt intentness. Her expression irritated me. Soon afterwards I met Hubbard's eyes. He gave me a scowl. I looked at Weldon. He turned and frowned at me. I directed my attention to Lady Helen. She grew restless and, presently moving in her chair, glanced rapidly about. She started when our eyes encountered and impulsively placed a finger on her lips. I hadn't thought of speaking. I was disgusted. Mrs. Greaves, the Countess and theAmbassador all in turn gave me scowling glances. It was as if everybody recognised and resented my secret scepticism. It appeared I was the only sane person in the room. Oh! no, there was Navarro. He was sane enough undoubtedly; the rogue. He was making his living. It was his business to make fools of people. I returned to contemplating him with a sense of positive relief. At least I could hope to be amused. He had closed his eyes and was therefore uglier than ever. His whole body was tense with silent effort. I wondered if some of his audience were unconsciously imitating him. They all were, except myself. I felt inclined to get up and shake them for a pack of self-delivered dupes, lambs self-abandoned to the sacrificial rites of this High Priest of Thomas-rot. Soon, friend Navarro began to breathe stertorously. So did his audience, for a minute or two. Then they turned and looked at one another and at me; and I rejoice to say my calm smile disconcerted them. But I refrained from glancing at Miss Ottley. I could not bear to see her look foolish. Perhaps she did not. They pointed at one another. They feared, it seemed, to speak. Who would be the first? And who would dare the oracle? The Count von Oeltzen arose. Brave, noble man! He approached the couch and took Navarro's hand in his own. The medium was now in a trance. His body was quite limp. A breathless silence fell upon the gathering. It lasted about four minutes. ThenNavarro began to speak, not in his ordinary booming baritone, but in a high falsetto—his spirit organ, no doubt. The language employed was German.
"I see," said he, "a short fat man in the uniform of an Austrian courier. He is seated in a railway train. He is smoking a cheroot. He has on his knees a small, flat iron box. It is a despatch box. It contains letters and despatches. He is coming to England——"
"Ah!" sighed the Count.
"Ah! Ah!" sighed the Countess.
"He is on his way to you," went on Navarro. "The despatches are for you. One of them is in a cipher. It relates to your recall. It——"
But the Count on that instant dropped Navarro's hands as if they had burnt him and abruptly rose up, the picture of agitation. He turned and looked at the Countess. She stood up, most agitated, too. "My friends," he began. But the Countess said "Hush!" He bowed to her, bowed to Lady Helen and offered his wife a shaking arm. They forthwith left the room. It was most dramatic. For a little while everybody sat under a sort of spell. I was glad, because I felt disinclined to break up the party by expressing my views on Navarro's revelation, and if any one had said a word I should have been compelled to speak, I was so angry that sensible people could allow themselves to be imposed upon so easily. Moreover, I wishedto learn what Miss Ottley's object was. When, therefore, Mrs. Greaves quietly arose and moved to the couch, I said a little prayer of thankfulness.
Presently the high falsetto squeaked forth in Irish-Spanish-English. "I see—a large building, square, very tall. It is made of steel and stone. It is in America—in New York. It is a hotel. I see in it a room. There are tables and chairs. Then one—two—three—four—five—six are there. They play cards. The game is poker. One loses. He is young. He is English. He has a little cast in his left eye. His name is Julian Greaves. The floor is littered with cards. Julian Greaves is annoyed because he loses. He——"
The voice ceased.
Mrs. Greaves was returning to us. She was smiling. She said to Lady Helen in her calm, slow way, "I believe, my dear, that my naughty son is at present occupied exactly as you have heard described. Signor Navarro has a great gift. Good-night, my dear—No, I cannot stay—I promised the Bexleys. Do not trouble——"
She had gone.
Dixon Hubbard walked over to the couch. I glanced at Lady Helen. She was biting her lower lip—and holding her breath. I stole across the room on tip-toe and sat down beside her.
"I see," said Navarro, after the proper interval, "a woman. She is young and very beautiful. (Oh! artful Navarro.) Her mind is deeply troubled.The person she cares most for despises her. On that account she is wretchedly unhappy, although she permits no one to suspect it. She is not far away. She——"
But Hubbard had dropped the medium's hand like hot potatoes.
"It is your turn, Captain Weldon," he said, with a poor attempt at jocularity. "Step forward and have the secret of your life laid bare."
He gave his wife a scorching glance and sauntered out of the room.
"How much did you pay Navarro for that last?" I whispered in Lady Helen's ear.
She gave me a radiant smile. "Nothing to call me beautiful," she whispered back.
Weldon had taken the medium's hands. Immediately he did so, Navarro heaved a portentous sigh. I watched his face very narrowly, and somewhat to my surprise I observed it to turn to a horrid, fishy, whitish-yellow colour. Presently his eyelids slightly opened, disclosing the whites. The eyes were fixed upwards rigidly. He looked simply monstrous. For the first time I doubted his mala fides. There were many signs of cataleptic trance about him. I stole over to the foot of the couch and inserted a pin into the calf of his leg. Not a muscle twitched. Evidently he had hypnotised himself. I tried the other leg, with an equal result. I became furious. It seemed just possible that the fellow had some esoteric faculty after all.Science, of course, scouts the phenomena of clairvoyancy, but in my younger days I had witnessed so many experiments with hypnotised subjects in Paris that I had ever since kept an open mind on the question. This time we waited for quite a while for the medium to begin his manifestations. Perhaps ten minutes passed and he was still silent. But by that time I felt convinced of his unconsciousness. "Ask him some question, Weldon," I said quietly. "He is not shamming, I believe. In my opinion he is in hypnotic sleep and cannot act as his own Barnum."
Weldon laughed, but before he could adopt my hint Miss Ottley glided to the couch and standing at the head of it put her fingers lightly on the medium's eyes.
"I know what to do," she said, looking at me. "I have seen him in this state before. He is not a charlatan, Dr. Pinsent, at least when he is like this. Presently you will see. He will astonish you, I think."
"I wish you'd ask him where the lost key of my saratoga is, May," whispered Weldon.
Navarro answered the question instantly, and in his natural reverberating baritone.
"It is lying on the top of the canopy of your bed in your bedroom in Jermyn Street."
"By Gad!" cried Weldon. "That's where it is as sure as I stand here. I tossed it up there a month ago and more—and forgot all about it."
"Hush!" said Miss Ottley. "Think of Dr. Belleville, Frankfort, please."
Weldon frowned. "You might have chosen a pleasanter topic," he muttered.
"Hush!" said the girl again.
A moment later she bent over the medium. "Speak!" she commanded. "Tell us what you see!"
Navarro sighed. "I see a large room," he began. "It is half library, half laboratory. One part of it is filled with racks of books and parchments. At the other end is a dispensary made up of shelves containing jars of different oils and phials filled with drugs. In the middle of the room is a table spread with maps and papyri. The papyri are inscribed with hieroglyphics. Beside the table, standing on two steel trestles, is a large sarcophagus of lead and iron lined with silver. The lid is propped against the wall near by. It is ornamented with the leaden cast of a man. An inscription states that this man is Ptahmes, a high priest of Amen-Ra. His body was once enclosed within the sarcophagus. It is now, however, reclining on a couch at a little distance from the table——"
"Describe it!" said Miss Ottley.
"It is apparently the body of a man of latter middle age. It is of great proportions. It is almost seven feet in length. But the body is very lank and shrunken and ill nourished. The head isof extraordinary shape and dimensions. It is very large and long, and broad. It is surmounted by a crown of jet-black hair that has recently been cut. It tapers like a cone above the temples and again like an inverted cone from the cheek bones to the chin. The nose is long and hooked like the beak of an eagle. The eyes are closed; I cannot see them. But they are almond shaped and set far apart in the skull. The mouth is shrivelled and almost shapeless. The chin is long and pointed. The skin is dark brown, almost black. It looks unhealthy. The body is clothed in ordinary European garments. One arm is fastened in a sling. The chest is, underneath the clothes, swathed in bandages. On the feet are fastened rubber shoes, on the soles of which are particles of fresh-dried mud. That is all."
"Proceed!" said Miss Ottley. "There are living people in the room, are there not?"
"Two," replied the medium after a short pause. "One is seated before the table poring over a torn piece of papyrus. Beside him on the table is a dictionary of hieroglyphics to which he constantly refers. He is a big, thick-set man with black eyes, strongly marked features, and a black bushy beard. In his hand is a pen. He writes with this pen upon the paper before him. He is engaged in translating the papyrus. Ha! he stops. He is looking up at his companion. He is speaking."
"What does he say?"
"He says, 'I cannot altogether reconcile our subject's statements with the records, Ottley. Either in his long sleep his memory has somewhat failed him, or in his sleep he has learnt more than he knew before. It is most annoying; we shall have to question him again.' The other—a little old man, with white hair and very bright small grey eyes—replies, 'You are too damned pernicketty, Doctor. Haven't we the formula, and hasn't it nobly stood the test of practical experience? What more do you want? Your infernal curiosity would ruin everything if I let you have your way. Once for all I tell you that Ptahmes belongs to me, not to you. Damn your science! You've had enough out of him. I'll not allow him to be used again except for my purposes. He has disappointed me with the elixir. Well, he'll have to atone by making me the richest man in the universe. I'll not be satisfied till every shilling in the world belongs to me—every shilling—every shilling.' The little man is now laughing like a lunatic. The big man watches him with a frown, bending his big black brows together. 'But you fool!' he says very angrily, 'do you forget that these things here—' he points to the body of Ptahmes—'will soon wear out? Every time that you drive it to work the friction sheds into dust a portion of its matter. Is it not better to use its brain than its body? Remember that we cannot repair his tissues. Unless we make absolutely certain of the composition ofthe invisible oil while we have the chance, we may be left stranded in the end. His body is of secondary importance after all. It serves you now, but you can just as well serve yourself by using the oil and doing your own dirty business. But the thing is to make sure of learning how to replenish the oil when our stock gives out. That is the all-important matter. And that is why his brain is of paramount interest to me, and should be to you.'
"The little man says,—'I won't have it, I tell you, we know enough!' The big man replies,—'Be sensible, Ottley! Remember he lost five pounds in weight yesterday! He is melting away before our eyes. Come! I'll make you a proposal. Let me do what I like with Ptahmes and I'll take his place for your money-making purposes. I'll be the ghost of the Stock Exchange and find out all you want to know. Now, what can be fairer than that?'
"The little man is biting his lip. He seems to be thinking," (there was a pause in the narration). Presently Navarro went on. "The little man speaks again; he says:—'That is all very well, Doctor, but you know as well as I do—that you intend to use Ptahmes to destroy your rival. You haven't the courage to do it yourself.' The big man answers very quickly, 'And are you brave enough to tackle Pinsent? Yet his existence threatens all our plans. I firmly believe he has a notion of ourideas already. He is no fool and an adept at putting two and two together. Do you suppose he hasn't guessed at the reason of the success of your enormous transactions on 'Change?' The little man grinds his teeth. 'Curse him!' he shouts. 'Curse him to Hell!' The big man smiles. 'With all my heart,' he says, 'may he rot there for ever and ever! But all this proves to us how careful we should be of the waning strength of our magician. Remember the last time he tried odds with Pinsent on the Nile he got all the worst of the encounter. Three broken ribs! It's true we are more advanced in knowledge since then, and now we can make him quite invisible. But all the same we cannot afford to trifle with the strength of our subject, considering the two great tasks before him.'—Ah!——"
The last expression was a groan. The medium moved restlessly, then groaned again.
"Proceed! I command you!" said Miss Ottley in a trembling voice.
But Navarro for a third time groaned, and he began to struggle on the couch.
"Oh, God! he is waking up!" cried the girl. "Hold his hands tightly, Frankfort. He must tell us more! He must, he must!"
But Navarro with a sudden spasmodic writhe and twist, broke away and sat erect. He was shaking like a man in an ague, and he began to pant and groan like a wounded animal.
Miss Ottley gasped "Too late!" and wrung her hands.
I handed the medium a glass of water, but he was trembling too violently to take it of himself. He spilt half the contents on his knee. I forced the rest into his mouth. It revived him. A little later he stood up. He was bathed in perspiration, and looked sick. But he rejected all offers of assistance. He seemed to be very angry. He declared that we had treated him most cruelly, and that we might have killed him. He would not be appeased, and he went off in the care of a footman filled with petulant resentment and mouthing stupid threats. It may have been a pose, part of his "business" intended for effect to impress his clients;—probably it was. But I am not sure. He certainly seemed to be in a highly over-wrought, nervous condition; he could not easily have affected that.
After he had gone we all sat back in our chairs and stared at one another. Nobody was in the least haste to speak; we had so much to think about; and it was plain that "Fancy"—"Well, I never!" and ejaculations of that ilk did not even begin to meet the conversational demands of the occasion. Lady Helen was the first to speak.
She said, "Well, I am trying hard to be an ideal hostess and not ask any questions that might seem impertinent. But will someone tell me, is it Sir Robert Ottley and Dr. Belleville who aremaking preparations for Dr. Pinsent's funeral. I wish to know real badly, because I want him to do quite a lot of things for me before he crosses over the divide, and if necessary I shall go to Sir Robert and ask him for my sake to give Dr. Pinsent a little time to say his prayers."
It was just the flippant tone needed to bring us back to earth again. Everybody laughed. Everybody was so relieved that the laugh was unconventionally loud, and it had a tendency to overdo itself.
Then we trotted out the "well-I-nevers!"
"Did you ever hear such a lot of rubbish talk?" demanded Lady Helen.
"It quite took my breath away," said Miss Ottley with a gallant effort to attain the correct, approved, sociably foolish affectation of brainlessness.
"The fellow deserves three months without the option for his villainous slanders," said the Captain heartily. He was honest, anyhow. "Lord knows I can't stand Belleville at any price," he continued. "But Navarro went a bit too far, by Gad! I never heard anything more malicious in my life than his vile insinuations."
"A discharged servant," I observed. "Malice was to be expected from one of Navarro's type."
"And a foreigner to boot," said the Captain, in the manner of one absolutely clinching an argument. "Ah, well!" he suppressed a yawn, "he entertained us—and that's something. Seen the'Japanese Marriage' yet, Lady Helen? Miss Ottley and I did an act or two last night. It's ripping. So—ah! so jolly unusual, don't you know. You get left every time you think something is going to happen; and when you least expect it one of the funny little beggars ups and wants to make his friend a present of his liver on a plate, or cut off his rival's head, or something."
"Miss Ottley's carriage," announced a footman.
"I asked for it," said the girl to Lady Helen. "My father has been very poorly all day."
Weldon went away with her. She did not even spare me a glance.
Lady Helen consoled me with the best cigar I have ever received at the hands of a woman.
She lit a cigarette for herself and curled up on a pile of cushions.
"That man Navarro is a rapacious rascal," she observed presently. "He wouldn't take a penny less than a hundred to say what he did say to Dixon. But I did not tell him to call me beautiful," she added.
"I am glad to be certain that the fellow is a rascal," I muttered half underbreath. But she heard me.
"Surely you knew. His ravings did not take you in," she cried scornfully. "Everyone knows he simply loathes Sir Robert Ottley. He used to be the little old millionaire's tin god. Sir Robert hardly dared to breathe without consulting hisoracle. And they say the man bled him of thousands. No wonder he went mad to find that Sir Robert had escaped his influence. Ever since then he has been saying the most awful things. Lots of people believe them, I know, but I never thought you would."
"I don't." I smiled. I could smile now, for I felt wonderfully relieved. "But tell me, Lady Helen, just why you employed him to say that to your husband?"
She puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Dixon is superstitious at heart," she replied. "He will not want to, but he will end by believing what Navarro told him."
"What! that you care for him despising you?"
"Silly!" she cried. "No—not that I care for him—but for another man despising me—the man for whomI care. Have you forgotten Navarro's words?"
"But why on earth deceive your husband?"
"To make him jealous."
"Of a chimera?"
"No, my friend," said Lady Helen, smiling very strangely. "Of you! Remember, you have promised to revile me to him. That alone would fix a suspicious mind like his on you. But to make assurance doubly sure, I told him this afternoon that it hurt me very much to find that he had given you a poor opinion of me."
I sprang to my feet, aghast. "But look here—my girl," I cried. "This is a dangerous game you are playing."
"Are you afraid—are you then a coward?" she flashed.
"Hubbard is my oldest friend. You will make him hate me!" I protested.
"And you will refuse to risk that for his happiness and mine?" she asked. "Remember, he is my husband, and soured, twisted creature that he is, I love him!"
"Ah!" said I.
"I could have made you serve me in ignorance," she cried, "but I am incapable of playing you or any other—save him—a trick like that. However, say the word and the play ends—this instant. I have no claim upon you. I'll save you the trouble of telling me that. I am only a woman fellow-creature, and knight-errants are out of fashion now-a-days. Well—what is it to be?"
Her words stung like nettles. Such a little spitfire I had never seen before. But that was the proper way to treat me, and I believe she knew it. She was as sharp as any needle, that young woman.
"I am not in the habit of breaking my word once given," I growled out. "Good-night!" Then I stalked off most indignant. But she caught me at the door, flung her arms round my neck and kissed me on both cheeks.
"You are a darling," she whispered. "And—well—Dixon will have to hurry and reform—or else—but there—go!"
That is the way clever women bind foolish men to the furtherance of their caprices. A cuff, a kiss, a piece of subtle, thrilling flattery, and the trick is done. I was heart and soul in love with another woman, and yet from that moment Lady Helen Hubbard possessed the right to walk over me, if she wished to do it. And, mind you, I am not an out-of-the-way brand of idiot as fools go. It's just a matter of armour and the weak spot. No suit of armour ever existed that hadn't one. Some women are born with the faculty of being able to put their soft little fingers on those places right away.
"For my sake, watch! It is but for two days longer,—the fatal week will then be over. Oh! I implore you not to let your scepticism make you careless. I trust you and depend upon you." Weldon gave me the note himself. It was not signed. He watched me curiously as I read it. I tore it up and threw the pieces in the grate.
"Miss Ottley is afraid that your friend Belleville meditates doing you an injury," I said carelessly, "and knowing that I am your guest, she has appointed me your guardian angel. Evidently she imagines that you are a more sensible person than I am. She said nothing about it to you?"
"No," replied the Captain. "But she made me promise not to leave your side for the next two days." He gave a sheepish laugh. "I'm afraid she has let you in for a lot of boredom, old man. But don't you bother to be polite! If you feel like kicking me at any time to relieve your feelings I'll take it lying down. You see, I couldn't help myself. She has such a way with her—and althoughI argued and protested and begged her to consider you—it was no use. I had to give in."
"You needn't apologise, Weldon. I believe I am strong enough to survive the infliction, and I promise not to kick you. How is Miss Ottley?"
"She is well, although she seems nervous and depressed. That is probably because her father is ill and she has been nursing him. You have heard, I suppose, of his latest doings?"
"No. As you are aware, I have not been out of doors for two days, and I have carefully refrained from newspapers."
"He has cornered the copper market. They say his fortune is increasing at the rate of half a million a day. But he is not strong enough to bear the excitement. In my opinion it is killing him. I saw him this afternoon. He looks ghastly. He was a little delirious, I fancy. They left me alone with him for a moment or two and he took the opportunity to warn me not to sleep to-night if I valued my life. He said a terrible danger is hanging over my head. But Dr. Belleville came in just then, and it was surprising how sensible he got again, immediately. Naturally I said nothing of this to May. It would only have made her miserable. It is wonderful how she dotes on the poor old fellow. I don't know what she would do if he were to die."
"How did Belleville treat you?"
"For a wonder with the greatest courtesy. He took me aside and begged me to forget anyoccasion of offence. He appealed to me as the successful one—and he gave me his word, unasked, that he would never again do anything to hurt May's feelings or mine. After all, he's not such a bad fellow, Pinsent. One must make allowances. It's not his fault that he is in love with May. He can't help that. My wonder is that every man who knows her is not."
"I suppose you forgave him?"
"We shook hands, certainly. You wouldn't have me bear malice, would you? Remember! I'm in a position to be generous—and he made the advance."
"My dear lad," I answered slowly, "I wouldn't have an atom of you changed for worlds. You are an absolute ass and all that sort of thing, but somehow or other you make me want to be the same sort of idiot, and I feel positively ashamed at times that I cannot."
You should have seen his face flush, and the hangdog way he tried to pass over the compliment by cursing an untied shoestring and me at the same time for trying to "pull a fellow's leg."
We went for a ride in the park that afternoon, and just to be pleasant the Captain forced on me the gift of his finest Arab and a permanent stall in his stable in which to keep the animal. He knew, the dear fool, that I could not afford to keep it myself. I believe he would have suffered tortures had I refused him. But indeed I had no thought. Thegift completely captivated me; I felt like a child with a new toy, and as proud as any peacock. The horse was a noble creature. I named him forthwith "Abd-el-Kadir," and the pair of us spent the evening petting him, until it was time to dine. We had the gayest possible meal and afterwards went to the Empire, reaching home a little before midnight like reputable bachelors. The Captain, as usual with him, fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. But I had a trust to fulfil and, ridiculous as it may seem, as soon as I heard young Weldon's quiet breathing it began to weigh upon me. All sorts of mad questions began to ask themselves over in my mind. What if Sir Robert Ottley and Dr. Belleville had really discovered some wonderful secret of Nature? What if Belleville had really determined to assassinate his rival? What if—in that act—he purposed to make me appear to be the criminal? What if—as the medium had hinted—they had found a way to make themselves invisible? It was no use calling myself names, and saying mentally: "Pinsent, for Heaven's sake be reasonable." Something had come over me. For the first time in my life I was nervous. Mysterious fears obsessed me. For an hour I lay on my side and watched the Captain. Then I could stand it no longer. I got up and stole over to the door. It was locked securely. I looked under both beds and peered into wardrobes and cupboards. When I had perfectlyconvinced myself that Weldon and I were the only occupants of the room I felt a little better. But only a very little. I resolved to spend the night watching. I lighted a cigar and then threw myself into an armchair, fixing my eyes on the Captain. He slept like a babe. I do not know when it was exactly that I became actually aware of a third presence in the room. Probably the idea had been gradually growing upon me, for I experienced no sudden shock of surprise when conviction displaced doubt. I said to myself, "This person, whoever he may be, has come here intending to strangle or smother Weldon in his sleep. But my watchfulness has baffled him. What will he do?" I was soon to be informed. A slight, a very slight, noise drew my attention to the farthest corner of the room. Over a little cupboard hung the Captain's sword in his scabbard. The sword, but not the scabbard, was moving. The blade was gradually appearing; and my flesh crept to see that it was, apparently of its own volition, moving, not downwards, but upwards along the wall.
I distinctly saw its shadow appear and lengthen on the wall. But no other shadow was cast to explain the cause. For a moment I was petrified—paralysed by an abhorrence of the supernatural. Then the sword entirely left the scabbard. It advanced slowly, point downwards, borne on air into the room. As it moved it swished slightly to and fro. The invisible hand that held it must have beentrembling. The thought recovered me. I stood up. The sword stopped. I flashed a glance around the room. The poker in the fireplace attracted my attention. I gave a sudden bound and reached it. The sword flashed across the room towards Captain Weldon's bed. God knows how I got there in time to save him, but I did. The point was quivering at his throat when I dashed it aside and with the return blow crashed the poker upon a hard thickness of transparent matter. The clang of steel awoke Weldon, but I had no time for him. The sword was in retreat. I followed it. It was making for the door. I raised the poker for another blow, but on the instant the blade fell crashing to the boards and I heard the key turning in the lock. I hurled myself against the panels and was brought up against a body. Thank God, though I could not see it I could feel it. It was a man. "Weldon!" I shouted, and was locked in a deadly struggle. Over and over we rolled; the invisible man and I. Weldon stood over us, looking on like one in a dream. He could only see me, and he thought I had gone mad and was behaving as maniacs sometimes do. The invisible man was strong—strong. He twined his hands around my throat and I could not prevent him. But slowly, steadily, surely, I forced his chin back. I wished to break his neck. I have an impression he was nude, but cannot be sure. I twined my right hand in his hair, with my left around his neck. I drew him to me. I wasundermost. To save himself he began to beat my skull against the boards. It was then that Weldon intervened. He seized my wrists and tried to lift me up, to save me, as he thought, from doing myself an injury. But all he did was to save the life of the invisible man. Weldon's grasp on my wrists forced mine in some measure to relax. I put forth all my strength, but in vain. The invisible man used his chance and writhed away from me. I struggled afoot, casting Weldon off, but too late. The door opened before our eyes and our enemy, unseen, fled, banging the door behind him. I heard the patter of feet as he departed. The Captain uttered an oath. "Oh! you fool, you fool!" I cried at him.
"By George!" gasped Weldon. "Did you see that door?" He rushed forward and opened it again, peering out into the passage.
I fell into a chair spent and panting.
Presently Weldon came back. He picked up his sword and examined it. There was a great gap in the edge near the point where I had struck it with the poker. "What is the meaning of all this?" he cried. I told him as soon as I was able. But from the first he did not believe me, and he was honest enough to say so. How could I blame him? The story sounded incredible, even to me, while I was telling it. Weldon adopted the most charitable possible view. I had dreamed everything and acted the somnambulist. He admittedthat it was a queer circumstance, the door opening and shutting so unexpectedly. But no doubt one of the other lodgers in the house had tried it in passing—some late bird a bit under the weather, Weldon thought—and finding it yield had banged it shut again. It was no use retorting that the door had been locked—Weldon merely laughed and asked what more likely than that I had turned the latch before smashing his best blade? He was quite upset about his sword. It had been carried by his grandfather at Waterloo. He plainly considered the damage I had done to it was the only serious occurrence of the night. But he strove, like a hero, to keep me from realising just how bad he did feel about it. I ceased protesting at last, and abandoned the vain task of trying to convince him of the deadly peril that had menaced him. He returned the sword to its scabbard and with a subdued sigh got back into bed again. Within ten minutes he was fast asleep. As for me, I paced the floor till morning, thinking, thinking, thinking. I have no shame in confessing that I was horribly afraid; not of the immediate present, but the future. I did not expect our mysterious assailant to return that night. But what of the morrow? I am not a believer in the supernatural or I must have set down the unseen marauder as a spirit. But I had felt and wrestled with the thing, and knew it for a man. I had heard the patter of its feet. Moreover, the memory of the séance and Navarro's dramaticrecitation supplied me with a sort of clue. What if Navarro had not been acting, but had really been clairvoyant? Who shall dare to define the limits of the possible? Was it more marvellous that he should have heard and seen things really happening in a trance, than that I—in full possession of all my faculties—had wrestled with a man invisible in the bright glare of an incandescent lamp? I said to myself: "It is necessary to assume that Navarro is a true medium, if only for the sake of argument. Well, in that case it is clear that Dr. Belleville and Sir Robert Ottley had found in the tomb of Ptahmes a papyrus containing a tremendous scientific secret. This secret is one which teaches its possessors how to control forces of Nature, in a manner which my imagination can only guess at, for the production of a physical result which I have actually experienced. They have learned how to override the laws of light. They have discovered a means of not only rendering opaque objects transparent, but positively invisible. And they are using their secret knowledge to further their nefarious designs. Sir Robert Ottley is using it to increase his fortune by spying out the financial secrets of his business rivals. Dr. Belleville is using it to accomplish the destruction of Captain Weldon, his rival in love. And, in all probability, they both intend it to remove me from their path because they fear that I suspect them."
It must not be supposed that I adopted theseconclusions with any sort of confidence. They entered my mind and remained there. But I received them churlishly and treated them as unwelcome guests. And the only reason that I did not expel them was because I could not discover, try as I would, any more substantial or sensible explanation of an event which they pretended to explain.
When the dawn broke and the light of day began to steal into the room between the shutters I looked around and shook my head. After all, had I fallen asleep against my will and dreamed the whole thing, as Weldon believed? It might be so. The intellect is a strange, elusive, shadowy affair. It slips from one's control at times. The memory easily clogs. The imagination is easily overheated. And one is not the best judge of one's own experiences. Science had taught me so much, at least, that one cannot always accept the evidence of sense. I began to doubt, to cast about me, and to vote myself absurd. With the rising of the sun, I flung back the shutters and looked forth on a vista of chimneys and leaded roofs. They were so manifestly real and solid and prosaic that all my brain expanded to a sense of ridicule except one small part, which began to shrivel up under the douche I poured upon it, of what I called cold common-sense. But it did not entirely shrivel up. It insisted on certain reservations. It said to me, "Pinsent, my man, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. You have noright to ill-treat a part of your intelligence which—even though it may have erred—served you to the best of its ability. And can you be sure it erred? If it hap that it did not, you would never forgive yourself for flouting it. Be wise in time! Don't prejudge the case! Wait and watch! Take precautions! Guard yourself—and, above all, guard your charge!"
I determined to suspend judgment. Above all, I determined to guard my charge. But I confess it was with a curling lip I made the resolution. There is something in sunlight, some all-subduing power which irresistibly dries up the fountain springs of the imagination. I cannot conceive a novelist writing a fanciful story in the sunlight. Can you? And the sunlight was pouring into the room when I came to my resolve.