The little door in the wall of Sir William Gouldesbrough's old Georgian house stood wide open. Carriages were driving up, and the butler was constantly ushering visitors into the vast sombre hall, while a footman kept escorting this or that arrival up the gravel path among the laurel bushes.
It was afternoon, a dull and livid afternoon. Clouds had come down too near to London, and thunder lurked behind them. Never at any time a cheerful place, the old walled house of the scientist to-day wore its most depressing aspect.
The well-known people, who were invited to the demonstration of a stupendous and revolutionary discovery, looked with ill-concealed curiosity at the house, the garden, and the gloomy dignity of the hall.
There has always been a great deal of surmise and curiosity about Sir William's home and private life. That so distinguished a man was a bachelor was in itself an anomaly; and, though Gouldesbrough went continually into society, when he himself entertained it was generally at restaurants, except in very rare instances. So the world of London had come to regard the house in Regent's Park as a sort of wizard's cave, a secret and mysterious place where the modern magician evolved wonders which were to change the whole course of modern life.
About forty people had been invited to the demonstration.
Lord Malvin was there, of course. He came in company with Donald Megbie and Sir Harold Oliver.
All three men seemed singularly grave and preoccupied, and, as the other guests noted the strange, and even stern, expression upon Lord Malvin's face, they whispered that the leader of the scientific world felt that on this day he was to be deposed and must resign his captaincy for ever.
But in this case, as it generally is, gossip was at fault. Nobody knew of the strange conference which had been held by Donald Megbie with Lord Malvin and Sir Harold Oliver. Nobody knew how Miss Marjorie Poole had driven up to Lord Malvin's house in Portland Place one afternoon with Donald Megbie. Nobody would have believed, even if they had been told, how the two grave scientists (who realized that, however many truths are discovered, there still lie hidden forces which we shall never understand this side of the Veil) had listened to the extraordinary story the journalist and the society girl had to tell.
Therefore, on this important afternoon, though Lord Malvin's seriousness was commented upon, it was entirely misunderstood.
Various other scientists from France, Germany and America were present. Donald Megbie, the editor of theEastminster Gazette, and a famous novelist represented the press and the literary world.
The Bishop of West London, frail, alert, his grey eyes filled with eagerness, was one of the guests. Dean Weare came with him, and the political world had sent three ambassadors in the persons of Mr. Decies, the Home Secretary, Sir James Clouston and Sir William Ellrington. There was an academician who looked like a jockey, and a judge who looked like a trainer. The rest of the guests were all well-known people, who, if they were not particularly interested in science, were yet just the people who could not be ignored on an important occasion. That is to say, they belonged to that little coterie of men and women in London who have no othermetierthan to be present at functions of extreme importance! For no particular reason they have become fixtures, and their personalities are entirely merged in the unearned celebrity of their name and the apparent necessity for their presence.
The men in their black frock coats passed over the great galleried hall like ghosts, and the white furs of the ladies, and the grey plumes and feathers of their hats, did little to relieve the general note of sadness, or to bring any colour into Sir William Gouldesbrough's house. Among the last arrivals of all were Lady Poole and her daughter.
The guests had congregated in the hall where servants were handing about tea, and where two great fires warmed the air indeed, but could not destroy the sense of mental chill.
Sir William had not yet made his appearance, and it was understood that when the party was complete the butler was to lead them straight to the laboratories. The fact marked the seriousness of the occasion.
This was no social party, no scientific picnic, at which one went to see things which would interest and amuse, and to chatter, just as one chatters at an exhibition of water-colours in Pall Mall. Everybody felt this, everybody knew it, and everybody experienced a sense of awe and gravity as befitted people who were about to witness something which would mark an epoch in the history of the world and change the whole course of human life.
As Marjorie Poole came into the hall with her mother, every one saw that she looked ill. Her face was pale, there were dark rings under her eyes; and, as she stepped over the threshold of the door, one or two people noticed that she shivered. It was remarked also, that directly the two ladies entered, Lord Malvin, Sir Harold Oliver, and Mr. Megbie went up to them in a marked manner, and seemed to constitute themselves as a sort of bodyguard for the rest of the stay in the hall.
"She does not look much like a girl who is engaged to the most successful man of the day, does she?" Mrs. Hoskin-Heath said to Lord Landsend.
"No, you are right," Lord Landsend whispered. "She is afraid Sir William's machine won't work, and that the whole thing won't come off, don't you know. And, for my part, though I don't profess to understand exactly what Sir William is going to show us, I bet a fiver that it is not more wonderful than things I have seen scores of times at Maskelyne and Cook's. Wonderful place that, Mrs. Hoskin-Heath. I often go there on a dull afternoon; it makes one's flesh creep, 'pon my word it does. I have been there about fifty times, and I have never yet felt safe from the disappearing egg."
The butler was seen to come up to Lord Malvin and ask him a question. The peer looked round, and seemed to see that every one was prepared to move. He nodded to the man, who crossed the hall, bowed, and opened a door to the right of the great central staircase.
"My master tells me to say, my lord," he said, addressing Lord Malvin, but including the whole of the company in his gaze—"my master tells me to say that he will be very much obliged if you will come into the laboratory."
A footman went up to the door and held it open, while the butler, with a backward look, disappeared into the passage, and led the way towards the real scene of the afternoon's events.
As that throng of famous people walked down the long corridor, which led past the study door, not a single one of them knew or could surmise that all and severally they were about to experience the emotion of their lives.
The visitors found themselves in the laboratory, a large building lit by means of its glass roof.
Sir William Gouldesbrough, dressed in a grey morning suit, received them. He shook hands with one or two, and bowed to the rest; but there was no regular greeting of each person who came in.
At one side of the laboratory were three long rows of arm-chairs, built up in three tiers on platforms, much in the same way as the seats are arranged for hospital students in an operating theatre.
The guests were invited to take their places, and in a minute or two had settled themselves, the more frivolous and non-scientific part of them whispering and laughing together, as people do before the curtain rises at a play. This is what they saw.
About two yards away from the lowest row of seats, which was practically on the floor level, the actual apparatus of the discovery began. Upon specially constructed tables, on steel supports, which rose through the boarding of the floor, were a series of machines standing almost the whole length of the room.
Upon the opposite wall to the spectators was a large screen, upon which the Thought Pictures were to be thrown.
Save for the strange apparatus in all its intricacy of brass and vulcanite, coiled wire and glass, there was more than a suggestion of the school-room in which the pupils are entertained by a magic-lantern exhibition.
Marjorie Poole and her mother sat next to Lord Malvin, on either side of him, while Donald Megbie, Sir Harold Oliver, and the Bishop of West London were immediately to their right and left.
Gouldesbrough had not formally greeted Marjorie, but as he stood behind his apparatus ready to begin the demonstration, he flashed one bright look at her full of triumph and exultation. Megbie, who was watching very closely, saw that the girl's face did not change or soften, even at this supreme moment, when the unutterable triumph of the man who loved her was about to be demonstrated to the world.
Amid a scene of considerable excitement on the part of the non-scientific of the audience, and the strained tense attention of the famous scientists, Sir William Gouldesbrough began.
"My Lord, my illustriousconfrères, ladies and gentlemen, I have to thank you very much for all coming here this afternoon to see the law which I have discovered actually applied by means of mechanical processes, which have been adapted, invented and made by myself and my brilliant partner and helper, Mr. Wilson Guest."
As he said this, Sir William turned towards the end of the room where his assistant was busy bending over one of the machines.
The man, with the large hairless face, was pale, and his fingers were shaking, as they moved about among the screws and wires. He did not look up as Gouldesbrough paid him this just tribute, though every one of the spectators turned towards him at the mention of his name.
Truth to tell, Mr. Wilson Guest was, for the first time for many years, absolutely bereft of all alcoholic liquor since the night before. For the first time in their partnership Gouldesbrough had insisted upon Guest's absolute abstention. He had never done such a thing before, as he pointed out to his friend, but on this day he said his decision was final and he meant to be obeyed.
The frenzied entreaties of the poor wretch about mid-day, his miserable abasement and self-surrender, as he wept for his poison, were useless alike. He had been forced to yield, and at this moment he was suffering something like torture. It was indeed only by the greatest effort of his weakened will that he could attend to the mechanical duties of adjusting the sensitive machines for the demonstration which was to follow.
"I cannot suppose that any of you here are now unaware of the nature of my experiments and discovery. It has been ventilated in the press so largely during the last few days, and Mr. Donald Megbie has written such a lucid account of the influence which he believes the discovery will have upon modern life, that I am sure you all realize something of the nature of what I am about to show you.
"To put it very plainly, I am going to show you how thought can be collected in the form of vibrations, in the form of fluid electric current, and collected directly from the brain of the thinker as he thinks.
"I am further going to demonstrate to you how this current can be transformed into a visible, living and actual representation of the thoughts of the thinker."
He stopped for a moment, and there was a little murmur from his guests. Then he went on.
"Before proceeding to actual experiment, it is necessary that I should give you some account of the means by which I have achieved such marvellous results. I do not propose to do this in extremely technical language, for were I to do so, a large portion of those here this afternoon would not be able to follow me. I shall proceed to explain in words, which I think most of you will understand.
"My illustriousconfrèresin Science will follow me and understand the technical aspect of what I am going to put into very plain language, and to them especially I would say that, after the actual experiment has been conducted, I shall beg them to examine my apparatus and to go into the matter with me from a purely scientific aspect.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me begin.
"That light is transmitted by waves in the ether is abundantly proved, but the nature of the waves and the nature of the ether have, until the present, always been uncertain. It is known that the ultimate particles of bodies exist in a state of vibration, but it cannot be assumed that the vibration is purely mechanical. Experiment has proved the existence of magnetic and electric strains in the ether, and I have found that electro-magnetic strains are propagated with the same speed as that of which light travels.
"You will now realize, to put it in very simple language, that the connection between light and what the man in the street would call currents, or waves of electricity, is very intimate. When I had fully established this in my own mind, I studied the physiology of the human body for a long period. I found that the exciting agents in the nerve system of the animal frame are frequently electric, and by experimenting upon the nerve system in the human eye, I found that it could be excited by the reception of electro-magnetic waves.
"In the course of my experiments I began more and more frequently to ask myself, 'What is the exact nature of thought?'
"You all know how Signor Marconi can send out waves from one of his transmitters. I am now about to tell you that the human brain is nothing more nor less than an organism, which, in the process of thought, sends out into the surrounding ether a number of subtle vibrations. But, as these vibrations are so akin in their very essence to the nature of light, it occurred to me that it might be possible to gather them together as they were given off, to direct them to a certain point, and then, by means of transforming them into actual light, pass that light through a new form of spectroscope; and, instead of coloured rays being projected upon a screen through the prism of the instrument, the actual living thought of the brain would appear for every one to see.
"This is, in brief, precisely what I have done, and it is precisely what I am going to show you in a few minutes. Having given you this briefest and slightest outline of the law I have discovered and proved, I will explain to you something of the mechanical means by which I have proved it, and by which I am going to show it to you in operation."
He stopped once more, and moved a little away from where he had been standing. Every one was now thoroughly interested. There was a tremulous silence as the tall, lean figure moved towards a small table on which the shining conical cap, or helmet of brass, lay.
Sir William took up the object and held it in his right hand, so that every one could see it distinctly. From the top, where the button of an ordinary cap would be, a thin silk-covered wire drooped down to the floor and finally rose again and disappeared within a complicated piece of mechanism a few feet away.
"This cap," Sir William said, "is placed upon the head of a human being. You will observe later that it covers the whole of the upper part of the head down to the eyes, and also descends behind to the nape of the neck and along each side of the neck to the ears.
"A person wearing this cap is quite unconscious of anything more than the mere fact of its weight upon his head. But what is actually going on is, that every single thought he secretes is giving off this vibration, not into the ether, but within the space enclosed by the cap. These vibrations cannot penetrate through the substance with which the cap is lined, and in order to obtain an outlet, they can only use the outlet which I have prepared for them. This is placed in the top of the cap, and is something like those extremely delicate membranes which receive the vibrations of the human voice in a telephone and transmit them along a wire to the receiver at the other end of it."
He put down the cap, and looked towards his audience. Not a single person moved in the very least. The distinguished party, tier upon tier, might have been a group of wooden statues painted and coloured to resemble the human form. Sir William moved on.
"Here," he said, "is a piece of apparatus enclosed in this box, which presented the first great difficulty in the course of the twenty years during which I have been engaged upon this work. Within this wooden shell," he tapped it with his fingers, "the thought vibrations, if I may call them so, are collected and transformed into definite and separateelectriccurrents. Every single variation in their strength or quality is changed into a corresponding electric current, which, in its turn, varies from its fellow currents. So far, I have found that from between 3,000 to 4,000 different currents, differing in their tensity and their power, are generated by the ordinary thoughts of the ordinary human being.
"You may take it from me, as I shall presently show my scientific brethren, that within this box Thought Vibrations are transformed intoelectriccurrents."
He passed on to a much larger machine, which was connected by a network of wires covered with crimson and yellow silk, to the mahogany box which he had just left.
The outside of the new piece of apparatus resembled nothing so much as one of those enormous wine-coolers which one sees in big restaurants or hotels. It was a large square case standing upon four legs. But from the lid of this case rose something which suggested a very large photographic camera, but made of dull steel. The tube, in which the lens of an ordinary camera is set, was in this case prolonged for six or seven feet, and was lost in the interior of the next machine.
And now, for the first time, the strained ears of the spectators caught a note of keen vibration and excitement in Sir William Gouldesbrough's voice. He had been speaking very quietly and confidently hitherto; but now the measured utterance rose half a tone; and, as when some great actor draws near in speech to the climax of the event he mimics, so Sir William also began to be agitated, and so also the change in tone sent a thrill and quiver through the ranks of those who sat before him.
"Here," he said, "I have succeeded in transforming my electric currents into light. That is nothing, you may think for a moment, the electric current produces light in your own houses at any moment; but you must remember that in your incandescent bulbs the light is always the same in its quality. Light of this sort, passed through the prism of a spectroscope will always tell the same story when the screen presents itself for analysis. My problem has been to produce an infinite variety of light, so that every single thought vibration will produce, when transformed, its ownspecialandindividualquality of light, and that," he concluded, "I have done."
Sir Harold Oliver, who had been leaning forward with grey eyes so strained and intent that all the life seemed to have gone out of them and they resembled sick pearls, gave a gasp as Sir William paused.
Then Gouldesbrough continued.
He placed his hand upon the thing like a camera which rose from the lid of the larger structure below it.
"Within this chamber," he said, "all the light generated below is collected and focussed. It passes in one volume through this object."
He moved onwards, as he spoke, running his fingers along the pipe which led him to the next marvel in this stupendous series.
"I have now come," he began again, "to what Mr. Guest and myself might perhaps be allowed to think as our supreme triumph. Here is our veritable Thought Spectroscope within this erection, which, as you will observe, is much larger than anything else I have shown you. The light which pours along that tube is passed through, what I will only now designate as a prism, to keep the analogy of the light spectroscope, and is split up into its component parts.
"You will see that, rising out of this iron box," he ran his hand over the sides of it as if he loved it, "the lens projects just like the lens of a bioscope. This lens is directed full upon that great white screen which is exactly opposite to you all; and this is my final demonstration of the mechanism which I am now about to set in motion to prove to you that I have now triumphed over the hitherto hidden Realm of Thought. From this lens I shall pour upon the screen in a minute or two for you all to see, without doubt and in simple view, the thoughts of the man or woman on whom I shall place the cap."
He ceased. The first part of the demonstration was over.
Lord Malvin rose in his seat. His voice was broken by emotion.
"Sir," he said, "I know, none better perhaps in this room, of the marvellous series of triumphs which have led you to this supreme moment. I know how absolutely and utterly true all you have told us is, and I know that we are going to witness your triumph."
He turned round to the people behind him.
"We are going to see," he said, "the human soul laid bare for the first time in the history of the world."
Then he turned once more to Sir William, and his voice, though still full of almost uncontrollable emotion, became deep and stern.
"Sir William Gouldesbrough," he said, "I have to salute you as the foremost scientist of all time, greater than Newton, greater than Darwin, greater than us all. And I pray to God that you have used the great talent He has given you in a worthy way, and I pray that, if you have done this, you will always continue to do so; for surely it is only for some special reason that God has allowed you this mastery."
He ceased, and there was rustle and hum of movement among all the people, as this patriarch lifted his voice with almost a note of warning and menace in it.
It was all so unusual, so unexpected—why did this strange prophetic note come into the proceedings? What was hidden in the old man's brain?
Every one felt the presence, the unseen presence of deep waters and hidden things.
Marjorie Poole had bowed her head, she was absolutely motionless. There was a tension in the air.
Sir William Gouldesbrough's head was bowed also, as he listened with courteous deference to the words of one whose name had been chief and most honoured in the scientific world for so many years. Those who watched him remarked afterwards that he seemed to be stricken into stone for a moment, as words which were almost a veiled accusation pealed out into the great room.
Then they saw Sir William once more himself in a swift moment. His eyes were bright and there was a look of triumph on his face.
"I thank you, Lord Malvin," he said, in a voice which was arrogant and keen, "I thank you for your congratulations, your belief, and for your hopes for me; and now my lord, ladies, and gentlemen, shall we not proceed to the actual demonstration?
"I am going to ask that one of you come down from your seat and allow me to place the cap upon your head. I shall then darken the laboratory, and the actual thoughts of the lady or gentleman who submits herself or himself to the experiment will be thrown upon the screen."
There was a dead silence now, but most of the people there looked at each other in doubt and fear.
It might well be that, confronted for the first time in their lives with the possibility of the inmost secrets of their souls being laid bare, the men and women of the world would shrink in terror. Who of us, indeed, is able to look clearly and fairly into his own heart, and realize in very actual truth what he is! Do we not, day by day, and hour by hour, apply the flattering unction to our souls that we aren't so very bad after all; that what we did last week, and what, sub-consciously we know we shall do again in the week that is coming, is only the result of a temperament which cannot be controlled in this or that particular, and that we have many genial virtues—not exactly specified or defined—which make it all up to a high level of conduct after all?
Yes! There was a silence there, as indeed there would have been in any other assembly when such a proposal was made.
They were all ashamed, they were all frightened. They none of them dared submit themselves to this ordeal.
And as they looked at their host they saw that a faint and mocking smile was playing about his mouth, and that the eyes above it flamed and shone.
Then they heard his voice once more, and the new and subtle quality of mockery had crept into that also.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am waiting for one of you to give me an opportunity of proving all that I have told you."
"My lord, will not you afford me the great privilege of being the first subject of the new experiment?"
Lord Malvin looked very straightly and rather strangely at Sir William Gouldesbrough.
"Sir," he said, "I am not afraid to display my thoughts to this company, but shall I be the first person who has ever done so? Of course not. You have had other subjects for experiment, whether willing or unwilling—I do not know."
Once again the guests saw Sir William's face change. What strange and secret duel, they asked themselves, was going on before them? How was it that Lord Malvin and Sir William Gouldesbrough seemed to be in the twin positions of accuser and accused?
What was all this?
Lord Malvin continued—
"I am ready to submit myself, Sir William, in the cause of Science. But I would ask you, very, very earnestly, if you desire that the thoughts that animate me at this moment should be given to every one here?"
Gouldesbrough stepped back a pace as though some one had struck him. There was a momentary and painful silence. And then it was that the Bishop of West London rose in his place.
"Sir William," he said, "I shall be highly honoured if you will allow me to be the first subject. I shall fix my thoughts upon some definite object, and then we shall see if my memory is good. I have only just come back from a holiday in the Holy Land, and it will give me great pleasure to sit in your chair and to try and construct some memories of Jerusalem for you all."
With that the Bishop stepped down on to the floor of the laboratory, and sat in the chair which Sir William indicated.
The spectators saw the brass cap carefully fitted on the prelate's head.
Then Sir William stepped to the little vulcanite table upon which the controlling switches were—there was a click, shutters rolled over the sky-lights in the roof, already obscured by the approach of evening, and the electric lights of the laboratory all went out simultaneously. The darkness was profound. The great experiment had begun.
They were all watching, and watching very intently. All they could see was a bright circle of light which flashed out upon the opposite wall. It was just as though they were watching an ordinary exhibition of the magic-lantern or the cinematograph.
And suddenly, swiftly, these world-worn and weary people of society, these scientists who lived by measure and by rule, saw that all Sir William Gouldesbrough had said was true—and truer than he himself knew.
For upon this white screen, where all their eyes were fixed, there came a picture of the Holy City, and it was a picture such as no single person there had ever seen before.
For it was not that definite and coloured presentment of a scene caught by the camera and reproduced through the mechanical means of a lens, which is a thing which has no soul. It was the picture of that Holy City to which all men's thoughts turn in trouble or in great crises of their lives. And it was a picture coloured by the imagination of the man who had just come back from Jerusalem, and who remembered it in the light of the Christian Faith and informed it with all the power of his own personality.
They saw the sharp outlines of the olive trees, immemorially old, as a fringe to the picture. The sun was shining, the white domes and roofs were glistening, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre loomed up large in this vista, seen through a temperament, and through a memory, and seen from a hill.
For a brief space, they all caught their breath and shuddered at the marvellous revelation of the power and magnificence of thought which was revealed to them at that moment. And then they watched the changing, shifting phantom, which was born from the thought of this good man, with a chill and shudder at the incredible wonder of it all.
The afternoon, as it has been said, was thunderous and grim. While the representatives of the world that matters had been listening to Sir William, the forces of nature had been massing themselves upon the frontier-line of experience and thought. And now, at this great moment, the clouds broke, the thunder stammered, and in that darkened place the white and amethyst lightning came and flickered like a spear thrown from immensity.
The gong of the thunder, the crack and flame of the lightning, passed. There was a dead silence. Still the spectators saw the mapped landscape of the Holy City shining before them, glad, radiant and serene.
And then, old Lady Poole dropped her fan—a heavy fan made of ebony and black silk. It clattered down the tier of seats and brought an alien note into the tension and the darkness of the laboratory.
Everybody started in the gloom. There was a little momentary flutter of excitement. And, as they all watched the gleaming circle of light upon which the brain of the Bishop had painted his memories so truthfully and well, they saw a sudden change. The whole, beautiful picture became troubled, misty. It shook like a thing seen through water at a great depth.
Then the vision of the City where God suffered went straight away. There was no more of it. It vanished as a breath breathed upon a window clouds and vanishes.
The concentration of mind of the Bishop must then—as it was said afterwards—have been interrupted by the sudden sound of the falling fan, for all those celebrated men and women who sat and watched saw dim grey words, like clouds of smoke which had formed themselves into the written symbols of speech, appear in the light.
And these were the words—
"God will not allow——"
At that moment the silence was broken by a tiny sound. It is always the small sound that defines blackness and silence.
Sir William, who perhaps had realized where the thoughts of the Bishop were leading him, who had doubtless understood the terror of the naked soul, the terror which he himself had made possible, switched on the light. The whole laboratory was illuminated, and it was seen that the people were looking at each other with white faces; and that the folk, who were almost strangers, were grasping each other by the wrist. And the Bishop himself was sitting quietly in the chair, with a very pale face and a slight smile.
At that moment the people who had come to catch the visual truth of this supreme wonder, rose as one man. Voices were heard laughing and sobbing; little choked voices mingled and merged in a cacophany of fear.
It was all light now, light and bright, and these men and women of the world were weeping on each other's shoulders.
The Bishop rose.
"Oh, please," he said, "please, my dears, be quiet. This is wonderful, this is inexplicable, but we have only begun. Let us see this thing through to the very, very end. Hush! Be quiet! There is no reason, nor is there any need, for hysteria or for fear."
The words of the Churchman calmed them all. They looked at him, they looked at each other with startled eyes, and once more there was a great and enduring silence.
Then Sir William spoke. His face was as pale as linen; he was not at all the person whom they had seen half-an-hour ago—but he spoke swiftly to them.
"His Lordship," he said, "has given us one instance of how the brain works, and he has enabled us to watch his marvellous memory of what he has so lately seen. And now, I will ask some one or other of you to come down here and help me."
Young Lord Landsend looked at Mrs. Hoskin-Heath and winked.
"I shall be very pleased, Sir William," he said in the foolish, staccato voice of his class and kind, "I shall be very pleased, Sir William, to think for you and all the rest of us here."
Lord Landsend stumbled down from where he sat and went towards the chair. As he did so, there were not wanting people who whispered to each other that a penny for his thoughts was an enormous price to pay. The cap was fitted on his head; they all saw it gleaming there above the small and vacuous face; and then once more the lights went out.
The great circle of white light upon the screen remained fixed and immovable. No picture formed itself or occurred within the frame of light and shadow. For nearly a minute the circle remained unsullied.
Then Mrs. Hoskin-Heath began to titter. Every one, relieved from the tension of the first experiment, joined her in her laugh. They all realized that young Lord Landsend could not think, and had not any thoughts at all. In the middle of their laughter, which grew and rose until the whole place was filled with it, the young man, doubtless spurred on by this unaccustomed derision, began to think.
And what they all saw was just this—some one they had all seen before, many times, after dinner.
They simply saw, in rather cloudy colour, Miss Popsy Wopsy, the celebrated Gaiety girl, alertly doing things of no importance, while the baton of the conductor made a moving shadow upon the chiffon of her frock.
And so here was another brain, caught up, classified and seen.
Mr. Wilson Guest had seen all this many times before. The actual demonstration would have given him amusement and filled him with that odd secret pride which was the only reward he asked from that science which he had followed so long under different conditions than the present.
If Sir William Gouldesbrough had not absolutely prohibited the use of any alcohol upon that day, Guest might have been normal and himself. It was in this matter that Sir William made a great mistake. In his extreme nervousness and natural anxiety, he forgot the pathology of his subject, and did not realize how dangerous it is to rob a man of his drug, and then expect him to do his work.
Guest's assistance had been absolutely necessary in the first instance, in order to prepare the various parts of the Thought Spectrum, and to ensure the proper working of the machinery.
But now, when all that was done, when the demonstration was actually going on and everything was working smoothly and well, there was no immediate need at the moment for Guest's presence in the laboratory.
Accordingly, while Lord Landsend was vainly trying to secrete thought, Wilson Guest slipped out by the side-door in the dark. He was in a long passage leading to the other experimental rooms, and he heaved a great sigh of relief. High above in the air, the thunder could still be heard growling, but the corridor itself, lit by its rows of electric lights and softly carpeted, seemed to the wretched man nothing but an avenue to immediate happiness.
He shambled and almost trotted towards the dining-room in the other part of the house, where he knew that he would find something to drink quicker than anywhere else. He crossed the big hall and went into the dining-room. No one was there.
It was a panelled room with a softly glowing wood fire upon the hearth, and heavy crimson curtains shutting out the dying lights of the day. On a gleaming mahogany sideboard were bottles of cut-glass, ruby, diamond, and amber; bottles in which the soft firelight gleamed and was repeated in a thousand twinkling points.
A loud sob of relief burst from the drunkard, and he went up to the sideboard with the impish greed and longing that one sees in some great ape.
And now, as his shadow, cast upon the wall in the firelight, parodied and distorted all his movements, there seemedtwoobscene and evil creatures in the rich and quiet room. It was as though the man with his huge hairless face were being watched and waited for by an ape-like ambassador from hell.
Guest clutched the mahogany sideboard and, his fingers were so hot that a greyness like that of damp breath on frosted glass glowed out upon the wood—it seemed as if the man's very touch brought mildew and blight.
Guest ran his eye rapidly along the decanters. His throat felt as though it was packed with hot flour. His mouth tasted as if he had been sucking a brass tap. His tongue was swollen and his lips were hard, cracked, and feverish. He snatched the brandy bottle from a spirit-case, and poured all that was in it into a heavy cut-glass tumbler. Then, looking round for more, for the tantalus had not been more than one-fourth part full, he saw a long wicker-covered bottle of curaçao, and he began to pour from it into the brandy. Then, without water, or mineral water, he began to gulp down this astonishing and powerful mixture, which, in a fourth of its quantity, would probably have struck down the ordinary man, as a tree snaps and falls in a sudden wind.
It had been Guest's intention to take enough alcohol to put him into something like a normal condition, and then to return to the laboratory to assist at the concluding scenes of the demonstration, and to enjoy it in his own malicious and sinister fashion. But as the liquor seemed to course through his veins and to relieve them of the intolerable strain, as he felt his whole body respond to the dose of poison to which he had accustomed it, thoughts of returning to the laboratory became very dim and misty.
Here was this large comfortable room with its panelled walls, its old family portraits in their massive gilt frames, this fire of wood logs in a great open hearth, sending out so pleasant and hospitable an invitation to remain. Every fibre of the wretch's body urged him to take the twilight hour and enjoy it.
Guest sat down in a great arm-chair, padded with crimson leather, and gazed dreamily into the white heart of the fire.
He felt at peace, and for five minutes sat there without movement, looking in the flickering firelight like some grotesque Chinese sculpture, some god of darkness made by a silent moon-faced man on the far shores of the Yang-tze-Kiang.
Then Mr. Guest began to move again; the fuel that he had taken was burning out. The man's organism had become like one of those toy engines for children, which have for furnace a little methyl lamp, and which must be constantly renewed if the wheels of the mechanism are to continue to revolve.
Mr. Guest rose from the arm-chair and shambled over to the sideboard again. The bottle of curaçao was still almost full, though there did not appear to be any more brandy.
That would do, he thought, and he poured from the bottle into his glass as if he had been pouring beer. The wretched man had forgotten that, in his present state—a state upon the very verge of swift and hidden paroxysm and of death—the long abstention of the morning and afternoon had modified his physiological condition. Moreover, the suddenness of these stealthy potations in the dining-room began to have their way with him. He was a man whom it was almost impossible to make intoxicated, as the ordinary person understands intoxication. When Guest was drunk, his mind became several shades more evil, that was all.
But at this moment the man succumbed, and in half-an-hour his brain was absolutely clouded and confused. He had forgotten both time and occasion, and could not think coherently.
At last he seemed to realize this himself. He rose to his feet and, clutching hold of the dining-room table, swayed and lurched towards the dining-room door. There was a dim consciousness within him of something which was imminently necessary to be done, but which he had forgotten or was unable to recall.
"What was it?" he kept asking himself with a thick indistinctness. "I knew I had somethin' to do, somethin' important, can't think what it was."
At that moment his hand, which he had thrust into his pocket, touched a key.
"I've got it," he said, "'course, I know now. I must go down and put the cap on Rathbone, after I have injected the alcohol preparation. William and I want to sit in front of the screen and follow his thoughts; they are funnier than they ever used to be before we told him what we were doing to him. I'll just take one more drink, then I'll go down-stairs to the cellars at once."
When the sounds of amused laughter at Lord Landsend's unconscious revelation had passed away, and that young nobleman, slightly flushed indeed, but still with the imperturbability that a man of his class and kind learns how to wear on all occasions, had regained his seat, a fire of questions poured in upon Sir William Gouldesbrough.
The famous scientists of the party had all risen and were conferring together in a ripple of rapid and exciting talk, which for the convenience of the foreign members of their number, was conducted in French.
Marjorie Poole, who had not looked at Sir William at all during the whole of the afternoon, was very pale and quiet.
Gouldesbrough had noticed this, and even in the moment of supreme triumph his heart was heavy within him. He feared that something irrevocable had come between him and the girl he loved, and her pallor only intensified his longing to be done with the whole thing, to be alone with her and to have the explanation which he desired so keenly and yet dreaded so acutely. For what Lord Malvin had said to him had stabbed him with a deadly fear, as each solemn, significant word rang through the room.
"Could it be," he asked himself, "could it possibly be that these people suspected or knew anything?"
His quick brain answered the question in its own swift and logical fashion. It was utterly impossible that Lord Malvincouldknow anything. His words were a coincidence and that was all. No, he need not fear, and possibly, he thought, the long strain of work and worry had had its influence upon his nerves and he had become morbid and unstrung. That fear passed, but there was still in his heart the fear, and strangely enough an even greater fear, that he would never now make Marjorie his own.
His outward face and demeanour showed nothing of the storm and riot within. He was calm, self-possessed, and smiling, quick to answer and to reply, to explain this or that point in his discoveries, to be adequate, confident and serene.
In reply to a question from Dean Weare, Sir William leant upon one of the cases which covered the thought-transforming mechanism and gave a little lecture.
"Quite so, Mr. Dean," he said; "it is exactly as you suppose, the form, power, and vividness of the pictures upon the screen correspond exactly with the strength of the intellect of the person whose thoughts are making these pictures. You will find your strongly imaginative man, or your man whose brain is much turned inward upon himself, and who, for this very reason takes little part in the action or movement of life, will give a far more complete and vivid picture than any other. For example, assuming that the Bishop's valet is an ordinary servant and accompanied his Lordship to Palestine a few months ago, and saw exactly what his Lordship saw, that man's memories would not be thrown upon the screen with such wonderful vividness as his Lordship's were. He would not be able, in all probability, to produce a picture, a general impression, which is a real picture and not a photograph, and which so conveys the exact likeness of a place far more than any photograph could ever do. His thoughts would probably be represented by some special incident which had struck his fancy at the time and assumed a proportion in his mind which a cultured and logical faculty of thought would at once reject as being out of due proportion. And finally, in a precise ratio to the power of the brain—I do not mean to its health, or ill-health, its weight or size, I mean its purethinkingpower—so are the thoughts, when transformed into light, vivid or not vivid, as the case may be."
Mrs. Hoskin-Heath turned to Lord Landsend, who was sitting beside her. Her pretty face wore a roguish smile as she whispered to him.
"Billy, what an awful donkeyyoumust be."
Lord Landsend looked at her for a moment. Then he answered—
"Well, you know, I am not at all sure that it is not a jolly good thing to be sometimes. I would not be that fellow Gouldesbrough for anything."
She looked at him in amusement. There was something quite serious in the young man's face.
"Why," she said, in a whisper, "what do you mean, Billy?"
"I may not be clever," said Lord Landsend, "but I prefer to spend my life doing what amuses me, not what other people think I ought to do. At the same time I know men, and I know that scientific Johnny over there has got something on his mind which I should not care to have. Poor Tommy Decies had that look in his eyes the night before Ascot last year, poor Eustace Charliewood had it just before he went down to Brighton and shot himself; and you may take it from me, Mrs. Hoskin-Heath, that I know what I am talking about."
"And now," said Sir William, looking up and down the rows of faces opposite him. "And now, which of you will submit himself to the next experiment?"
Then Lord Landsend spoke. He was determined to "get his own back," as he would have put it, if possible.
"Why don't you have a try yourself, Sir William," he said, with a not very friendly grin; "or won't what d'you call 'em work for its master? You had my thoughts for nothing, I'll give you twopence for yours."
There was an ill-suppressed titter from the more frivolous portion of the spectators; but Lord Malvin turned round and looked at the young man with a frown of disapproval. There was something in that leonine head and those calm wise eyes which compelled him to silence.
Then Herr Schmoulder, a famous savant from Berlin, spoke.
"It would an interesting demonstration make," he said, "of der statement of der relative power that the strong and weak brain possesses if we could see der apparatus in operation upon der thought vibrations transformed of an intelligence which not equal to our own is."
Mrs. Hoskin-Heath chimed in, her beautiful, silvery notes coming, after the deep, grave, guttural, like a peal of bells heard in the lull of a thunderstorm.
"What agoodidea, Sir William!" she said. "I wish you would let me send for my footman. He is sure to be in the servants' hall. It would be so interesting to know his real opinion of me and my husband; and he certainly is a most consummate fool, and would be a thoroughly good subject for such an experiment. I brought him out of Gloucestershire. You know, he was one of the under-footmen at my brother's place, and I have been trying to train him, though with little success. I mean that he is too stolid to be shy, and, therefore, won't object at all, as some men would, to put the cap on and sit down here in the dark. He won't be frightened, I am sure."
"By all means, Mrs. Hoskin-Heath," Gouldesbrough said with a smile. "No doubt one could not have a better subject, and I really shall be able to illustrate the difference between the relative values of brain-power by this means. You will all be able to notice the difference in the vividness and outline of the pictures or words that will appear."
Sir William turned round for Wilson Guest, whom he proposed to send upon the mission, but could not find him.
"I will ring for the butler," he said, "and tell him to fetch your man, Mrs. Hoskin-Heath."
"Oh! don't do that," a voice said upon the second tier. "I—I—am—er—not feeling very well, Sir William, and I was going to ask your permission to go and sit down in the hall for a few minutes; I will tell one of your servants, they are sure to be about."
The voice was the voice of Donald Megbie. He did not look at all ill, but he stepped down with a smile and went out of the laboratory, while everybody waited for the advent of Mrs. Hoskin-Heath's footman.
Once more Sir William looked round to see if Wilson Guest had returned.
The actual projecting apparatus by which the transformed light rays were thrown upon the screen required some attention. The delicate apparatus which focussed the lens of the projector, in order to bring it into the nearest possible co-ordination with the light which it had to magnify and transmit, needed some little care.
"Will you excuse me for a moment," he said to everybody there, "if I leave you in darkness again, until the man comes? I wish to attend to a portion of the mechanism here, and I can only do so by turning off the lights."
There was a chorus of "Oh, please do so, Sir William," and suddenly the laboratory was once more plunged into utter blackness.
Nobody talked much now, curiously enough. For a moment there was nothing heard but the regular beating of Lady Poole's fan, and one whispering conversation which might, or might not, have been carried on between Lord Landsend and Mrs. Hoskin-Heath.
Then the thunder, which had been quiet for a little time, began to mutter once more. The dark air became hot and full of oppression. And in the dark Lord Malvin took the hand of Marjorie Poole in his own. "Be brave," he said into her ear. "I know what you must suffer, believing what you believe."
She whispered back to him.
"I have known it ever since I have been in this place," she said. "Oh! Lord Malvin, I have known it quite certainly,Guy is in this house!"
"Donald Megbie has gone out, as you saw just now," he answered. "Be brave! be strong! I believe that God is guiding you. I too have felt the psychic influence of something strange and very, very terrible in the air of this house."
In a moment more the beginning of the end came. The great twelve-foot circle of light flashed out upon the screen, but now with an extraordinary brightness and vividness, such as the spectators had not seen before during the course of the experiments. For a space of, perhaps, ten seconds, there was no sound at all. Nobody quite realized that anything out of the ordinary was happening, except possibly the scientists, who had a complete grasp of the mechanical methods of the experiments and realized that in this room, at any rate, no one was wearing the cap.
There was a loud cry of astonishment, and, so it seemed, of alarm.
Sharply outlined against the brilliant circle, sharply outlined in a gigantic shape, and standing full in the screen of the light that streamed from the lens of the projector, the spectators saw that Sir William Gouldesbrough was standing. They caught a glimpse of his face. It was a face like the face of a dead man. His arms were whirling in the air like mills, and then as a cry died away in mournful echoes in the high roof of the laboratory, there was a dead sound as the figure of the scientist disappeared and fell out of the circle of light upon the floor.
Upon the screen itself there came a picture. It was the picture of a girl, but of a girl with a face so sweetly tender and compassionate, so irradiated with utter confidence and trust, so pained and yet so tender, that no painter had ever put so wonderful a thing on canvas, and no Madonna in the galleries of the world was more beautiful or more kind.
And the face was one that they all knew well and recognized in a moment. It was the face of one of them, the face of Marjorie Poole, and it was so beautiful because it was painted by an artist whose pictures have never before appealed so poignantly to human eyes—it was painted by despairing Love itself.
At that marvellous sight, a sight which none of those present ever forgot in after life, a strange cry went up into the high-domed roof. It was a cry uttered by many voices and in many keys. There was a gasp of excitement and of fear, shrill women's tones, the guttural of the Teuton, the bass of the startled Englishmen, the high, staccato cry of the Latin, as the French savants joined in it.
But in whatever key the exclamations were pitched, they all blended into something like a wail, a composite, multiple thing, the wail of a company of people who had seen something behind the Veil for the first time in their lives.
The picture glowed and looked out at them in all its ineffable tenderness and glory, and then grew dim, trembled, dissolved, and melted away.
Then upon the screen came words, terrible, poignant words—
"MARJORIE, MARJORIE DEAR, I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NEAR ME, NOW IN BODY AS YOU ARE ALWAYS NEAR ME IN THOUGHTS. I FEEL IT, I KNOW IT, AND EVEN IN THIS CRUEL PRISON, THIS HOPELESS PRISON, WHERE I AM DYING, AND SHALL SHORTLY DIE, I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NEAR ME IN BODY, AND IN THAT SPIRIT YOU ARE ALWAYS MINE AND I AM ALWAYS YOURS. LOVE, IF THE THOUGHTS THAT THEY ARE ROBBING ME OF, IF THE THOUGHTS THAT FILL MY MIND, AND WHICH THOSE TWO FIENDS ARE PROBABLY LOOKING AT AND LAUGHING OVER, HAVE ANY POWER AT ALL, THEN I SEND THEM TO YOU WITH MY LAST EFFORT, IN ONE LAST ATTEMPT TO REACH YOU AND TO SAY THAT I LOVE YOU AND TO SAY GOOD-BYE."
"MARJORIE, MARJORIE DEAR, I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NEAR ME, NOW IN BODY AS YOU ARE ALWAYS NEAR ME IN THOUGHTS. I FEEL IT, I KNOW IT, AND EVEN IN THIS CRUEL PRISON, THIS HOPELESS PRISON, WHERE I AM DYING, AND SHALL SHORTLY DIE, I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NEAR ME IN BODY, AND IN THAT SPIRIT YOU ARE ALWAYS MINE AND I AM ALWAYS YOURS. LOVE, IF THE THOUGHTS THAT THEY ARE ROBBING ME OF, IF THE THOUGHTS THAT FILL MY MIND, AND WHICH THOSE TWO FIENDS ARE PROBABLY LOOKING AT AND LAUGHING OVER, HAVE ANY POWER AT ALL, THEN I SEND THEM TO YOU WITH MY LAST EFFORT, IN ONE LAST ATTEMPT TO REACH YOU AND TO SAY THAT I LOVE YOU AND TO SAY GOOD-BYE."
The circle of white light grew dimmer. Faint, eddying spirals of something that seemed like smoke rose up and obscured the words. They saw an ashen vapour of grey creep over the circle, as the shadow of the moon creeps over the sun at an eclipse. Then the circle disappeared finally, and they were left once more in the dark.
In the dark, indeed, but not in silence. A tumult of agonized voices filled the laboratory. And over them all a brave voice beat in upon the sound with the strong and regular assurance of a great bell, a bell like the mighty mass of metal which hangs in the ancient belfry of Bruges.
Lord Malvin was calling to them to be calm and silent, was telling them that he knew what all this meant and that they must be of courage and good cheer.
Then some one struck a match. It was Lord Landsend, his face very white and serious. He held it up above his head and called to Lord Malvin.
"Here you are, Sir," he said. "I will get down to you in a second. Then we can find the switch to turn on the electric light."
He stumbled down to where Lord Malvin sat,—showing the value of the practical man and polo player in a crisis—and together the two peers, the famous and honoured scientist and the wealthy young man whom the world flattered and calleddilettanteand a fool, went their way to the switch-table in the guiding light of this small torch.
Suddenly a blaze of light dispelled the darkness and showed a company of ghosts looking at each other with weeping faces.
It showed also the figure of a girl sunk upon its chair in a deadly swoon. And it showed also the body of Sir William Gouldesbrough lying upon the floor between the series of machines and the screen upon the opposite wall. The dead face was so horrible that some one ran up immediately and covered it with a handkerchief.
This was Lord Landsend.
The tumult was indescribable, but by sheer power of authority and wisdom Lord Malvin calmed them all. His hand was raised as the hand of a conductor holds the vehemence of a band in check.
In a few short trenchant sentences he told them the history of the strange occurrence which Donald Megbie and Mrs. Poole had brought to his notice; and even as he told them, Sir Harold Oliver and Lady Poole were bringing back the unconscious girl to life and realization.
"The man is here," Lord Malvin said, "the man is here. Guy Rathbone lies dying and prisoned in this accursed house. Sir Harold Oliver, I will ask you to remain with these ladies while I will go forth and solve this horrid mystery."
He looked round with a weary, questioning eye, seeking who should be his companion, and as he did so young Lord Landsend touched him on the arm and smiled.
"Come, my dear boy," the old man said with a melancholy smile of kindness, "you are just the man I want; come with me."
Then, before he left the laboratory, he spoke a few rapid words in French to one or two of the foreign scientists.
Upon that, these gentlemen went down among the strange and fantastic apparatus upon the tables and lifted up That which but a few minutes ago had held the soul and the personality of Sir William Gouldesbrough. They carried the long, limp, terrible dead Thing to the other end of the room, where there was a screen.
There are two things to record—
(1)
His hair was quite grey, his face was old and lined. His body was beginning to be ravaged by the devilish drugs with which it had been inoculated.
But he lay upon a couch in the study, and Marjorie bent over him kissing him, calling to him and cooing inarticulate words of belief and of love.
Lady Poole was there also, motionless and silent, while Lord Malvin and the doctor, who had been hastily summoned from Baker Street, watched by the head of the couch.
The doctor looked at Lord Malvin and nodded his head.
"He will be all right," he whispered. "Those devils have not killed him yet. He will live and be as strong as ever."
The tears were rolling down Lord Malvin's face and he could not speak, but he nodded back to the doctor.
And then they saw the face of Guy Rathbone, who lay there so broken and destroyed, begin to change. The gashes, which supreme and long-continued agony had cut into it, had not indeed passed away. The ashen visage remained ashen still, but a new light came flickering into the tired eyes, and in an indescribable way youth was returning.
Youth was returning, youth!
It came back, summoned out of the past by a supreme magic—the supreme magic of love.
The girl who loved him was kissing him, he was with her at last, and all was well.
(2)
"It is a grave thing and much considered to be," said Herr Schmoulder.
It was late at night.
They had taken Wilson Guest to the hospital, where the doctors were holding him down, as he shrieked and laughed, and died in delirium tremens.
Lord Malvin, Sir Harold Oliver, and the other scientists were gathered together in the laboratory, that recent theatre of such terrible events.
"It is a very grave thing indeed, Herr Schmoulder," Lord Malvin answered; "but I have not ventured to propose it without a consultation in the highest quarters. Decies will be here at any moment, and then upon his decision we shall act. He has been to see the King."
The distinguished men waited there silent and uneasy. All round them stood the marvellous instruments by which the late Sir William Gouldesbrough had obtained a triumph unknown before in the history of the world.
The yellow radiance of the electric light poured down upon the gleaming mahogany, brass, vulcanite and steel.
On the opposite wall was the great white screen—just an ordinary stretch of prepared canvas upon steel rollers, a dead, senseless thing, and no more than that. Yet as the least imaginative of them there chanced to turn his head and see that great white sheet, he shuddered to think of the long agony it had pictured while the two monsters had sat and taken their amusement from it, as a man takes a glass of wine.
There was a rap upon the principal door of the laboratory. Lord Malvin strode to it and opened it. The butler, a portly man on the morning of this day, but now seeming to have shrunk into his clothes, and to have lost much of his vitality, stood there.
Beside him was a gentleman in evening dress, with a keen clean-shaven face and grey hair which curled.
The gentleman stepped quickly into the laboratory. It was the Home Secretary.
He shook Lord Malvin by the hand, and his face was very troubled.
"You are quite right, my Lord," he said. "I may say that His Majesty is at one with you and with me in this matter. His Majesty is much disturbed."
Then Lord Malvin turned round to the other gentlemen.
"Come, my brethren," he said in a sad voice, "come and let us do what we have to do. The Bishop of West London was wiser than any of us when he said that God would never allow this thing to continue, and he was right."
Lord Malvin turned to the frightened servant.
"Go into the kitchens," he said, "or send one of the other men, and fetch a large hammer, such a hammer as you use for breaking up coal."
In a minute or two the butler returned, and handed a formidable implement with a wedge-shaped iron head on a long ash shank to Lord Malvin.
The Home Secretary stood by, and the great men of science clustered round him, watching Lord Malvin's actions.
The peer went to the silent, soulless machines, which had been the medium through which such wonder and terror had passed, and raising the hammer about his head, he destroyed each one severally, with a sort of ritual, as some priest carries out the ritual of his Faith.
This old man, whose name and personality stood so high, so supreme indeed, in the modern world, was like some ancient prophet of the Lord, who, fired with holy zeal, strode down the pagan avenues of the ancient world and tore and beat the false idols from their pedestals in the frenzy of one who kills and destroys that truth may enter and the world be calm.
It was done, over. The politician shook hands with Lord Malvin, and resumed his dry, official manner, perhaps a little ashamed or frightened at the emotion which he had exhibited.
"Good-bye, Lord Malvin," he said. "This terrible business is now over. I have to return to the palace to tell His Majesty that this—thisdevilishinvention is destroyed. Good-night, good-night."
Then a tall man with a pointed beard came into the laboratory, saluting the Home Secretary as he was leaving, with several of the other scientists who had witnessed the whole thing from first to last and now felt that they must go home.
The man with the beard was the man who had been sent from Scotland Yard.
He walked up to Lord Malvin and saluted.
"I think, my Lord," he said, "that everything requisite has now been done. I have all the servants in my charge, and we have fifteen or twenty men in the house, seeing that nothing is disturbed until official inquiry is due."
By this time nobody was left in the laboratory but the detective inspector, Lord Malvin, and Herr Schmoulder.
"Oh! and there is one other thing, my Lord, I have to ask you. Mr. Donald Megbie, the writing gentleman is here, and begs that he may be allowed to see you. Should I be right in admitting the gentleman?"
"Certainly, certainly," Lord Malvin replied. "Bring him in at once, please inspector."
In less than a minute a plain-clothes policeman ushered Donald Megbie into the laboratory.
He went up to Lord Malvin, and his face was bright and happy.
"It is all right, my Lord," he said, "Rathbone is recovering swiftly. Miss Poole is with him, and the doctors say, that though they feared for a short time that his reason would go, they are now quite satisfied that he will recover. He is sleeping quietly in a private room at Marylebone Hospital, and Marjorie Poole is sitting by his side holding his hand."
Then Megbie looked at the wreck upon the floor.
"Ah!" he said, "so you have destroyed this horrid thing?"
"Yes," Lord Malvin answered; "I discussed it with Decies, and Decies went to see the King. It was thought to be better and wiser for the safety of the commonwealth—for the safety of the world indeed—that Sir William Gouldesbrough's discovery should perish with Sir William Gouldesbrough."
"Ah!" Donald Megbie answered; "I felt sure that that was the best course. It would have been too terrible, too subversive. The world must go on as it has always gone on. I have thought, during the last few hours, that Sir William Gouldesbrough was not himself at all. Is it not possible that he himself might have died long ago, and thatsomethingwas inhabiting his body, something which came out of the darkness behind the Veil?"
"That, Mr. Megbie," said Lord Malvin, "is the picturesque thought of the literary man. Science does not allow the possibility of such sinister interferences. And now, I am going home. You will realize, of course, that your supreme services in this matter will be recognized, though I fear that the recognition can never be acknowledged publicly."
Donald Megbie bowed.
"My Lord," he said, "they have been recognized already, because I have seen how love has called back a soul into life. I have seen Marjorie Poole sitting by the bedside of Guy Rathbone. And, do you know, Lord Malvin," he continued in a less exalted tone, "I never wish to see anything in my life here more utterly beautiful than that."
"Come," said Lord Malvin, "it is very late; we are all tired and unstrung."
The two men, arm in arm, the young writer and the great man, moved towards the door of the laboratory.
The detective inspector stood watching the scene with quiet and observant eyes.
But Herr Schmoulder surveyed the wreckage of the Thought-Spectroscope, and as he turned at length to follow Lord Malvin and Donald Megbie, he heaved a deep Teutonic sigh.
"It was der most wonderful triumph that ever der unknown forces occurred has been," he muttered.
Then the three men crossed the vast, sombre hall, now filled with frightened servants and the stiff official guardians of the law, and went out through the path among the laurel bushes to the gate in the wall, where their carriages were waiting.
And Donald Megbie, as he drove home through the silent streets of the West End, heard a tune in his heart, which responded and lilted to the regular beat of the horse's feet upon the macadam. And the burden of the tune was "Love."
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.