CHAPTER IVSEARCHING THE FILES
Seventy-five years!
For a moment both men stood breathless, stupefied. A groan was stifled upon Kearns’ lips and he leaned heavily upon the table for support. The Professor stared blankly at the speaker, then put both hands to his face and dropped back in his chair.
Was this some grim and ghastly joke; some hideous vagary of delirium, or the night?
Alas, no!
The events through which they had passed; the unfamiliar scenes encountered; the appurtenances of the very room in which they sat; the manner of the Colonel—all proclaimed the absence of illusion and confirmed the existence of stern reality.
Seventy-five years!
Truly, only a brief span in the cycle of time, in the relentlessly automatic passage of the ages, but how much in the individual life of man. Seventy-five years ago—who inhabited the house, the spot, in which we live? What was our particular ancestor doing; what was he like; what were his thoughts, ideas, aspirations, hopes, ambitions, this day just seventy-five years ago? How many hustling, bustling, hoping, fearing, aspiring men and women who have since passed away and of whom to-day there is not a human being who knows that they ever were on earth. And—seventy-five years hence! Who will then occupythe house, the spot where we to-day live? Who then, as the days sweep by, will ever give a passing thought to us, or perchance even remember we ever existed?
So, then, three-quarters of a century had passed and with the passage of time surroundings and conditions had also changed! And these two fortunate, or unfortunate, derelicts of the past—what of them? They were as relics of a bygone age; a species of human flotsam and jetsam cast up upon a foreign shore.
A sort of homesickness, a deadly nostalgia, was upon them. Instinctively they turned to each other for sympathy.
Kearns, with his stronger vitality and naturally high spirits, was the quicker to recover from the shock. He glanced down at his strong, knotted arm and wrist resting on the table. Even if he had been dead to the world for all these years, even if he was over a century old, his muscles were as strong as ever and the flow of life within him apparently unimpaired. And if a man’s nerves have the courage and his heart beats strong and full as at thirty, what matter how many years have passed over his head! Such was the thought which surged through Kearns’ mind. “A woman is as old as she looks, a man is as old as he feels,” was the inconsequent and frivolous idea which kept jangling through his brain. How strange it is that in the most critical moments of our lives, the incongruous and the odd will persist in obtruding themselves upon our mental perception.
From the chaos of emotion the announcement had developed in Kearns, curiosity began to grow. He roused himself and turned to question the Colonel. But the latter proved obdurate.
“Not another word will I tell you,” he declared;“not another word until medical advice is at hand. You can understand the loss to the world and to science should anything happen to you at this stage. I’ve sent for the doctor. He’ll be here shortly.”
As the Colonel spoke there came a rap on the door and the servant announced the arrival of the Doctor.
“Show him in at once,” ordered the Colonel. An instant later a very brisk little man, with red cheeks, black moustache and side whiskers, entered the room.
“Doctor Robinson O’Hanlenne,” announced the Colonel, who proceeded to explain briefly the circumstances to the new arrival. From the Colonel’s narrative it appeared that two of his workmen had been felling trees and laying out certain ground in a distant and hitherto unused portion of his estate. While thus engaged they had found the cave with the two inanimate forms carefully wrapped in rugs lying within. The Colonel told graphically the terror of the men as the supposed corpses revived, and their flight when a horse and carriage were demanded by Kearns.
“A horse and carriage!” exclaimed the Doctor, with a smile.
“Precisely; a horse and carriage!”
And both laughed.
“The two men,” continued the Colonel, “ran to the foreman. Fortunately I happened to be with him. At the men’s story I hurried to the cave. The peculiar and elaborate appointments of it astonished me. In a little side recess I found some curious notes and papers bearing on the subject of mesmeric forces and suspension of animation. From the ground I picked up a piece of money. It bore the date eighteen hundred and seventy-six. ‘Come,’ said I to myself, ‘this piece of money must have been coined at the time of the Presidency of the famoussoldier, General Grant. Such money is surely not in general circulation now!’ All of these strange occurrences began to give me a faint hint of the truth. Such cases are not entirely unknown to our modern science, I believe, although the duration of the sleep in this instance exceeds anything yet reported.”
“Quite so,” commented Dr. O’Hanlenne.
“I started on a hunt for my involuntary guests,” continued the Colonel, with a smile at Kearns and the Professor. “On the Pemberton road I luckily encountered Mrs. Merriweather and her daughter, who had met two men who asked after strange places. These men had actually made inquiries for a horse and carriage.”
Both the Colonel and the Doctor broke into a guffaw.
“Oh, yes,” interjected the Professor. “I remember the old woman—a queer sort of person who talked about fourteen and fifteen o’clock and had never heard of a Presidential election.”
Again the Colonel and the Doctor laughed.
“So you thought her language queer, did you?” exclaimed the Colonel. “Fourteen and fifteen o’clock sound strangely to your ears? Well; since your day we have changed the nomenclature of time somewhat and I think I may say without vanity we have improved upon your methods. Instead of yourA. M.andP. M., which we moderns find awkward and cumbersome and likely to lead to confusion in certain instances, we divide the day and night into a straight twenty-four hours. Thus we count from midnight to midnight. One hour after noon is with us thirteen o’clock and the day closes at the last stroke of midnight, which we name twenty-four o’clock. Thus it would appear that old Mrs. Merriweather was not so much out of the way, after all.”
“Oh, I see,” replied the Professor, “but may I inquire how it was that she had never heard of the village of Averill and why so much anger on her part, and merriment on yours, over our very innocent inquiry for a conveyance?”
“What kind of a conveyance was it you asked for?” inquired the Colonel, with a merry twinkle in his eyes.
“A horse and carriage, sir,” answered the Professor with dignity.
The Doctor coughed a discreet professional cough and pressed his handkerchief to his lips in an all too evident attempt to conceal his merriment. The Colonel laughed outright.
“Averill,” said he, “as I happen to know from certain old documents I have had occasion to examine, was an old-time village long ago absorbed by the town of Pemberton. Its very name has disappeared from local memory. I am not astonished that Mrs. Merriweather could not recall it. As for your demand for a horse and carriage—why, my dear sir, it is many, many years since horses were used. With charging stations in every direction and our systems of drawing electricity from the clouds, no man could afford to deal with so slow, expensive and antiquated an object as a horse. They are still used for the purposes of racing and His Majesty, the King, on certain state occasions sits in the royal chariot drawn by four horses, but for all ordinary uses the horse has entirely disappeared. You might as well have called for a sedan chair.”
“Oh!” said the Professor blankly. “I suppose I should have asked for avoiter. What, by the way,isavoiter?”
“Simply a modernized name for vehicle,” replied the Colonel.
“Do you happen to have a public official named Waring?” asked Kearns.
“Yes,” answered the Colonel. “He is the Imperial and Royal Commissioner of Highways, and the best man for the post we have ever had! How did you come to know of him?”
“I saw him stuck up on the sign-board,” said Kearns absently.
“Stuck up on the sign-board!” exclaimed the Colonel, somewhat puzzled.
“Yes; his name was signed to the notice to travelers,” explained Kearns.
“Oh, I see!” replied the Colonel.
“Well,” said Kearns regretfully, “I’m rather sorry to learn about the retirement of the horses. I was always very fond of them.”
“You will find a good phaeromobile much more effective,” answered the Colonel with a smile. “But,” he continued turning to the Doctor, “I must continue my story. I followed our two friends along their course and the trail they had left was a pretty broad one. I finally traced them to the station-house.”
“The station-house!” exclaimed the Doctor.
“Yes,” answered the Colonel; “there on a charge of seditious utterances—in the position of conspirators against the peace and dignity of His Majesty, the King.”
The Doctor laughed.
“I rescued them from their perilous situation,” continued the Colonel, “and then came the most startling disclosure of all.”
“Which was?” inquired the Doctor.
“They then informed me,” said the Colonel solemnly, “that they had entered the cave and had been there since June the tenth, nineteen hundred!”
“Since June the tenth, nineteen hundred!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Extraordinary! Marvelous! Still the case is not without some precedents. The famous Doctor Fredicus, of Berlin, reports a case of suspended animation lasting for ten months, but anything like the lapse of time in this case is certainly without parallel.”
“I trust that you do not doubt our word,” said Kearns with dignity.
But the Professor turned upon him.
“Doubt our word!” he exclaimed. “Who could credit such a preposterous statement without some tangible evidence to support it. We must appear in the light of either falsifiers or lunatics!”
“Doubt your word!” exclaimed the Colonel impulsively. “I beg you not to think of such construction. There may be some mistake, some possible inaccuracy; but, if so, I am convinced it is entirely unintentional.”
“Thank you,” said the Professor gratefully; “I’m unable to think clearly just now owing to this very perplexing situation in which we find ourselves, but is there not some way by which our statement could be effectively tested and either proved, or disproved?”
“A good idea!” exclaimed Kearns. “Yes; surely there must be many ways. The newspapers, for instance; they must certainly have reported our disappearance. In your public libraries there are undoubtedly bound copies of the newspapers of that period. That is,” he added, turning doubtfully to the Colonel, “if public libraries have not ceased to exist in these times, like the horse, the high ball, and other cherished institutions.”
“No,” answered the Colonel, laughing, “we still have public libraries, and noble ones, thanks to numerous karnegians on the part of wealthy decedents.”
“Numerous what, did you say?” inquired Kearns.
“Karnegians,” repeated the Colonel. “Oh, perhaps that’s a new word to you. ‘To karnegy’ is a verb meaning the acquirement of a mania for post-mortem advertising and for leaving one’s wealth to public institutions, to the disappointment of one’s heirs. The noun ‘karnegian’ is defined as the gift of such character. But,” continued the Colonel, “we need not resort to the public libraries. Here in my own library, which you will find a very fair one, there are bound newspaper files stretching back over a period of many years. The collection was begun by my grandfather and I have hoped I might complete it to a full century of newspapers.”
“Might we inspect the files at once?” asked the Professor.
“Do you think it would be safe?” asked the Colonel, turning to the Doctor. “Would it not be better to postpone this until later and examine your patients at once?”
“Having slept seventy-five years,” replied Kearns, “I assure you we are thoroughly rested and quite up to the test.”
“When I do begin my examination,” said the Doctor, “I shall want to make it a very thorough one. I suspect I shall find that animation has been absolutely suspended during this period and that nature will simply resume where she left off—just as after a night’s sleep. If I refuse my patients’ request it is likely to act upon the nervous system and possibly throw them into an irritated and excited condition. I think we might safely look into the matter now, provided they will first partake of a little light nourishment.”
“Quite so,” exclaimed the Colonel. “They must be fairly starved.”
Under Dr. O’Hanlenne’s directions, a light but nutritious meal was promptly served, which the two partook of with relish.
The repast over, the Colonel, followed by his guests, led the way across the hall to the elevator. He touched an electric button and they quickly ascended two stories. The Colonel then conducted them down the hall and into a magnificent library. Books lined the four walls from floor to ceiling.
“We’ll find what we want here,” said the Colonel, crossing to one corner of the library. “The files for that period are bound in four volumes to the year. Let me see—we want June, nineteen hundred. That will be the second volume of that year. Ah, here it is.”
The Colonel picked out a big volume and laid it on one of the polished library tables.
“June the tenth is the date, I believe? By the way,” he added, turning to Kearns, “may I ask the names?”
“My name is Thomas Kearns and I am, or rather was——”
“What!” exclaimed the Colonel, with a start, “not Thomas Kearns, the famous Director of Police, the great Vidocq of that period, whose name has figured so often in the sensational romances of the writer, Branderhurst?”
“Well,” replied Kearns modestly, “I believe I was pretty well known in connection with police matters in my day, but you do me altogether too much honor. As for Branderhurst: I’m sorry, but I never heard of him!”
“True,” said the Colonel, “he wrote after your day. What the French authors did for Vidocq, Branderhurst has done for you. You are known to our girls and boys, and readers of sensational literaturegenerally, as a Fouché and a Vidocq rolled into one. In a word, as the great American Director of Secret Police.”
“They didn’t quite style it that way in my day,” answered Kearns, “but I suppose it’s all right. A rose under any other name would smell just as sweet! As for Branderhurst, I’m sure I’m obliged to him for acting as a gratuitous post-mortem press agent. What can I do to repay him, I wonder!”
“Not much, I fear,” replied the Colonel, “inasmuch as poor Branderhurst, who was really a very talented poet and novelist, died in delirium tremens nearly a quarter of a century ago.”
“Ah, I see,” said Kearns apologetically; “it used to be much the same thing with writers in the old days.”
“And now,” inquired the Colonel, turning to the Professor, “may I ask your name?”
“Walter Stuart Dean,” answered the Professor. “And,” he added with a smile, “I fear I cannot lay any claim to distinction such as possessed by my friend here, for in my period I was nothing but a poor pedagogue and——”
But the Professor stopped abruptly, for both the Colonel and the Doctor had turned toward him with faces flushed and eager.
“Walter Stuart Dean!” repeated the Doctor.
“Walter Stuart Dean!” echoed the Colonel. “Are you the famous writer on political economy; the distinguished inventor and scientist?”
“Gentlemen,” urged the Professor deprecatingly, “I beg you not to fall into any error. There is some mistake here. It is true I wrote a work on political economy, but far from making me famous, it cost me my position as one of the Faculty at the Chicago University. As for my investigations in science, whatevermight have been the result, practically it was nothing, since at the critical moment I—I disappeared!”
“Mistake, eh!” cried the Colonel, eagerly interposing; “we will see about that!” And he hurried away to another part of the library, returning a moment later with a big encyclopedia.
“What do I find here?” he asked, consulting the index and rapidly turning over the pages. “Ah, here it is! ‘Walter Stuart Dean, political economist, scientist and inventor; born at Springfield, Illinois, 1857, of poor but honest parents. Studied in the public schools and afterward at the University of Bonn, Germany, from which he graduated, 1880, with high honors. Filled the Chair of Professor of Sciences at the University of Chicago, 1890-1900, from which he retired owing to political persecution. Wrote several famous works on political economy and the economic conditions of the period; also a number of notable scientific treatises. His mysterious disappearance in 1900 was one of the sensations of the day. The date of his death and place of burial are unknown.’ Now, sir, what do you say to that?” exclaimed the Colonel, tapping with his index finger upon the page before him. “Do you still think there is any mistake?”
“Hooray!” cried Kearns triumphantly, waving his hand in the air. “This is indeed a case of a man waking up to find himself famous. I congratulate you, Professor.”
“Let me add my felicitations,” said Dr. O’Hanlenne.
“And mine!” declared the Colonel.
“Thank you,” replied the Professor, with the air of a man somewhat dazed.
“And now,” exclaimed the Colonel, “having solidlyensconced you in your respective niches of fame, let us continue our original line of research. Let us see if in these newspapers there is any account of your mysterious disappearance.”
“Quite so,” said Dr. O’Hanlenne.
“June tenth,” began the Colonel, turning the paper, “no use looking on that date. June the eleventh. Ah! here we are. Phew! your disappearance did make a stir and your papers of that day understood the art of working up a sensation. See the great black headlines: ‘Triple Tragedy! Death Amid the Lightning and the Storm. Mysterious Disappearances of a Famous New Yorker and his Companion. The Whole Countryside engaged in Organized Search for the Missing Ones.’ Well, well, well, gentlemen! What more could you ask than that?”
All bent eagerly over the Colonel’s shoulder and read. There was the whole story set forth; how Kearns and the Professor had been temporarily sojourning at Dr. Belden’s well-known Sanatorium; how in the early afternoon of June tenth they had started out in company with Dr. Jaquet; their failure to return; the search which had followed and the finding of the dead body of Dr. Jaquet by the wayside, under the great oak, blasted and riven by the lightning stroke. The article went on to describe how all search for the Doctor’s companions had so far proved utterly without result. Then followed biographical sketches of the missing men.
They turned over the files and saw how day after day the papers had kept up the sensation; how rewards were offered by the many friends of Thomas Kearns for any information as to his whereabouts, living or dead. Then came the news of a monster subscription for the purpose of thoroughly draggingthe rivers and otherwise continuing the search. Next came theories as to the causes of the disappearance. Had they become deranged and wandered away? This theory was discussed at length, but it hardly seemed tenable that two men should have simultaneously become mentally afflicted. Another theory was advanced that Kearns and his companion had been made away with by an organized band of malefactors, who either sought revenge upon Kearns or feared certain discoveries he might have made. Thus the news of the search and the various theories advanced kept up edition after edition, until the articles grew shorter and shorter and at last stopped altogether. The nine days’ wonder had ceased longer to be a wonder; the mystery had passed into the long list of unsolved tragedies with which the past teems.
“What a queer thing it is,” commented Kearns with a laugh, glancing over his biography, “that a man has to be dead before the world finds out how good and great he was.”
“I think you will find that has been the case in all generations,” replied the Colonel.
“And poor Dr. Jaquet!” remarked the Professor. “To think that he should have come to his end so tragically and so suddenly after leaving us!”
“Yes,” answered Kearns moodily; “our setting out that June day would seem to have been an unfortunate event for all three of us!”
“Come, cheer up!” retorted the Colonel; “thank your lucky stars you are still alive and living in a world which I think you will find materially improved in many respects as compared to that of your time.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Kearns doubtfully, “tell us then, of this new world of yours.”
“Not now,” answered the Colonel; “your strengthand nerves have already been sufficiently tried. For the moment, I insist upon turning you over to the Doctor.”