"Still exploring!" he cried, as he shook them by the hand. "We will hope your new experiences will not be so nerve-racking as our last."
"By Jove, padre!" said Roxton. "I've worn out the brim of my hat taking it off to you since then."
"Why, what did he do?" asked Mrs. Mailey.
"No, no!" cried Mason. "I tried in my poor way to guide a darkened soul. Let us leave it at that. But that is exactly what we are here for now, and what these dear people do every week of their lives. It was from Mr. Mailey here that I learned how to attempt it."
"Well, certainly we have plenty of practice," said Mailey. "You have seen enough of it, Mason, to know that."
"But I can't get the focus of this at all!" cried Malone. "Could you clear my mind a little on the point? I accept, for the moment, your hypothesis that we are surrounded by material earth-bound spirits who find themselves under strange conditions which they don't understand, and who want counsel and guidance. That more or less expresses it, does it not?"
The Maileys both nodded their agreement.
"Well, their dead friends and relatives are presumably on the other side and cognizant of their benighted condition They know the truth. Could they not minister to the wants of these afflicted ones far better than we can?"
"It is a most natural question," Mailey answered. "Of course we put that objection to them and we can only accept their answer. They appear to be actually anchored to the surface of this earth, too heavy and gross to rise. The others are, presumably, on a spiritual level and far separated from them. They explain that they are much nearer to us and that they are cognizant of us, but not of anything higher. Therefore it is we who can reach them best."
"There was one poor dear dark soul--"
"My wife loves everybody and everything," Mailey explained. "She is capable of talking of the poor dear devil."
"Well, surely they are to be pitied and loved!" cried the lady. "This poor fellow was nursed along by us, week by week. He had really come from the depths. Then one day he cried in rapture, 'My mother has come! My mother is here!' We naturally said, 'But why did she not come before?' 'How could she', said he, 'when I was in so dark a place that she could not see me?' "
"That's very well," said Malone, "but so far as I can follow your methods it is some guide or control or higher Spirit who regulates the whole matter and brings the sufferer to you. If he can be cognizant, one would think other higher spirits could also be."
"No, for it is his particular mission." said Mailey. "To show how marked the divisions are I can remember one occasion when we had a dark soul here. Our own people came through and did not know he was there until we called their attention to it. When we said to the dark soul, 'Don't you see our friends beside you?' he answered, 'I can see a light but nothing else'."
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. John Terbane from Victoria Station, where his mundane duties lay. He was dressed now in civil garb and appeared as a pale, sad-faced, clean-shaven, plump-featured man with dreamy, thoughtful eyes, but no other indication of the remarkable uses to which he was put.
"Have you my record?" was his first question.
Mrs. Mailey, smiling, handed him an envelope. "We kept it all ready for you but you can read it at home. You see," she explained, "poor Mr. Terbane is in trance and knows nothing of the wonderful work of which he is the instrument, so after each sitting my husband and I draw up an account for him."
"Very much astonished I am when I read it," said Terbane.
"And very proud, I should think," added Mason.
"Well, I don't know about that," Terbane answered humbly. "I don't see that the tool need to be proud because the worker happens to use it. Yet it is a privilege, of course."
"Good old Terbane!," said Mailey, laying his hand affectionately on the railwayman's shoulder. "The better the medium the more unselfish. That is my experience. The whole conception of a medium is one who gives himself up for the use of others, and that is incompatible with selfishness. Well, I suppose we had better get to work or Mr. Chang will scold us."
"Who is he?" asked Malone.
"Oh, you will soon make the acquaintance of Mr. Chang! We need not sit round the table. A semi-circle round the fire does very well. Lights half-down. That is all right. You'll make yourself comfortable, Terbane. Snuggle among the cushions."
The medium was in the corner of a comfortable sofa, and had fallen at once into a doze. Both Mailey and Malone at with notebooks upon their knees awaiting developments.
They were not long in coming. Terbane suddenly sat up, his dreamy self transformed into a very alert and masterful individuality. A subtle change had passed over his ace. An ambiguous smile fluttered upon his lips, his eye seemed more oblique and less open, his face projected. The two hands were thrust into the sleeves of his blue lounge jacket.
"Good evening," said he, speaking crisply and in short staccato sentences. "New faces! Who these?"
"Good evening, Chang," said the master of the house.
"You know Mr. Mason. This is Mr. Malone who studies our subject. This is Lord Roxton who has helped me to-day."
As each name was mentioned, Terbane made a sweeping Oriental gesture of greeting, bringing his hand down from his forehead. His whole bearing was superbly dignified and very different from the humble little man who had sat down a few minutes before.
"Lord Roxton!" he repeated. "An English milord! I knew Lord--Lord Macart No--I--I cannot say it. Alas I I called him 'foreign devil' then. Chang, too, had much to learn."
"He is speaking of Lord Macartney. That would be over a hundred years ago. Chang was a great living philosopher then," Mailey explained.
"Not lose time!" cried the control. "Much to do to-day. Crowd waiting. Some new, some old. I gather strange folk in my net. Now I go." He sank back among the cushions. A minute elapsed, then he suddenly sat up.
"I want to thank you," he said, speaking perfect English. "I came two weeks ago. I have thought over all you said. The path is lighter."
"Were you the spirit who did not believe in God?"
"Yes, yes! I said so in my anger. I was so weary--so weary. Oh, the time, the endless time, the grey mist, the heavy weight of remorse! Hopeless! Hopeless! And you brought me comfort, you and this great Chinese spirit. You gave me the first kind words I have had since I died."
"When was it that you died?"
"Oh! It seems an eternity. We do not measure as you do. It is a long, horrible dream without change or break."
"Who was king in England?"
"Victoria was queen. I had attuned my mind to matter and so it clung to matter. I did not believe in a future life. Now I know that I was all wrong, but I could not adapt my mind to new conditions."
"Is it bad where you are?"
"It is all--all grey. That is the awful part of it. One's surroundings are so horrible."
"But there are many more. You are not alone."
"No, but they know no more than I. They, too, scoff and doubt and are miserable."
"You will soon get out."
"For God's sake, help me to do so!"
"Poor soul!" said Mrs. Mailey in her sweet, caressing voice, a voice which could bring every animal to her side. "You have suffered much. But do not think of yourself. Think of these others. Try to bring one of them up and so you will best kelp yourself."
"Thank you, lady, I will. There is one here whom I brought. He has heard you. We will go on together. Perhaps some day we may find the light."
"Do you like to be prayed for?"
"Yes, yes, indeed I do!"
"I will pray for you," said Mason. "Could you say the 'Our Father' now?" He uttered the old universal prayer, but before he had finished Terbane had collapsed again among the cushions. He sat up again as Chang.
"He come on well," said the control. "He give up time for others who wait. That is good. Now I have hard case. Ow!"
He gave a comical cry of disapprobation and sank back. Next moment he was up, his face long and solemn, his hands palm to palm.
"What is this?" he asked in a precise and affected voice. "I am at a loss to know what right this Chinese person has to summon me here. Perhaps you can enlighten me."
"It is that we may perhaps help you."
"When I desire help, sir, I ask for it. At present I do not desire it. The whole proceeding seems to me to be a very great liberty. So far as this Chinaman can explain it, I gather that I am the involuntary spectator of some sort of religious service."
"We are a spiritualistic circle."
"A most pernicious sect. A most blasphemous proceeding. As a humble parish priest I protest against such desecrations."
"You are held back, friend, by those narrow views. It is you who suffer. We want to relieve you."
"Suffer? What do you mean, sir?"
"You realize that you have passed over?"
"You are talking nonsense!"
"Do you realize that you are dead?"
"How can I be dead when I am talking to you?"
"Because you are using this man's body."
"I have certainly wandered into an asylum."
"Yes, an asylum for bad cases. I fear you are one of them. Are you happy where you are?"
"Happy? No, sir. My present surroundings are perfectly inexplicable to me."
"Have you any recollection of being ill?"
"I was very ill indeed."
"So ill that you died."
"You are certainly out of your senses."
"How do you know you are not dead?"
"Sir, I must give you some religious instruction. When one dies and has led an honourable life, one assumes a glorified body and one associates with the angels. I am now in exactly the same body as in life, and I am in a very dull, drab place. Such companions as I have are not such as I have been accustomed to associate with in life, and certainly no one could describe them as angels. Therefore your absurd conjecture may be dismissed."
"Do not continue to deceive yourself. We wish to help you. You can never progress until you realize your position."
"Really, you try my patience too far. Have I not said -?"
The medium fell back among the cushions. An instant later the Chinese control, with his whimsical smile and his hands tucked away in his sleeves, was talking to the circle.
"He good man--fool man--learn sense soon. Bring him again. Not waste more time. Oh, my God! My God! Help! Mercy! Help!"
He had fallen full length upon the sofa, face upwards, and his cries were so terrible that the little audience all sprang to their feet. "A saw! A saw! Fetch a saw!" yelled the medium. His voice sank into a moan.
Even Mailey was agitated. The rest were horrified.
"Someone has obsessed him. I can't understand it. It may be some strong evil entity."
"Shall I speak to him?" asked Mason.
"Wait a moment! Let it develop. We shall soon see."
The medium writhed in agony. "Oh, my God! Why don't you fetch a saw!" he cried. "It's here across my breast-bone. It is cracking! I feel it! Hawkin! Hawkin! Pull me from under! Hawkin! Push up the beam! No, no, that's worse! And it's on fire! Oh, horrible! Horrible!"
His cries were blood-curdling. They were all chilled with horror. Then in an instant the Chinaman was blinking at them with his slanting eyes.
"What you think of that, Mister Mailey?"
"It was terrible, Chang. What was it?"
"It was for him," nodding towards Malone. "He want newspaper story, I give him newspaper story. He will understand. No time 'splain now. Too many waiting. Sailor man come next. Here he come!"
The Chinaman was gone, and a jovial, puzzled grin passed over the face of the medium. He scratched his head.
"Well, damn me," said he. "I never thought I would take orders from a Chink, but he says 'hist!' and by crums you've got to hist and no back talk either. Well, here I am. What did you want?"
"We wanted nothing."
"Well, the Chink seemed to think you did, for he slung me in here."
"It was you that wanted something. You wanted knowledge."
"Well, I've lost my bearings, that's true. I know I am dead 'cause I've seen the gunnery lootenant, and he was blown to bits before my eyes. If he's dead I'm dead and all the rest of us, for we are over to the last man. But we've got the laugh on our sky-pilot, for he's as puzzled as the rest of us. Damned poor pilot, I call him. We're all taking our own soundings now."
"What was your ship?"
"The Monmouth."
"She that went down in battle with the German?"
"That's right. South American waters. It was clean hell. Yes, it was hell." There was a world of emotion in his voice. "Well," he added more cheerfully, "I've heard our mates got level with them later. That is so, sir, is it not?"
"Yes, they all went to the bottom."
"We've seen nothing of them this side. Just as well, maybe. We don't forget nothing."
"But you must," said Mailey. "That's what is the matter with you. That is why the Chinese control brought you through. We are here to teach you. Carry our message to your mates."
"Bless your heart, sir, they are all here behind me."
"Well, then, I tell you and them that the time for hard thoughts and worldly strife is over. Your faces are to be turned forward, not back. Leave this earth which still holds you by the ties of thought and let all your desire be to make yourself unselfish and worthy of a higher, more peaceful, more beautiful life. Can you understand?"
"I hear you, sir. So do they. We want steering, sir, for, indeed, we've had wrong instructions, and we never expected to find ourselves cast away like this. We had heard of heaven and we had heard of hell, but this don't seem to fit in with either. But this Chinese gent. says time is up, and we can report again next week. I thank you, sir, for self and company. I'll come again."
There was silence.
"What an incredible conversation!" gasped Malone.
"If I were to put down that man's sailor talk and slang as emanating from a world of spirits, what would the public say?"
Mailey shrugged his shoulders.
"Does it matter what the public says? I started as a fairly sensitive person, and now a tank takes as much notice of small shot as I do of newspaper attacks. They honestly don't even interest me. Let us just stick fast to truth as near as we can get it, and leave all else to find its own level."
"I don't pretend to know much of these things," said Roxton, "but what strikes me most is that these folk are very decent ordinary people. What? Why should they be wanderin' about in the dark, and hauled up here by this Chinaman when they've done no partic'lar harm in life?"
"It is the strong earth tie and the absence of any spiritual nexus in each case," Mailey explained. "Here is a clergyman with his mind entangled with formulas and ritual. Here is a materialist who has deliberately attuned himself to matter. Here is a seaman brooding over revengeful thoughts. They are there by the million million."
"Where?" asked Malone.
"Here," Mailey answered. "Actually on the surface of the earth. Well, you saw it for yourself, I understand, when you went down to Dorsetshire. That was on the surface, was it not? That was a very gross case, and that made it more visible and obvious, but it did not change the general law. I believe that the whole globe is infested with the earth-bound, and that when a great cleansing comes, as is prophesied, it will be for their benefit as much as for that of the living."
Malone thought of the strange visionary Miromar and his speech at the Spiritualistic Church on the first night of his quest.
"Do you, then, believe in some impending event?" he asked.
Mailey smiled. "That is rather a large subject to open up," he said. "I believe--But here is Mr. Chang again!"
The control joined in the conversation.
"I heard you. I sit and listen," said he. "You speak now of what is to come. Let it be! Let it be! The Time is not yet. You will be told when it is good that you know. Remember this. All is best. Whatever come all is best. God makes no mistakes. Now others here who wish your help, I leave you."
Several spirits came through in quick succession. One was an architect who said that he had lived at Bristol. He had not been an evil man, but had simply banished all thoughts of the future. Now he was in the dark and needed guidance. Another had lived in Birmingham. He was an educated man but a materialist. He refused to accept the assurances of Mailey, and was by no means convinced that he was really dead. Then came a very noisy and violent man of a crudely-religious and narrow, intolerant type, who spoke repeatedly of "the blood ".
"What is this ribald nonsense?" he asked several times.
"It is not nonsense. We are here to help," said Mailey.
"Who wants to be helped by the devil?"
"Is it likely that the devil would wish to help souls in trouble?"
"It is part of his deceit. I tell you it is of the devil! Be warned! I will take no further part in it."
The placid, whimsical Chinaman was back like a flash.
"Good man. Foolish man," he repeated once more. "Plenty time. He learn better some day. Now I bring bad case--very bad case. Ow!"
He reclined his head in the cushion and did not raise it as the voice, a feminine voice, broke out:
"Janet! Janet t"
There was a pause.
"Janet, I say! Where is the morning tea? Janet! This is intolerable ! I have called you again and again I Janet!" The figure sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
"What is this?" cried the voice. "Who are you? What right have you here? Are you aware that this is my house?"
"No, friend, this is my house."
"Your house! How can it be your house when this is my bedroom? Go away this moment!"
"No, friend. You do not understand your position."
"I will have you put out. What insolence! Janet! Janet! Will no one look after me this morning?"
"Look round you, lady. Is this your bedroom?"
Terbane looked round with a wild stare.
"It is a room I never saw in my life. Where am I? What is the meaning of it? You look like a kind lady. Tell me, for God's sake, what is the meaning of it? Oh, I am so terrified, so terrified! Where are John and Janet?"
"What do you last remember?"
"I remember speaking severely to Janet. She is my maid, you know. She has become so very careless. Yes, I was very angry with her. I was so angry that I was ill. I went to bed feeling very ill. They told me that I should not get excited. How can one help getting excited? Yes, I remember being breathless. That was after the light was out. I tried to call Janet. But why should I be in another room?"
"You passed over in the night."
"Passed over? Do you mean I died?"
"Yes, lady, you died."
There was a long silence. Then there came a shrill scream. "No, no, no ! It is a dream! A nightmare! Wake me! Wake me! How can I be dead? I was not ready to die? I never thought of such a thing. If I am dead, why am I not in heaven or hell? What is this room? This room is real room."
"Yes, lady, you have been brought here and allowed to use this man's body
"A man?" She convulsively felt the coat and passed her hand over the face. "Yes, it is a man. Oh, I am dead! I am dead! What shall I do?"
"You are here that we may explain to you. You have been, I judge, a worldly woman--a society woman. You have lived always for material things."
"I went to church. I was at St. Saviour's every Sunday."
"That is nothing. It is the inner daily life that counts. You were material. Now you are held down to the world. When you leave this man's body you will be in your own body once more and in your old surroundings. But no one will see you. You will remain there unable to show yourself. Your body of flesh will be buried. You will still persist, the same as ever."
"What am I to do? Oh, what can I do?"
"You will take what comes in a good spirit and understand that it is for your cleansing. We only clear ourselves of matter by suffering. All will be well. We will pray for you."
"Oh, do! I need it so! Oh my God! . . ." The voice trailed away.
"Bad case," said the Chinaman, sitting up. "Selfish woman! Bad woman ! Live for pleasure. Hard on those around her. She have much to suffer. But you put her feet on the path. Now my medium tired. Plenty waiting, but no more to-day."
"Have we done good, Chang?"
"Plenty good. Plenty good."
"Where are all these people, Chang?"
"I tell you before."
"Yes but I want these gentlemen to hear."
"Seven spheres round the world, heaviest below, lightest above. First sphere is on the earth. These people belong to that sphere. Each sphere is separate from the other. Therefore it is easier for you to speak with these people than for those in any other sphere."
"And easier for them to speak to us?"
"Yes. That why you should be plenty careful when you do not know to whom you talk. Try the spirits."
"What sphere do you belong to, Chang?"
"I come from Number Four sphere."
"Which is the first really happy sphere?"
"Number Three. Summerland. Bible book called it the third heaven. Plenty sense in Bible book, but people do not understand."
And the seventh heaven?"
"Ah! That is where the Christs are. All come there at last--you, me, everybody."
"And after that?"
"Too much question, Mr. Mailey. Poor old Chang not know so much as that. Now good-bye! God bless you! I go."
It was the end of the sitting of the rescue circle. A few minutes later Terbane was sitting up smiling and alert, but with no apparent recollection of anything which had occurred. He was pressed for time and lived afar, so that he had to make his departure, unpaid save by the blessing of those who he had helped. Modest little unvenal man, where will he stand when we all find our real places in the order of creation upon the further side?
The circle did not break up at once. The visitors wanted to talk, and the Maileys to listen.
"What I mean," said Roxton, "it's doosed interestin' and all that, but there is a sort of variety-show element in it. What! difficult to be sure it's really real, if you take what I mean."
"That is what I feel also," said Malone. "Of course on its face value it is simply unspeakable. It is a thing so great that all ordinary happenings become commonplace. That I grant. But the human mind is very strange. I've read that case Moreton Prince examined, and Miss Beauchamp and the rest; also the results of Charcot, the great Nancy hypnotic school. They could turn a man into anything. The mind seems to be like a rope which can be unravelled into its various threads. Then each thread is a different personality which may take dramatic form, and act and speak as such. That man is honest, and he could not normally produce these effects. But how do we know that he is not self-hypnotized, and that under those conditions one strand of him becomes Mr. Chang and another becomes a sailor and another a society lady, and so forth?"
Mailey laughed. "Every man his own Cinquevalli" said he, "but it is a rational objection and has to be met."
"We have traced some of the cases," said Mrs. Mailey. "There is not a doubt of it--names, addresses, everything."
"Well, then, we have to consider the question of Terbane's normal knowledge. How can you possibly know what he has learned? I should think a railway-porter is particularly able to pick up such information."
"You have seen one sitting," Mailey answered. "If you had been present at as many as we and noted the cumulative effect of the evidence you would not be sceptical."
"That is very possible," Malone answered. "And I daresay my doubts are very annoying to you. And yet one is bound to be brutally honest in a case like this. Anyhow, whatever the ultimate cause, I have seldom spent so thrilling an hour. Heavens! If it only is true, and if you had a thousand circles instead of one, what regeneration would result ?"
"That will come," said Mailey in his patient, determined fashion. "We shall live to see it. I am sorry the thing has not forced conviction upon you. However, you must come again."
But it so chanced that a further experience became unnecessary. Conviction came in a full flood and in a strange fashion that very evening. Malone had hardly got back to the office, and was seated at his desk drawing up some sort of account from his notes of all that had happened in the afternoon, when Mailey burst into the room, his yellow beard bristling with excitement. He was waving an Evening News in his hand. Without a word he seated himself beside Malone and turned the paper over. Then he began to read:
ACCIDENT IN THE CITY.
This afternoon shortly after five o'clock, an old house, said to date from the fifteenth century, suddenly collapsed. It was situated between Lesser Colman Street and Elliot Square, and next door to the Veterinary Society's Headquarters. Some preliminary cracking warned the occupants and most of them had time to escape. Three of them, however, James Beale William Moorson, and a woman whose name has not been ascertained, were caught by the falling rubbish. Two of these seem to have perished at once, but the third, James Beale, was pinned down by a large beam and loudly demanded help. A saw was brought, and one of the occupants of the house, Samuel Hawkin, showed great gallantry in an attempt to free the unfortunate man. Whilst he was sawing the beam, however, a fire broke out among the debris around him, and though he persevered most manfully, and continued until he was himself badly scorched, it was impossible for him to save Beale, who probably died from suffocation. Hawkin was removed to the London Hospital, and it is reported to-night that he is in no immediate danger.
"That's that!" said Mailey, folding up the paper. "Now, Mr. Thomas Didymus,
I leave you to your conclusions," and the enthusiast vanished out of the
office as precipitately as he had entered..
He emerged from the room of Algernon Mailey with every reason to know that Lord Roxton's grip was as muscular as ever. In the excitement of the struggle he had hardly realized his injuries, but now he stood outside the door with his hand to his bruised throat and a hoarse stream of oaths pouring through it. His breast was aching also where Malone had planted his knee, and even the successful blow which had struck Mailey down had brought retribution, or it had jarred that injured hand of which he had complained to his brother. Altogether, if Silas Linden was in a most cursed temper, there was a very good reason for his mood.
"I'll get you one at a time," he growled, looking back with his angry pigs' eyes at the outer door of the flats. "You wait my lads, and see!" Then with sudden purpose he swung off down the street.
It was to the Bardsley Square Police Station that he made his way, and he found the jovial, rubicund, black-moustached Inspector Murphy seated at his desk.
"Well, what do you want?" asked the inspector in no very friendly voice.
"I hear you got that medium right and proper."
"Yes, we did. I learn he was your brother."
"That's neither here not there. I don't hold with such things in any man. But you got your conviction. What is there for me in it?"
"Not a shilling "
"What? Wasn't it I that gave the information? Where would you have been if I had not given you the office?"
"If there had been a fine we might have allowed you something We would have got something, too. Mr. Melrose sent him to gaol. There is nothing for anybody."
"So say you. I'm damned sure you and those two women got something out of it. Why the hell should I give away my own brother for the sake of the likes of you? You'll find your own bird next time."
Murphy was a choleric man with a sense of his own importance. He was not to be bearded thus in his own seat of office. He rose with a very red face.
"I'll tell you what, Silas Linden, I could find my own bird and never move out of this room. You had best get out of this quick, or you may chance to stay here longer than you like. We've had complaints of your treatment of those two children of yours, and the children's protection folk are taking an interest. Look out that we don't take an interest, too."
Silas Linden flung out of the room with his temper hotter than ever, and a couple of rum-and-waters on his way home did not help to appease him. On the contrary, he had always been a man who grew more dangerous in his cups. There were many of his trade who refused to drink with him.
Silas lived in one of a row of small brick houses named Bolton's Court, lying at the back of Tottenham Court Road. His was the end house of a cul-de-sac, with the side wall of a huge brewery beyond. These dwellings were very small, which was probably the reason why the inhabitants, both adults and children, spent most of their time in the street. Several of the elders were out now, and as Silas passed under the solitary lamp-post, they scowled at his thick-set figure, for though the morality of Bolton's Court was of no high order, it was none the less graduated and Silas was at zero. A tall Jewish woman, Rebecca Levi, thin, aquiline and fierce-eyed, lived next to the prizefighter. She was standing at her door now, with a child holding her apron.
"Mr. Linden," she said as he passed, "them children of yours want more care than they get. Little Margery was in here to-day. That child don't get enough to eat."
"You mind your own business, curse you!" growled Silas. "I've told you before now not to push that long, sheeny beak of yours into my affairs. If you was a man I'd know better how to speak to you."
"If I was a man maybe you wouldn't dare to speak to me so. I say it's a shame, Silas Linden, the way them children is treated. If it's a police-court case, I'll know what to say."
"Oh, go to hell!" said Silas, and kicked open his own unlatched door. A big, frowsy woman with a shock of dyed hair and some remains of a florid beauty, now long over-ripe, looked out from the sitting-room door.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said she.
"Who did you think it was? The Dook of Wellington?"
"I thought it was a mad bullock maybe got strayin' down the lane, and buttin' down our door."
"Funny, ain't you?"
"Maybe I am, but I hain't got much to be funny about. Not a shilling in the 'ouse, nor so much as a pint o' beer, and these damned children of yours for ever upsettin' me."
"What have they been a-doin' of?" asked Silas with a scowl. When this worthy pair could get no change out of each other, they usually united their forces against the children. He had entered the sitting-room and flung himself down in the wooden armchair.
"They've been seein' Number One again."
"How d'ye know that?"
"I 'eard 'im say somethin' to 'er about it. 'Mother was there', 'e says. Then afterwards 'e 'ad one 'o them sleepy fits."
"It's in the family."
"Yes, it is," retorted the woman. "If you 'adn't sleepy fits you'd get some work to do, like other men."
"Oh, shut it, woman! What I mean is, that my brother Tom gets them fits, and this lad o' mine is said to be the livin' image of his uncle. So he had a trance, had he? What did you do?"
The woman gave an evil grin.
"I did what you did."
"What, the sealin'-wax again?"
"Not much of it. Just enough to wake 'im. It's the only way to break 'im of it."
Silas shrugged his shoulders.
"'Ave a care, my lass! There is talk of the p'lice, and if they see those burns, you and I may be in the dock together."
"Silas Linden, you are a fool! Can't a parent c'rect 'is own child?"
"Yes, but it ain't your own child, and stepmothers has a bad name, see? There's that Jew woman next door. She saw you when you took the clothes' rope to little Margery last washin'-day. She spoke to me about it and again to-day about the food."
"What's the matter with the food? The greedy little bastards! They had a 'unch of bread each when I 'ad my dinner. A bit of real starvin' would do them no 'arm, and I would 'ave less sauce."
"What, has Willie sauced you?"
"Yes, when 'e woke up."
"After you'd dropped the hot sealin'-wax on him?"
"Well, I did it for 'is good, didn't I? It was to cure 'im of a bad 'abit."
"Wot did he say?"
"Cursed me good and proper, 'e did. All about his mother--wot 'is mother would do to me. I'm dam' well sick of 'is mother!"
"Don't say too much about Amy. She was a good woman."
"So you say now, Silas Linden, but by all accounts you 'ad a queer way of showin' it when she was alive."
"Hold your jaw, woman! I've had enough to vex me to-day without you startin' your tantrums. You're jealous of the grave. That's wot's the matter with you."
"And her brats can insult me as they like--me that 'as cared for you these five years."
"No, I didn't say that. If he insulted you, it's up to me to deal with him. Where's that strap? Go, fetch him in!"
The woman came across and kissed him.
"I've only you, Silas."
"Oh hell! don't muck me about. I'm not in the mood. Go and fetch Willie in. You can bring Margery also. It takes the sauce out of her also, for I think she feels it more than he does."
The woman left the room but was back, in a moment.
"'E's off again!" said she. "It fair gets on my nerves to see him. Come 'ere, Silas! 'Ave a look!"
They went together into the back kitchen. A small fire was smouldering in the grate. Beside it, huddled up in a chair, sat a fair-haired boy of ten. His delicate face was upturned to the ceiling. His eyes were half-closed, and only the whites visible. There was a look of great peace upon his thin, spiritual features. In the corner a poor little cowed mite of a girl, a year or two younger, was gazing with sad, frightened eyes at her brother.
"Looks awful, don't 'e?" said the woman. "Don't seem to belong to this world. I wish to God 'e'd make a move for the other. 'E don't do much good 'ere."
"Here, wake up!," cried Silas. "None of your foxin'! Wake up! D'ye hear?" He shook him roughly by the shoulder, but the boy still slumbered on. The backs of his hands, which lay upon his lap, were covered with bright scarlet blotches.
"My word, you've dropped enough hot wax on him. D'you mean to tell me, Sarah, it took all that to wake him?"
"Maybe I dropped one or two extra for luck. 'E does aggravate me so that I can 'ardly 'old myself. But you wouldn't believe 'ow little 'e can feel when 'e's like that. You can 'owl in 'is ear.--It's all lost on 'im. See 'ere!"
She caught the lad by the hair and shook him violently. He groaned and shivered. Then he sank back into his serene trance.
"Say!" cried Silas, stroking his stubbled chin as he looked thoughtfully at his son, "I think there is money in this if it is handled to rights. Wot about a turn on the halls, eh? 'The Boy Wonder or How is it Done?' There's a name for the bills. Then folk know his uncle's name, so they will be able to take him on trust."
"I thought you was going into the business yourself."
"That's a wash-out," snarled Silas. "Don't you talk of it. It's finished."
"Been caught out already?"
"I tell you not to talk about it, Woman!" the man shouted. "I'm just in the mood to give you the hidin' of your life, so don't you get my goat' or you'll be sorry." He stepped across and pinched the boy's arm with all his force. "By Cripes, he's a wonder! Let us see how far it will go."
He turned to the sinking fire and with the tongs he picked out a half-red ember. This he placed on the boy's head. There was a smell of burning hair, then of roasting flesh, and suddenly, with a scream of pain, the boy came back to his senses.
"Mother! Mother!" he cried. The girl in the corner took up the cry. They were like two lambs bleating together.
"Damn your mother!" cried the woman, shaking Margery by the collar of her frail black dress. "Stop squallin', you little stinker!" She struck the child with her open hand across the face. Little Willie ran at her and kicked her shins until a blow from Silas knocked him into the corner. The brute picked up a stick and lashed the two cowering children, while they screamed for mercy, and tried to cover their little bodies from the cruel blows.
"You stop that!" cried a voice in the passage.
"It's that blasted Jewess!" said the woman. She went to the kitchen door. "What the 'ell are you doing in our 'ouse? 'Op it, quick, or it will be the worse for you!"
"If I hear them children cry out once more, I'm off far the police."
"Get out of it! 'Op it, I tell you!" The frowsy stepmother bore down in full sail, but the lean, lank Jewess stood her ground. Next instant they met. Mrs. Silas Linden screamed, and staggered back with blood running down her face where four nails had left as many red furrows. Silas' with an oath, pushed his wife out of the way, seized the intruder round the waist, and slung her bodily through the door. She lay in the roadway with her long gaunt limbs sprawling about like some half-slain fowl. Without rising, she shook her clenched hands in the air and screamed curses at Silas, who slammed the door and left her, while neighbours ran from all sides to hear particulars of the fray. Mrs. Linden, staring through the front blind, saw with some relief that her enemy was able to rise and to limp back to her own door, whence she could be heard delivering a long shrill harangue as to her wrongs. The wrongs of a Jew are not lightly forgotten, for the race can both love and hate.
"She's all right, Silas. I thought maybe you 'ad killed 'er "
"It's what she wants, the damned canting sheeny. It's bad enough to have her in the street without her daring to set foot inside my door. I'll cut the hide off that young Willie. He's the cause of it all. Where is he?"
"They ran up to their room. I heard them lock the door."
"A lot of good that will do them."
"I wouldn't touch 'em now, Silas. The neighbours is all up and about and we needn't ask for trouble."
"You're right!" he grumbled. "It will keep till I come back."
"Where are you goin'?"
"Down to the 'Admiral Vernon'. There's a chance of a job as sparrin' partner to Long Davis. He goes into training on Monday and needs a man of my weight."
"Well, I'll expect you when I see you. I get too much of that pub of yours. I know what the 'Admiral Vernon' means."
"It means the only place in God's earth where I get any peace or rest" said Silas.
"A fat lot I get--or ever 'ave 'ad since I married you."
"That's right. Grouse away!" he growled. "If grousin' made a man happy, you'd be the champion."
He picked up his hat and slouched off down the street, his heavy tread resounding upon the great wooden flap which covered the cellars of the brewery.
Up in a dingy attic two little figures were seated on the side of a wretched straw-stuffed bed, their arms enlacing each other, their cheeks touching, their tears mingling. They had to cry in silence, for any sound might remind the ogre downstairs of their existence. Now and again one would break into an uncontrollable sob, and the other would whisper, "Hush! Hush! Oh hush!" Then suddenly they heard the slam of the outer door and that heavy tread booming over the wooden flap. They squeezed each other in their joy. Perhaps when he came back he might kill them, but for a few short hours at least they were safe from him. As to the woman, she was spiteful and vicious, but she did not seem so deadly as the man. In a dim way they felt that he had hunted their mother into her grave and might do as much for them.
The room was dark save for the light which came through the single dirty window. It cast a bar across the floor, but all round was black shadow. Suddenly the little boy stiffened, clasped his sister with a tighter grip, and stared rigidly into the darkness.
"She's coming!" he muttered. "She's coming!" Little Margery clung to him.
"Oh, Wiliie, is it mother?"
"It is a light--a beautiful yellow light. Can you not see it, Margery?"
But the little girl, like all the world, was without vision. To her all was darkness.
"Tell me, Willie," she whispered, in a solemn voice. She was not really frightened, for many times before had the dead mother returned in the watches of the night to comfort her stricken children.
"Yes. Yes, she is coming now. Oh, mother! Mother!"
"What does she say, Willie?"
"Oh, she is beautiful. She is not crying. She is smiling. It is like the picture we saw of the angel. She looks so happy. Dear, dear mother! Now she is speaking. 'It is over', she says. 'It is all over'. She says it again. Now she beckons with her hand. We are to follow. She has moved to the door."
"Oh, Willie, I dare not."
"Yes, yes, she nods her head. She bids us fear nothing Now she has passed through the door. Come, Margery, come, or we shall lose her."
The two little mites crept across the room and Willie unlocked the door. The mother stood at the head of the stair beckoning them onwards. Step by step they followed her down into an empty kitchen. The woman seemed to have gone out. All was still in the house. The phantom still beckoned them on."
"We are to go out."
"Oh, Willie, we have no hats."
"We must follow, Madge. She is smiling and waving."
"Father will kill us for this."
"She shakes her head. She says we are to fear nothing. Come!"
They threw open the door and were in the street. Down the deserted court they followed the gleaming gracious presence, and through a tangle of low streets, and so out into the crowded rush of Tottenham Court Road. Once or twice amid all that blind torrent of humanity, some man or woman, blessed with the precious gift of discernment, would start and stare as if they were aware of an angel presence and of two little white-faced children who followed behind, the boy with fixed, absorbed gaze, the girl glancing ever in terror over her shoulder. Down the long street they passed, then again amid humbler dwellings, and so at last to a quiet drab line of brick houses. On the step of one the spirit had halted.
"We are to knock," said Willie.
"Oh, Willie, what shall we say? We don't know them."
"We are to knock," he repeated, stoutly. Rat-tat!
"It's all right, Madge. She is clapping her hands and laughing."
So it was that Mrs. Tom Linden, sitting lonely in her misery and brooding over her martyr in gaol, was summoned suddenly to the door, and found two little apologetic figures outside it. A few words, a rush of woman's instinct, and her arms were round the children. These battered little skiffs, who had started their life's voyage so sadly, had found a harbour of peace where no storm should vex them more.
There were some strange happenings in Bolton's Court that night. Some folk thought they had no relation to each other. One or two thought they had. The British Law saw nothing and had nothing to say.
In the second last house, a keen, hawklike face peered from behind a window-blind into the darkened street. A shaded candle was behind that fearful face, dark as death, remorseless as the tomb. Behind Rebecca Levi stood a young man whose features showed that he sprang from the same Oriental race. For an hour--for a second hour--the woman had sat without a word, watching, watching . . . At the entrance to the court there was a hanging lamp which cast a circle of yellow light. It was on this pool of radiance that her brooding eyes were fixed.
Then suddenly she saw what she had waited for. She started and hissed out a word. The young man rushed from the room and into the street. He vanished through a side door into the brewery.
Drunken Silas Linden was coming home. He was in a gloomy, sulken state of befuddlement. A sense of injury filled his mind. He had not gained the billet he sought. His injured hand had been against him. He had hung about the bar waiting for drinks and had got some, but not enough. Now he was in a dangerous mood. Woe to the man, woman or child, who crossed his path! He thought savagely of the Jewess who lived in that darkened house. He thought savagely of all his neighbours. They would stand between him and his children, would they? He would show them. The very next morning he would take them both out into the street and strap them within an inch of their lives. That would show them all what Silas Linden thought of their opinions. Why should he not do it now? If he were to waken the neighbours up with the shrieks of his children, it would show them once for all that they could not defy him with impunity. The idea pleased him. He stepped more briskly out. He was almost at his door when . . .
It was never quite clear how it was that the cellar-flap was not securely fastened that night. The jury were inclined to blame the brewery, but the coroner pointed out that Linden was a heavy man, that he might have fallen on it if he were drunk, and that all reasonable care had been taken. It was an eighteen-foot fall upon jagged stones, and his back was broken. They did not find him till next morning, for, curiously enough, his neighbour, the Jewess, never heard the sound of the accident. The doctor seemed to think that death had not come quickly. There were horrible signs that he had lingered. Down in the darkness, vomiting blood and beer, the man ended his filthy life with a filthy death.
One need not waste words or pity over the woman whom he had left. Relieved from her terrible mate, she returned to that music-hall stage from which he, by force of his virility and bull-like strength, had lured her. She tried to regain her place with:
"Hi! Hi! Hi! I'm the dernier cri, The girl with the cart-wheel hat."
which was the ditty which had won her her name. But it became too painfully
evident that she was anything but the dernier cri, and that she could never
get back. Slowly she sank from big halls to small halls, from small halls
to pubs, and so ever deeper and deeper, sucked into the awful silent quicksands
of life which drew her down and down until that vacuous painted face and
frowsy head were seen no more.
Descending a winding stair they found themselves in a large chamber which looked at first glance like a chemical laboratory, for shelves full of bottles, retorts, test-tubes, scales and other apparatus lined the walls. It was more elegantly furnished, however, than a mere workshop, and a large massive oak table occupied the centre of the room with a fringe of comfortable chairs. At one end of the room was a large portrait of Professor Crookes, which was flanked by a second of Lombroso, while between them was a remarkable picture of one of Eusapia Palladino's seances. Round the table there was gathered a group of men who were talking in low tones, too much absorbed in their own conversation to take much notice of the newcomers.
"Three of these are distinguished visitors like yourselves," said Dr. Maupuis. "Two others are my laboratory assistants, Dr. Sauvage and Dr. Buisson. The others are Parisians of note. The Press is represented to-day by Mr. Forte, sub-editor of the Matin. The tall, dark man who looks like a retired general you probably know.... Not? That is Professor Charles Richet, our honoured doyen, who has shown great courage in this matter, though he has not quite reached the same conclusions as you, Monsieur Mailey. But that also may come. You must remember that we have to show policy, and that the less we mix this with religion, the less trouble we shall have with the Church, which is still very powerful in this country. The distinguished-looking man with the high forehead is the Count de Grammont. The gentleman with the head of a Jupiter and the white beard is Flammarion, the astronomer. Now, gentlemen," he added, in a louder voice, "if you will take your places we shall get to work."
They sat at random round the long table, the three Britons keeping together. At one end a large photographic camera was reared aloft. Two zinc buckets also occupied a prominent position upon a side table. The door was locked and the key given to Professor Richet. Dr. Maupuis sat at one end of the table with a small middle-aged man, moustached, bald-headed and intelligent, upon his right.
"Some of you have not met Monsieur Panbek," said the doctor. "Permit me to present him to you. Monsieur Panbek, gentlemen, has placed his remarkable powers at our disposal for scientific investigation, and we all owe him a debt of gratitude. He is now in his forty-seventh year, a man of normal health, of a neuro-arthritic disposition. Some hyper-excitability of his nervous system is indicated, and his reflexes arc exaggerated, but his blood-pressure is normal. The pulse is now at seventy-two, but rises to one hundred under trance conditions. There are zones of marked hyper-aesthesia on his limbs. His visual field and pupillary reaction is normal. I do not know that there is anything to add."
"I might say," remarked Professor Richet, "that the hyper-sensibility is moral as well as physical. Panbek is impressionable and full of emotion, with the temperament of the poet and all those little weaknesses, if we may call them so, which the poet pays as a ransom for his gifts. A great medium is a great artist and is to be judged by the same standards."
"He seems to me, gentlemen, to be preparing you for the worst," said the medium with a charming smile, while the company laughed in sympathy.
"We are sitting in the hopes that some remarkable materializations which we have recently had may be renewed in such a form that we may get a permanent record of them." Dr. Maupuis was talking in his dry, unemotional voice. "These materializations have taken very unexpected forms of late, and I would beg the company to repress any feelings of fear, however strange these forms may be, as a calm and judicial atmosphere is most necessary. We shall now turn out the white light and begin with the lowest degree of red light until the conditions will admit of further illumination."
The lamps were controlled from Dr. Maupuis' seat at the table. For a moment they were plunged in utter darkness. Then a dull red glow came in the corner, enough to show the dim outlines of the men round the table. There was no music and no religious atmosphere of any sort. The company conversed in whispers.
"This is different to your English procedure," said Malone.
"Very," Mailey answered. "It seems to me that we are wide open to anything which may come. It's all wrong. They don't realize the danger."
"What danger can there be?"
"Well, from my point of view, it is like sitting at the edge of a pond which may have harmless frogs in it, or may have man-eating crocodiles. You can't tell what may come."
Professor Richet, who spoke excellent English, overheard the words.
"I know your views, Mr. Mailey," said he. "Don't think that I treat them lightly. Some things which I have seen make me appreciate your comparison of the frog and the crocodile. In this very room I have been conscious of the presence of creatures which could, if moved to anger, make our experiments seem rather hazardous. I believe with you that evil people here might bring an evil reflection into our circle."
"I am glad, sir, that you are moving in our direction," said Mailey, for like everyone else he regarded Richet as one of the world's great men.
"Moving, perhaps, and yet I cannot claim to be altogether with you yet. The latent powers of the human incarnate spirit may be so wonderful that they may extend to regions which seem at present to be quite beyond their scope. As an old materialist, I fight every inch of the ground, though I admit that I have lost several lines of trenches. My illustrious friend Challenger still holds his front intact, as I understand."
"Yes, sir" said Malone, "and yet I have some hopes--"
"Hush!" cried Maupuis in an eager voice. There was dead silence. Then there came a sound of uneasy movement with a strange flapping vibration.
"The bird!" said an awestruck whisper.
There was silence and then once again came the sound of movement and an impatient flap.
"Have you all ready, Rene?" asked the doctor.
"All is ready."
"Then shoot!"
The flash of the luminant mixture filled the room, while the shutter of the camera fell. In that sudden glare of light the visitors had a momentary glimpse of a marvellous sight. The medium lay with his head upon his hands in apparent insensibility. Upon his rounded shoulders there was perched a huge bird of prey--a large falcon or an eagle. For one instant the strange picture was stamped upon their retinas even as it was upon the photographic plate. Then the darkness closed down again, save for the two red lamps, like the eyes of some baleful demon lurking in the corner.
"My word!" gasped Malone. "Did you see it?"
"A crocodile out of the pond," said Mailey.
"But harmless," added Professor Richet. "the bird has been with us several times. He moves his wings, as you have heard, but otherwise is inert. We may have another and a more dangerous visitor."
The flash of the light had, of course, dispelled all ectoplasm. It was necessary to begin again The company may have sat for a quarter of an hour when Richet touched Mailey's arm.
"Do you smell anything, Monsieur Mailey?"
Mailey sniffed the air.
"Yes, surely, it reminds me of our London Zoo."
"There is another more ordinary analogy. Have you been in a warm room with a wet dog?"
"Exactly," said Mailey. "That is a perfect description. But where is the dog?"
"It is not a dog. Wait a little! Wait!"
The animal smell became more pronounced. It was overpowering. Then suddenly Malone became conscious of something moving round the table. In the dim red light he was aware of a mis-shapen figure, crouching, ill-formed, with some resemblance to man. He silhouetted it against the dull radiance. It was bulky, broad, with a bullet-head, a short neck, heavy, clumsy shoulders. It slouched slowly round the circle. Then it stopped, and a cry of surprise, not unmixed with fear, came from one of the sitters.
"Do not be alarmed," said Dr. Maupuis' quiet voice. "It is the Pithecanthropus. He is harmless." Had it been a cat which had strayed into the room the scientist could not have discussed it more calmly.
"It has long claws. It laid them on my neck," cried a voice.
"Yes, yes. He means it as a caress."
"You may have my share of his caresses!" cried the sitter in a quavering voice.
"Do not repulse him. It might be serious. He is well disposed. But he has his feelings, no doubt, like the rest of us."
The creature had resumed its stealthy progress. Now it turned the end of the table and stood behind the three friends. Its breath came in quick puffs at the back of their necks. Suddenly Lord Roxton gave a loud exclamation of disgust.
"Quiet! Quiet! " said Maupuis.
"It's licking my hand!" cried Roxton.
An instant later Malone was aware of a shaggy head extended between Lord Roxton and himself. With his left hand he could feel long, coarse hair. It turned towards him, and it needed all his self-control to hold his hand still when a long soft tongue caressed it. Then it was gone.
"In heaven's name, what is it?" he asked.
"We have been asked not to photograph it. Possibly the light would infuriate it. The command through the medium was definite. We can only say that it is either an apelike man or a man-like ape. We have seen it more clearly than to-night. The face is Simian, but the brow is straight; the arms long, the hands huge, the body covered with hair."
"Tom Linden gave us something better than that," whispered Mailey. He spoke low but Richet caught the words.
"All Nature is the field of our study, Mr. Mailey. It is not for us to choose. Shall we classify the flowers but neglect the fungi?"
"But you admit it is dangerous."
"The X-rays were dangerous. How many martyrs lost their arms, joint by joint, before those dangers were realized? And yet it was necessary. So it is with us. We do not know yet what it is that we are doing. But if we can indeed show the world that this Pithecanthropus can come to us from the Invisible, and depart again as it came, then the knowledge is so tremendous that even if he tore us to pieces with those formidable claws it would none the less be our duty to go forward with our experiments."
"Science can be heroic," said Mailey. "Who can deny it? And yet I have heard these very scientific men tell us that we imperil our reason when we try to get in touch with spiritual forces. Gladly would we sacrifice our reason, or our lives, if we could help mankind. Should we not do as much for spiritual advance as they for material?"
The lights had been turned up and there was a pause for relaxation before the great experiment of the evening was attempted. The men broke into little groups, chatting in hushed tones over their recent experience. Looking round at the comfortable room with its up-to-date appliances, the strange bird and the stealthy monster seemed like dreams. And yet they had been very real as was shown presently by the photographer, who had been allowed to leave and now rushed excitedly from the adjacent dark room waving the plate which he had just developed and fixed. He held it up against the light, and there, sure enough, was the bald head of the medium sunk between his hands, and crouching closely over his shoulders the outline of that ominous figure. Dr. Maupuis rubbed his little fat hands with glee. Like all pioneers he had endured much persecution from the Parisian Press, and every fresh phenomenon was another weapon for his own defence.
"Nous marchons! Hein! Nous Marchons!" he kept on repeating" while Richet, lost in thought, answered mechanically:
"Oui, mon ami, vous marchez!"
The little Galician was sitting nibbling a biscuit with a glass of red wine before him. Malone went round to him and found that he had been in America and could talk a little English.
"Are you tired? Does it exhaust you?"
"In moderation, no. Two sittings a week. Behold my allowance. The doctor will allow no more."
"Do you remember anything?"
"It comes to me like dreams. A little here--a little there."
"Has the power always been with you?"
"Yes, yes, ever since a child. And my father, and my uncle. Their talk was of visions. For me, I would go and sit in the woods and strange animals would come round me. It did me such a surprise when I found that the other children could not see them "
"Est ce que vous etes pretes?" asked Dr. Maupuis.
"Parfaitment," answered the medium, brushing away the crumbs. The doctor lit a spirit-lamp under one of the zinc buckets.
"We are about to co-operate in an experiment, gentlemen, which should, once and for all, convince the world as to the existence of these ectoplasmic forms. Their nature may be disputed, but their objectivity will be beyond doubt from now onwards unless my plans miscarry. I would first explain these two buckets to you. This one, which I am warming, contains paraffin, which is now in process of liquefaction. This other contains water. Those who have not been present before must understand that Panbek's phenomena occur usually in the same order, and that at this stage of the evening we may expect the apparition of the old man. To-night we lie in wait for the old man, and we shall, I hope, immortalize him in the history of psychic research. I resume my seat, and I switch on the red light, Number Three, which allows of greater visibility."
The circle was now quite visible. The medium's head had fallen forward and his deep snoring showed that he was already in trance. Every face was turned towards him, for the wonderful process of materialization was going on before their very eyes. At first it was a swirl of light, steam-like vapour which circled round his head. Then there was a waving, as of white diaphanous drapery, behind him. It thickened. It coalesced. It hardened in outline and took definite shape. There was a head. There were shoulders. Arms grew out from them. Yes, there could not be a doubt of it--there was a man, an old man, standing behind the chair. He moved his head slowly from side lo side. He seemed to be peering in indecision towards the company. One could imagine that he was asking himself, "Where am I, and what am I here for?"
"He does not speak, but he hears and has intelligence," said Dr. Maupuis, glancing over his shoulder at the apparition. "We are here, sir, in the hope that you will aid us in a very important experiment. May we count upon your co-operation?"
The figure bowed his head in assent.
"We thank you. When you have attained your full power you will, no doubt, move away from the medium." The figure again bowed, but remained motionless. It seemed to Malone that it was growing denser every moment. He caught glimpses of the face. It was certainly an old man, heavy-faced, long-nosed, with a curiously projecting lower lip. Suddenly with a brusque movement it stood clear from Panbeck and stepped out into the room.
"Now, sir," said Maupuis in his precise fashion. "You will perceive the zinc bucket upon the left. I would beg you to have the kindness to approach it and to plunge your right hand into it."
The figure moved across. He seemed interested in the buckets, for he examined them with some attention. Then he dipped one of his hands into that which the doctor had indicated.
"Excellent!" cried Maupuis, his voice shrill with excitement. "Now, sir, might I ask you to have the kindness to dip the same hand into the cold water of the other bucket."
The form did so.
"Now, sir, you would bring our experiment to complete success if you would lay your hand upon the table, and while it is resting there you would yourself dematerialize and return into the medium."
The figure bowed its comprehension and assent. Then it slowly advanced towards the table, stooped over it, extended its hand--and vanished. The heavy breathing of the medium ceased and he moved uneasily as if about to wake. Maupuis turned on the white light, and threw up his hands with a loud cry of wonder and joy which was echoed by the company.
On the shining wooden surface of the table there lay a delicate yellow-pink glove of paraffin, broad at the knuckles, thin at the wrist, two of the fingers bent down to the palm. Maupuis was beside himself with delight. He broke off a small bit of the wax from the wrist and handed it to an assistant, who hurried from the room.
"It is final!" he cried. "What can they say now? Gentlemen, I appeal to you. You have seen what occurred. Clan any of you give any rational explanation of that paraffin mould, save that it was the result of dematerialization of the hand within it?"
"I can see no other solution," Richet answered. "But you have to do with very obstinate and very prejudiced people. If they cannot deny it, they will probably ignore it."
"The Press is here and the Press represents the public," said Maupuis. "For the Press Engleesh, Monsieur Malone," he went on in his broken way. "Is it that you can see any answer?"
"I can see none," Malone answered.
"And you, monsieur?" addressing the representative of the Matin."
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
"For us who had the privilege of being present it was indeed convincing," said he, "and yet you will certainly be met with objections. They will not realize how fragile this thing is. They will say that the medium brought it on his person and laid it upon the table."
Maupuis clapped his hands triumphantly. His assistant had just brought him a slip of paper from the next room.
"Your objection is already answered," he cried, waving the paper in the air. "I had foreseen it and I had put some cholesterine among the paraffin in the zinc pail. You may have observed that I broke off a corner of the mould. It was for purpose of chemical analysis. This has now been done. It is here and cholesterine has been detected."
"Excellent!" said the French journalist. "You have closed the last hole. But what next?"
"What we have done once we can do again," Maupuis answered. "I will prepare a number of these moulds. In some cases I will have fists and hands. Then I will have plaster casts made from them. I will run the plaster inside the mould. It is delicate, but it can be done. I will have dozens of them so treated, and I will send them broadcast to every capital in the world that people may see with their own eyes. Will that not at last convince them of the reality of our conclusions?"
"Do not hope for too much, my poor friend," said Richet, with his hand upon the shoulder of the enthusiast. "You have not yet realized the enormous vis inertioe of the world. But as you have said, 'Vous marchez--vous marchez toujours'."
"And our march is regulated," said Mailey. "There is a gradual release to accommodate it to the receptivity of mankind."
Richet smiled and shook his head.
"Always transcendental, Monsieur Mailey! Always seeing more than meets the eye and changing science into philosophy! I fear you are incorrigible. Is your position reasonable?"
"Professor Richet," said Mailey, very earnestly, "I would beg you to answer the same question. I have a deep respect for your talents and complete sympathy with your caution, but have you not come to the dividing of the ways? You are now in the position that you admit--you must admit--that an intelligent apparition in human form, built up from the substance which you have yourself named ectoplasm, can walk the room and carry out instructions while the medium lay senseless under our eyes, and yet you hesitate to assert that spirit has an independent existence. Is that reasonable?"
Richet smiled and shook his head. Without answering he turned and bid farewell to Dr. Maupuis, and to offer him his congratulations. A few minutes later the company had broken up and our friends were in a taxi speeding towards their hotel.
Malone was deeply impressed with what he had seen, and he sat up half the night drawing up a full account of it for the Central News, with the names of those who had endorsed the result--honourable names which no one in the world could associate with folly or deception.
"Surely, surely, this will be a turning point and an epoch." So ran his dream. Two days later he opened the great London dailies one after the other. Columns about football. Columns about golf. A full page as to the value of shares. A long and earnest correspondence in The Times about the habits of the lapwing. Not one word in any of them as to the wonders which he had seen and reported. Mailey laughed at his dejected face.
"A mad world, my masters," said he. "A crazy world! But the end is not
yet!"