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Chapter I. In Which Our SpecialCommissioners Make A Start
Chapter II. Which Describes An EveningIn Strange Company
Chapter III. In Which ProfessorChallenger Gives His Opinion
Chapter IV. Which Describes SomeStrange Doings In Hammersmith
Chapter V. Where Our CommissionersHave A Remarkable Experience
Chapter VI. In Which The Reader IsShown The Habits Of A Notorious Criminal
Chapter VII. In Which The NotoriousCriminal Gets What The British Law Considers To Be HisDeserts
Chapter VIII. In Which ThreeInvestigators Come Across A Dark Soul
Chapter IX. Which Introduces Some VeryPhysical Phenomena
Chapter X. De Profundis
Chapter XI. Where Silas Linden ComesInto His Own
Chapter XII. There Are Heights AndThere Are Depths
Chapter XIII. In Which ProfessorChallenger Goes Forth To Battle
Chapter XIV. In Which Challenger MeetsA Strange Colleague
Chapter XV. In Which Traps Are LaidFor A Great Quarry
Chapter XVI. In Which Challenger HasThe Experience Of His Life
Chapter XVII. Where The Mists ClearAway
Appendices
Note On Chapter II
Note On Chapter IX
Note On Chapter X
Note On Chapter XII

ILLUSTRATIONS

I. — IN WHICH OUR SPECIALCOMMISSIONERS MAKE A START

THE great Professor Challenger has been—very improperly and imperfectly—used in fiction. Adaring author placed him in impossible and romantic situations inorder to see how he would react to them. He reacted to the extentof a libel action, an abortive appeal for suppression, a riot inSloane Street, two personal assaults, and the loss of hisposition as lecturer upon Physiology at the London School of Sub-Tropical Hygiene. Otherwise, the matter passed more peaceablythan might have been expected.

But he was losing something of his fire. Those huge shoulderswere a little bowed. The spade-shaped Assyrian beard showedtangles of grey amid the black, his eyes were a trifle lessaggressive, his smile less self-complacent, his voice asmonstrous as ever but less ready to roar down all opposition. Yethe was dangerous, as all around him were painfully aware. Thevolcano was not extinct, and constant rumblings threatened somenew explosion. Life had much yet to teach him, but he was alittle less intolerant in learning.

There was a definite date for the change which had beenwrought in him. It was the death of his wife. That little bird ofa woman had made her nest in the big man's heart. He had all thetenderness and chivalry which the strong can have for the weak.By yielding everything she had won everything, as a sweet-natured, tactful woman can. And when she died suddenly fromvirulent pneumonia following influenza, the man staggered andwent down. He came up again, smiling ruefully like the strickenboxer, and ready to carry on for many a round with Fate. But hewas not the same man, and if it had not been for the help andcomradeship of his daughter Enid, he might have never ralliedfrom the blow. She it was who, with clever craft, lured him intoevery subject which would excite his combative nature andinfuriate his mind, until he lived once more in the present andnot the past. It was only when she saw him turbulent incontroversy, violent to pressmen, and generally offensive tothose around him, that she felt he was really in a fair way torecovery.

Enid Challenger was a remarkable girl and should have aparagraph to herself. With the raven-black hair of her father,and the blue eyes and fresh colour of her mother, she wasstriking, if not beautiful, in appearance. She was quiet, but shewas very strong. From her infancy she had either to take her ownpart against her father, or else to consent to be crushed and tobecome a mere automaton worked by his strong fingers. She wasstrong enough to hold her own in a gentle, elastic fashion, whichbent to his moods and reasserted itself when they were past.Lately she had felt the constant pressure too oppressive and shehad relieved it by feeling out for a career of her own. She didoccasional odd jobs for the London press, and did them in suchfashion that her name was beginning to be known in Fleet Street.In finding this opening she had been greatly helped by an oldfriend of her father—and possibly of the reader—Mr.Edward Malone of theDaily Gazette.

Malone was still the same athletic Irishman who had once wonhis international cap at Rugby, but life had toned him down also,and made him a more subdued and thoughtful man. He had put away agood deal when last his football-boots had been packed away forgood. His muscles may have wilted and his joints stiffened, buthis mind was deeper and more active. The boy was dead and the manwas born. In person he had altered little, but his moustache washeavier, his back a little rounded, and some lines of thoughtwere tracing themselves upon his brow. Post-war conditions andnew world problems had left their mark. For the rest he had madehis name in journalism and even to a small degree in literature.He was still a bachelor, though there were some who thought thathis hold on that condition was precarious and that Miss EnidChallenger's little white fingers could disengage it. Certainlythey were very good chums.

It was a Sunday evening in October, and the lights were justbeginning to twinkle out through the fog which had shroudedLondon from early morning. Professor Challenger's flat atVictoria West Gardens was upon the third floor, and the mist laythick upon the windows, while the low hum of the attenuatedSunday traffic rose up from an invisible highway beneath, whichwas outlined only by scattered patches of dull radiance.Professor Challenger sat with his thick, bandy legs outstretchedto the fire, and his hands thrust deeply into trouser pockets.His dress had a little of the eccentricity of genius, for he worea loose-collared shirt, a large knotted maroon-coloured silk tie,and a black velvet smoking-jacket, which, with his flowing beard,gave him the appearance of an elderly and Bohemian artist. On oneside of him ready for an excursion, with bowl hat, short-skirteddress of black, and all the other fashionable devices with whichwomen contrive to deform the beauties of nature, there sat hisdaughter, while Malone, hat in hand, waited by the window.

They were writing joint articles upon the religiousdenominations of London, and on each Sunday evening they salliedout together to sample some new one and get copy for the nextweek's issue of theGazette.

"Sit down, sir! Sit down!" boomed Challenger, tugging at hisbeard as was his habit if his temper was rising, "there isnothing annoys me more than having anyone standing behind me. Arelic of atavism and the fear of a dagger, but still persistent.That's right. For heaven's sake put your hat down! You have aperpetual air of catching a train."

"That's the journalistic life," said Malone. "If we don'tcatch the perpetual train we get left. Even Enid is beginning tounderstand that. But still, as you say, there is timeenough."

Enid consulted a business-like little reporter's notebook. "Wehave done seven. There was Westminster Abbey for the Church inits most picturesque form, and Saint Agatha for the High Church,and Tudor Place for the Low. Then there was the WestminsterCathedral for Catholics, Endell Street for Presbyterians, andGloucester Square for Unitarians. But to-night we are trying tointroduce some variety. We are doing the Spiritualists."

"Next week the lunatic asylums, I presume," said he. "Youdon't mean to tell me, Malone, that these ghost people have gotchurches of their own."

"I've been looking into that," said Malone. "I always look upcold facts and figures before I tackle a job. They have over fourhundred registered churches in Great Britain."

"There seems to me to be absolutely no limit to the inanityand credulity of the human race.Homo Sapiens! Homoidioticus! Who do they pray to— the ghosts?"

"Well, that's what we want to find out. We should get somecopy out of them. I need not say that I share your view entirely,but I've seen something of Atkinson of St. Mary's Hospitallately. He is a rising surgeon, you know."

"That's the man. He is level-headed and is looked on as anauthority on psychic research, as they call the new science whichdeals with these matters."

"Well, that is what they call it. He seems to take thesepeople seriously. I consult him when I want a reference, for hehas the literature at his fingers' end. 'Pioneers of the HumanRace'—that was his description."

"Pioneering them to Bedlam," growled Challenger. "Andliterature! What literature have they?"

"Well, that was another surprise. Atkinson has five hundredvolumes, but complains that his psychic library is veryimperfect. You see, there is French, German, Italian, as well asour own."

"Well, thank God all the folly is not confined to poor oldEngland. Pestilential nonsense!"

"Read it up! I, with all my interests and no time for one-halfof them! Enid, you are too absurd."

"Sorry, Father. You spoke with such assurance, I thought youknew something about it."

Challenger's huge head swung round and his lion's glare restedupon his daughter.

"Do you conceive that a logical brain, a brain of the firstorder, needs to read and to study before it can detect a manifestabsurdity? Am I to study mathematics in order to confute the manwho tells me that two and two are five? Must I study physics oncemore and take down my Principia because some rogue or foolinsists that a table can rise in the air against the law ofgravity? Does it take five hundred volume to inform us of a thingwhich is proved in every police-court when an impostor isexposed? Enid, I am ashamed of you!"

"Well, Dad, you need not roar at me any more. I give in. Infact, I have the same feeling that you have."

"None the less," said Malone, "some good men support them. Idon't see that you can laugh at Lodge and Crookes and theothers."

"Don't be absurd, Malone. Every great mind has its weakerside. It is a sort of reaction against all the good sense. Youcome suddenly upon a vein of positive nonsense. That is what isthe matter with these fellows. No, Enid, I haven't read theirreasons, and I don't mean to, either; some things are beyond thepale. If we re-open all the old questions, how can we ever getahead with the new ones? This matter is settled by common sense,the law of England, and by the universal assent of every saneEuropean."

"However," he continued, "I can admit that there areoccasional excuses for misunderstandings upon the point." He sankhis voice, and his great grey eyes looked sadly up into vacancy."I have known cases where the coldest intellect—even my ownintellect—might, for a moment have been shaken."

Challenger hesitated. He seemed to be struggling with himself.He wished to speak, and yet speech was painful. Then, with anabrupt, impatient gesture, he plunged into his story:

"I never told you, Enid. It was too—too intimate.Perhaps too absurd. I was ashamed to have been so shaken. But itshows how even the best balanced may be caught unawares."

"It was after my wife's death. You knew her, Malone You canguess what it meant to me. It was the night after thecremation—horrible, Malone, horrible! I saw the dear littlebody slide down, down... and then the glare of flame and the doorclanged to." His great body shook and he passed his big, hairyhand over his eyes.

"I don't know why I tell you this; the talk seemed to lead upto it. It may be a warning to you. That night—the nightafter the cremation—I sat up in the hall. She was there,"he nodded at Enid. "She had fallen asleep in a chair, poor girl.You know the house at Rotherfield, Malone. It was in the bighall. I sat by the fireplace, the room all draped in shadow, andmy mind draped In shadow also. I should have sent her to bed, butshe was lying back in her chair and I did not wish to wake her.It may have been one in the morning—I remember the moonshining through the stained-glass window. I sat and I brooded.Then suddenly there came a noise."

"It was low at first just a ticking. Then it grew louder andmore distinct—it was a clearrat-tat-tat. Nowcomes the queer coincidence, the sort of thing out of whichlegends grow when credulous folk have the shaping of them. Youmust know that my wife had a peculiar way of knocking at a door.It was really a little tune which she played with her fingers. Igot into the some way so that we could each know when the otherknocked. Well, it seemed to me—of course my mind wasstrained and abnormal—that the taps shaped themselves intothe well-known rhythm of her knock. I couldn't localize it. Youcan think how eagerly I tried. It was above me, somewhere on thewoodwork. I lost sense of time. I daresay it was repeated a dozentimes at least."

"Well, we sat, but nothing happened. Not a sound more. Ofcourse it was a delusion. Some insect in the wood; the ivy on theouter wall. My own brain furnished the rhythm. Thus do we makefools and children of ourselves. But it gave me an insight. I sawhow even a clever man could be deceived by his own emotions."

"Absurd, Malone! Absurd, I say! I tell you I saw her in theflames. What was there left?"

"When that dear body dissolved into its elements—whenits gases went into the air and its residue of solids sank into agrey dust—it was the end. There was no more. She had playedher part, played it beautifully, nobly. It was done. Death endsall, Malone. This soul talk is the Animism of savages. It is asuperstition, a myth. As a physiologist I will undertake toproduce crime or virtue by vascular control or cerebralstimulation. I will turn a Jekyll into a Hyde by a surgicaloperation. Another can do it by a psychological suggestion.Alcohol will do it. Drugs will do it. Absurd, Malone, absurd! Asthe tree falls, so does it lie. There is no nextmorning—night—eternal night—and long rest forthe weary worker."

"Perhaps so. There is something virile and manly in facing theworst. I would not contradict. My reason is with you."

"But my instincts are against!" cried Enid. "No, no, never canI believe it." She threw her arms round the great bull neck."Don't tell me, Daddy, that you with all your complex brain andwonderful self are a thing with no more life hereafter than abroken clock!"

"Four buckets of water and a bagful of salts," said Challengeras he smilingly detached his daughter's grip. "That's your daddy,my lass, and you may as well reconcile your mind to it. Well,it's twenty to eight.— Come back, if you can, Malone, andlet me hear your adventures among the insane."

II.— WHICH DESCRIBES ANEVENING IN STRANGE COMPANY

THE love-affair of Enid Challenger and EdwardMalone is not of the slightest interest to the reader, for thesimple reason that it is not of the slightest interest to thewriter. The unseen, unnoticed lure of the unborn babe is commonto all youthful humanity. We deal in this chronicle with matterswhich are less common and of higher interest. It is onlymentioned in order to explain those terms of frank and intimatecomradeship which the narrative discloses. If the human race hasobviously improved in anything—in Anglo-Celtic countries,at least—it is that the prim affectations and sly deceitsof the past are lessened, and that young men and women can meetin an equality of clean and honest comradeship.

A taxi took the adventurers down Edgware Road and into theside-street called "Helbeck Terrace." Halfway down, the dull lineof brick houses was broken by one glowing gap, where an open archthrew a flood of light into the street. The cab pulled up and theman opened the door.

"This is the Spiritualist Church, sir," said he. Then, as hesaluted to acknowledge his tip, he added in the wheezy voice ofthe man of all weathers: "Tommy-rot, I call it, sir." Havingeased his conscience thus, he climbed into his seat and a momentlater his red rear-lamp was a waning circle in the gloom. Malonelaughed.

"Yes, but we are prepared to give them a show. I don't supposeCabby is. By Jove, it will be hard luck if we can't get in!"

There was a crowd at the door and a man was facing them fromthe top of the step, waving his arms to keep them back.

"It's no good, friends. I am very sorry, but we can't help it.We've been threatened twice with prosecution for over-crowding."He turned facetious. "Never heard of an Orthodox Church gettinginto trouble for that. No, sir, no."

"I've come all the way from 'Ammersmith," wailed a voice. Thelight beat upon the eager, anxious face of the speaker, a littlewoman in black with a baby in her arms.

"You've come for clairvoyance, Mam," said the usher, withintelligence. "See here, give me the name and address and I willwrite you, and Mrs. Debbs will give you a sitting gratis. That'sbetter than taking your chance in the crowd when, with all thewill in the world, you can't all get a turn. You'll have her toyourself. No, sir, there's no use shovin'. What's that?Press?"

"Did you say Press? The Press boycott us, sir. Look at theweekly list of services in a Saturday'sTimes if youdoubt it. You wouldn't know there was such a thing asSpiritualism...What paper, sir?...'The Daily Gazette.'Well, well, we are getting on. And the lady, too?...Specialarticle—my word! Stick to me, sir, and I'll see what I cando. Shut the doors, Joe. No use, friends. When the building fundgets on a bit we'll have more room for you. Now, Miss, this way,if you please."

This way proved to be down the street and round a side-alleywhich brought them to a small door with a red lamp shining aboveit.

"I'll have to put you on the platform—there's nostanding room in the body of the hall."

"You'll have a fine view, Miss, and maybe get a readin' foryourself if your lucky. It often happens that those nearest themedium get the best chance. Now, sir, in here!"

Here was a frowsy little room with some hats and top-coatsdraping the dirty, white-washed walls. A thin, austere woman,with eyes which gleamed from behind her glasses, was warming hergaunt hands over a small fire. With his back to the fire in thetraditional British attitude was a large, fat man with abloodless face, a ginger moustache and curious, light-blue eyes—the eyes of a deep-sea mariner. A little bald-headed manwith huge horn-rimmed spectacles, and a very handsome andathletic youth in a blue lounge-suit completed the group.

"The others have gone on the platform, Mr. Peeble. There'sonly five seats left for ourselves." It was the fat mantalking.

"I know, I know," said the man who had been addressed asPeeble, a nervous, stringy, dried-up person as he now appeared inthe light. "But this is the Press, Mr. Bolsover.DailyGazette special article... Malone, the name, and Challenger.This is Mr. Bolsover, our President. This is Mrs. Debbs ofLiverpool, the famous clairvoyante. Here is Mr. James, and thistall young gentleman is Mr. Hardy Williams, our energeticsecretary. Mr. Williams is a nailer for the buildin' fund. Keepyour eye on your pockets if Mr. Williams is around."

"A good, rousing article is our best collection," said thestout president. "Ever been to a meeting before, sir?"

"Well, well, we must expect a slating. They get it from thehumorous angle at first. We'll have you writing a very comicaccount. I never could see anything very funny in the spirit ofone's dead wife, but it's a matter of taste and of knowledgealso. If they don't know, how can they take it seriously? I don'tblame them. We were mostly like that ourselves once. I was one ofBradlaugh's men, and sat under Joseph MacCabe until my old Dadcame and pulled me out."

"It was the first time I found I had powers of my own. I sawhim like I see you now."

"Knew no more than I did. But they come on amazin' at theother side if the right folk get hold of them."

"Time's up!" said Mr. Peeble, snapping his watch. "You are onthe right of the chair, Mrs. Debbs. Will you go first? Then you,Mr. Chairman. Then you two and myself. Get on the left, Mr. HardyWilliams, and lead the singin'. They want warmin' up and you cando it. Now then, if you please!"

The platform was already crowded, but the newcomers threadedtheir way to the front amid a decorous murmur of welcome. Mr.Peeble shoved and exhorted and two end seats emerged upon whichEnid and Malone perched themselves. The arrangement suited themwell, for they could use their notebooks freely behind theshelter of the folk in front.

People who are in earnest are always interesting, whether youagree with them or not, and it was impossible to doubt that thesepeople were extremely earnest. The hall was crammed, and as onelooked down one saw line after line of upturned faces, curiouslyalike in type, women predominating, but men running them close.That type was not distinguished nor intellectual, but it wasundeniably healthy, honest and sane. Small trades-folk, male andfemale shopwalkers, better class artisans, lower middle-classwomen worn with household cares, occasional young folk in searchof a sensation—these were the impressions which theaudience conveyed to the trained observation of Malone.

"My friends," said he, "we have had once more to exclude agreat number of people who desired to be with us to-night. It'sall a question of the building fund, and Mr. Williams on my leftwill be glad to hear from any of you I was in a hotel last weekand they had a notice hung up in the reception bureau: 'Nocheques accepted'. That's not the way Brother Williams talks. Youjust try him."

The audience laughed. The atmosphere was clearly that of thelecture-hall rather than of the Church.

"There's just one more thing I want to say before I sit down.I'm not here to talk. I'm here to hold this chair down and I meanto do it. It's a hard thing I ask. I want Spiritualists to keepaway on Sunday nights. They take up the room that inquirersshould have. You can have the morning service. But its better forthe cause that there should be room for the stranger. You've hadit. Thank God for it. Give the other man a chance." The presidentplumped back into his chair.

Mr. Peeble sprang to his feet. He was clearly the generalutility man who emerges in every society and probably becomes itsautocrat. With his thin, eager face and darting hands he was morethan a live wire—he was a whole bundle of live wires.Electricity seemed to crackle from his fingertips.

"The world hath felt a quickening breath From Heaven's eternalshore, And souls triumphant over death Return to earth oncemore."

"For this we hold our Jubilee For this with joy we sing, OhGrave, where is thy victory Oh Death, where is thy sting?"

Yes, they were in earnest, these people. And they did notappear to be mentally weaker than their fellows. And yet bothEnid and Malone felt a sensation of great pity as they looked atthem. How sad to be deceived upon so intimate a matter as this,to be duped by impostors who used their most sacred feelings andtheir beloved dead as counters with which to cheat them. What didthey know of the laws of evidence, of the cold, immutable decreesof scientific law? Poor earnest, honest, deluded people!

"Now!" screamed Mr. Peeble. "We shall ask Mr. Munro fromAustralia to give us the invocation."

A wild-looking old man with a shaggy beard and slumbering firein his eyes rose up and stood for a few seconds with his gazecast down. Then he began a prayer, very simple, veryunpremeditated. Malone jotted down the first sentence: "Oh,Father, we are very ignorant folk and do not well know how toapproach you, but we will pray to you the best we know how." Itwas all cast in that humble key. Enid and Malone exchanged aswift glance of appreciation.

There was another hymn, less successful than the first, andthe chairman then announced that Mr. James Jones of North Waleswould now deliver a trance address which would embody the viewsof his well-known control, Alasha the Atlantean.

Mr. James Jones, a brisk and decided little man in a fadedcheck suit, came to the front and, after standing a minute or soas if in deep thought, gave a violent shudder and began to talk.It must be admitted that save for a certain fixed stare andvacuous glazing of the eye there was nothing to show thatanything save Mr. James Jones of North Wales was the orator. Ithas also to be stated that if Mr. Jones shuddered at thebeginning it was the turn of his audience to shudder afterwards.Granting his own claim, he had proved clearly that an Atlanteanspirit might be a portentous bore. He droned on with platitudesand ineptitudes while Malone whispered to Enid that if Alasha wasa fair specimen of the population it was just as well that hisnative land was safely engulfed in the Atlantic Ocean. When, withanother rather melodramatic shudder, he emerged from his trance,the chairman sprang to his feet with an alacrity which showedthat he was taking no risks lest the Atlantean should return.

"We have present with us to-night," he cried, "Mrs. Debbs, thewell-known clairvoyante of Liverpool. Mrs. Debbs is, as many ofyou know, richly endowed with several of those gifts of thespirit of which Saint Paul speaks, and the discerning of spiritsis among them. These things depend upon laws which are beyond ourcontrol, but a sympathetic atmosphere is essential, and Mrs.Debbs will ask for your good wishes and your prayers while sheendeavours to get into touch with some of those shining ones onthe other side who may honour us with their presence to-night."

The president sat down and Mrs. Debbs rose amid discreetapplause. Very tall, very pale, very thin, with an aquiline faceand eyes shining brightly from behind her gold-rimmed glasses,she stood facing her expectant audience. Her head was bent. Sheseemed to be listening.

"Vibrations!" she cried at last. "I want helpful vibrations.Give me a verse on the harmonium, please."

The hall was not too well lit and dark shadows lurked in thecorners. The medium still bent her head as if her ears werestraining. Then she raised her hand and the music stopped.

"Presently! Presently! All in good time," said the woman,addressing some invisible companion. Then to the audience, "Idon't feel that the conditions are very good to-night. I will domy best and so will they. But I must talk to you first."

And she talked. What she said seemed to the two strangers tobe absolute gabble. There was no consecutive sense in it, thoughnow and again a phrase or sentence caught the attention. Maloneput his stylo in his pocket. There was no use reporting alunatic. A Spiritualist next him saw his bewildered disgust andleaned towards him.

"She's tuning in. She's getting her wave length," hewhispered. "It's all a matter of vibration. Ah, there youare!"

She had stopped in the very middle of a sentence. Her long armand quivering forefinger shot out. She was pointing at an elderlywoman in the second row.

"You! Yes, you, with the red feather. No, not you. The stoutlady in front. Yes, you! There is a spirit building up behindyou. It is a man. He is a tall man—six foot maybe. Highforehead, eyes grey or blue, a long chin brown moustache, lineson his face. Do you recognize him, friend?"

"Well, see if I can help you. He is holding up a book—brown book with a clasp. It's a ledger same as they havein offices. I get the words 'Caledonian Insurance'. Is that anyhelp?"

"Well, I can give you a little more. He died after a longillness. I get chest trouble—asthma."

The stout woman was still obdurate, but a small, angry, red-faced person, two places away from her, sprang to her feet.

"It's my 'usband, ma'm. Tell 'im I don't want to 'ave any moredealin's with him." She sat down with decision.

"Yes, that's right. He moves to you now. He was nearer theother. He wants to say he's sorry. It doesn't do, you know, tohave hard feelings to the dead. Forgive and forget. It's allover. I get a message for you. It is: 'Do it and my blessing gowith you'! Does that mean anything to you?"

"Very good." The clairvoyante suddenly darted out her fingertowards the crowd at the door "It's for the soldier."

A soldier in khaki, looking very much amazed, was in the frontof the knot of people.

"It's a soldier. He has a corporal's stripes. He is a big manwith grizzled hair. He has a yellow tab on his shoulders. I getthe initials J. H. Do you know him?"

He had not understood that it was a Spiritualistic Church, andthe whole proceedings had been a mystery to him. They wererapidly explained by his neighbours. "My Gawd!" cried thesoldier, and vanished amid a general titter. In the pause Malonecould hear the constant mutter of the medium as she spoke tosomeone unseen.

"Yes, yes, wait your turn! Speak up, woman! Well, take yourplace near him. How should I know? Well, I will if I can." Shewas like a janitor at the theatre marshalling a queue.

Her next attempt was a total failure. A solid man with bushyside-whiskers absolutely refused to have anything to do with anelderly gentleman who claimed kinship. The medium worked withadmirable patience, coming back again and again with some freshdetail, but no progress could be made.

"Think it over. It may come to you later. We must just leaveit at that. I am only sorry for your friend."

"I believe it is half guess-work and the other half a case ofconfederates. These people are all of the same church, andnaturally they know each other's affairs. If they don't know theycan inquire."

"Yes but they could easily coach her up. It is all cleverquackery and bluff. It must be, for just think what is implied ifit is not."

Her next attempt was more fortunate. A lugubrious man at theback of the hall readily recognized the description and claims ofhis deceased wife.

"Well, she calls you Wat now. 'Tell Wat to give my love to thechildren'. That's how I get it. She is worrying about thechildren."

"Well, they don't change. Furniture. Something aboutfurniture. She says you gave it away. Is that right?"

The audience tittered. It was strange how the most solemn andcomic were eternally blended—strange and yet very naturaland human.

"She has a message: 'The man will pay up and all will be well.Be a good man, Wat, and we will be happier here then ever we wereon earth'."

The man put his hand over his eyes. As the seeress stoodirresolute the tall young secretary half rose and whisperedsomething in her ear. The woman shot a swift glance over her leftshoulder in the direction of the visitors.

She gave two more descriptions to the audience, both of themrather vague, and both recognized with some reservations. It wasa curious fact that her details were such as she could notpossibly see at the distance. Thus, dealing with a form which sheclaimed had built up at the far end of the hall, she could nonethe less give the colour of the eyes and small points of theface. Malone noted the point as one which he could use fordestructive criticism. He was just jotting it down when thewoman's voice sounded louder and, looking up, he found that shehad turned her head and her spectacles were flashing in hisdirection.

"It is not often I give a reading from the platform," saidshe, her face rotating between him and the audience, "but we havefriends here to-night, and it may interest them to come incontact with the spirit people. There is a presence building upbehind the gentleman with a moustache—the gentleman whosits next to the young lady. Yes, sir, behind you. He is a man ofmiddle size, rather inclined to shortness. He is old, over sixty,with white hair, curved nose and a white, small beard of thevariety that is called goatee. He is no relation, I gather, but afriend. Does that suggest anyone to you, sir?"

Malone shook his head with some contempt. "It would nearly fitany old man," he whispered to Enid.

"We will try to get a little closer. He has deep lines on hisface. I should say he was an irritable man in his lifetime. Hewas quick and nervous in his ways. Does that help you?"

"Well, he seems very anxious, so we must do what we can forhim. He holds up a book. It is a learned book. He opens it and Isee diagrams in it. Perhaps he wrote it—or perhaps hetaught from it. Yes, he nods. He taught from it. He was ateacher."

"I don't know that I can help him any more. Ah! there is onething. He has a mole over his right eyebrow."

"Ah, you've got it. There's a message: 'Greetings to old—' It's a long name and begins with a C. I can't get it.Does it mean anything?"

In an instant she had turned and was describing something orsomeone else. But she had left a badly-shaken man upon theplatform behind her.

It was at this point that the orderly service had a remarkableinterruption which surprised the audience as much as it did thetwo visitors. This was the sudden appearance beside the chairmanof a tall, pale-faced bearded man dressed like a superiorartisan, who held up his hand with a quietly impressive gestureas one who was accustomed to exert authority. He then half-turnedand said a word to Mr. Bolsover.

"This is Mr. Miromar of Dalston," said the chairman. "Mr.Miromar has a message to deliver. We are always glad to hear fromMr. Miromar."

The reporters could only get a half-view of the newcomer'sface, but both of them were struck by his noble bearing and bythe massive outline of his head which promised very unusualintellectual power. His voice when he spoke rang clearly andpleasantly through the hall.

"I have been ordered to give the message wherever I think thatthere are ears to hear it. There are some here who are ready forit, and that is why I have come. They wish that the human raceshould gradually understand the situation so that there shall bethe less shock or panic. I am one of several who are chosen tocarry the news."

"A lunatic, I'm afraid!" whispered Malone, scribbling hardupon his knee. There was a general inclination to smile among theaudience. And yet there was something in the man's manner andvoice which made them hang on every word.

"Things have now reached a climax. The very idea of progresshas been made material. It is progress to go swiftly, to sendswift messages, to build new machinery. All this is a diversionof real ambition. There is only one real progress—spiritual progress. Mankind gives it a lip tribute butpresses on upon its false road of material science.

"The Central Intelligence recognized that amid all the apathythere was also much honest doubt which had out-grown old creedsand had a right to fresh evidence. Therefore fresh evidence wassent—evidence which made the life after death as clear asthe sun in the heavens. It was laughed at by scientists,condemned by the churches, became the butt of the newspapers, andwas discarded with contempt. That was the last and greatestblunder of humanity."

The audience had their chins up now. General speculations werebeyond their mental horizon. But this was very clear to theircomprehension. There was a murmur of sympathy and applause.

"The thing was now hopeless. It had got beyond all control.Therefore something sterner was needed since Heaven's gift hadbeen disregarded. The blow fell. Ten million young men were laiddead upon the ground. Twice as many were mutilated. That wasGod's first warning to mankind. But it was vain. The same dullmaterialism prevailed as before. Years of grace were given, andsave the stirrings of the spirit seen in such churches as these,no change was anywhere to be seen. The nations heaped up freshloads of sin, and sin must ever be atoned for. Russia became acesspool. Germany was unrepentant of her terrible materialismwhich had been the prime cause of the war. Spain and Italy weresunk in alternate atheism and superstition. France had noreligious ideal. Britain was confused and distracted, full ofwooden sects which had nothing of life in them. America hadabused her glorious opportunities and, instead of being theloving younger brother to a stricken Europe, she held up alleconomic reconstruction by her money claims; she dishonoured thesignature of her own president, and she refused to join thatLeague of Peace which was the one hope of the future. All havesinned, but some more than others, and their punishment will bein exact proportion.

"And that punishment soon comes. These are the exact words Ihave been asked to give you. I read them lest I should in any waygarble them."

"'What we want is, not that folk should be frightened, butthat they should begin to change themselves—to developthemselves on more spiritual lines. We are not trying to makepeople nervous, but to prepare while there is yet time. The worldcannot go on as it has done. It would destroy itself if it did.Above all we must sweep away the dark cloud of theology which hascome between mankind and God'."

He folded up the paper and replaced it in his pocket. "That iswhat I have been asked to tell you. Spread the news where thereseems to be a window in the soul. Say to them, 'Repent! Reform!the Time is at hand'."

He had paused and seemed about to turn. The spell was broken.The audience rustled and leaned back in its seats. Then a voicefrom the back:

With quick light steps he threaded his way among the chairs onthe platform and stood near the door. When Malone next lookedround he was gone.

"He is one of these Second-coming fanatics," he whispered toEnid. "There are a lot of them—Christadelphians,Russellites, Bible Students and what-not. But he wasimpressive."

"We have, I am sure, been very interested in what our friendhas told us," said the chairman. "Mr. Miromar is in heartysympathy with our movement even though he cannot be said actuallyto belong to it. I am sure he is always welcome upon ourplatforms. As to his prophecy, it seems to me the world has hadenough trouble without our anticipating any more. If it is as ourfriend says, we can't do much to mend the matter. We can only goabout our daily jobs, do them as well as we can, and await theevent in full confidence of help from above. If it's the Day ofJudgment to-morrow," he added, smiling, "I mean to look after myprovision store at Hammersmith to-day. We shall now continue withthe service."

There was a vigorous appeal for money and a great deal aboutthe building-fund from the young secretary. "It's a shame tothink that there are more left in the street than in the buildingon a Sunday night. We all give our services. No one takes apenny. Mrs. Debbs is here for her bare expenses. But we wantanother thousand pounds before we can start. There is one brotherhere who mortgaged his house to help us. That's the spirit thatwins. Now let us see what you can do for us to-night."

A dozen soup-plates circulated, and a hymn was sung to theaccompaniment of much chinking of coin. Enid and Malone conversedin undertones.

"Poor old Summerlee. He thought survival was an absurdity. Andhere he is—or here he seems to be."

The soup-plates returned—it was mostly brown soup,unhappily, and they were deposited on the table where the eagereye of the secretary appraised their value. Then the littleshaggy man from Australia gave a benediction in the same simplefashion as the opening prayer. It needed no Apostolic successionor laying-on of hands to make one feel that his words were from ahuman heart and might well go straight to a Divine one. Then theaudience rose and sang their final farewell hymn—a hymnwith a haunting tune and a sad, sweet refrain of "God keep yousafely till we meet once more." Enid was surprised to feel thetears running down her cheeks. These earnest, simple folks withtheir direct methods had wrought upon her more than all thegorgeous service and rolling music of the cathedral.

Mr. Bolsover, the stout president, was in the waiting-room andso was Mrs. Debbs.

"Well, I expect you are going to let us have it," he laughed."We are used to it Mr. Malone. We don't mind. But you will seethe turn some day. These articles may rise up in judgement."

"Well, we ask no more." The medium was leaning with her elbowon the mantel piece, austere and aloof.

"No, young lady, I am never tired in doing the work of thespirit people. They see to that."

The medium shook her head. "No, sir, no. They always think Iknow them. I know none of them. They come and I describethem."

"Clairaudient. I hear it. I hear them all the time. The poorthings all want to come through and they pluck at me and pull meand pester me on the platform. 'Me next—me—me'!That's what I hear. I do my best, but I can't handle themall."

"Can you tell me anything of that prophetic person?" askedMalone of the chairman. Mr. Bolsover shrugged his shoulders witha deprecating smile.

"He is an Independent. We see him now and again as a sort ofcomet passing across us. By the way, it comes back to me that heprophesied the war. I'm a practical man myself. Sufficient forthe day is the evil thereof. We get plenty in ready cash withoutany bills for the future. Well, good night! Treat us as well asyou can."

"Good night," said Mrs. Debbs. "By the way, young lady, youare a medium yourself. Good night!"

And so they found themselves in the street once more inhalinglong draughts of the night air. It was sweet after that crowdedhall. A minute later they were in the rush of the Edgware Roadand Malone had hailed a cab to carry them back to VictoriaGardens.

III. — IN WHICH PROFESSORCHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION

ENID had stepped into the cab and Malone wasfollowing when his name was called and a man came running downthe street. He was tall, middle-aged, handsome and well-dressed,with the clean-shaven, self-confident face of the successfulsurgeon.

"Why, it's Atkinson! Enid, let me introduce you. This is Mr.Atkinson of St. Mary's about whom I spoke to your father. Can wegive you a lift? We are going towards Victoria."

"Capital!" The surgeon followed them into the cab. "I wasamazed to see you at a Spiritualist meeting."

"We were only there professionally. Miss Challenger and I areboth on the Press."

"Oh, really! TheDaily Gazette, I suppose, as before.Well, you will have one more subscriber, for I shall want to seewhat you made of to-night's show."

"I really don't know. I shall have to read my notes carefullyto-morrow and think it over, and compare impressions with mycolleague here. She has the intuition, you see, which goes for somuch in religious matters."

"Yes, indeed. I have been several times and it always leavesthe same mixed impression upon my own mind. Some of it isludicrous, and some of it might be dishonest, and yet again someof it is clearly wonderful."

"Because I am deeply interested. You see, I am a student ofpsychic matters and have been for some years am not a convincedone but I am sympathetic, and I have sufficient sense ofproportion to realize that while I seem to be sitting in judgmentupon the subject it may in truth be the subject which is sittingin judgment upon me."

"It is enormous. You will realize that as you get to closegrips with it. It is half a dozen great subjects in one. And itis all in the hands of these good humble folk who, in the face ofevery discouragement and personal loss, have carried it on formore than seventy years. It is really very like the rise ofChristianity. It was run by slaves and underlings until itgradually extended upwards. There were three hundred yearsbetween Caesar's slave and Caesar getting the light."

"You mean our friend from Atlantis. What a terrible bore thefellow was! I confess I don't know what to make of performanceslike that. Self-deception, I think, and the temporary emergenceof some fresh strand of personality which dramatizes itself inthis way. The only thing I am quite sure of is that it is notreally an inhabitant of Atlantis who arrives from his long voyagewith this awful cargo of platitudes. Well, here we are!"

"I have to deliver this young lady safe and sound to herfather," said Malone. "Look here, Atkinson, don't leave us. TheProfessor would really like to see you."

"You've been hearing stories," said Enid. "Really it is not sobad as that. Some people annoy him, but I am sure you are not oneof them. Won't you chance it?"

"With that encouragement, certainly." And the three walkeddown the bright outer corridor to the lift. Challenger, clad nowin a brilliant blue dressing-gown, was eagerly awaiting them. Heeyed Atkinson as a fighting bulldog eyes some canine stranger.The inspection seemed to satisfy him, however, for he growledthat he was glad to meet him.

"I've heard of your name, sir, and of your rising reputation.Your resection of the cord last year made some stir, Iunderstand. But have you been down among the lunatics also?"

"Good Heavens, what else could I call them? I remember nowthat my young friend here" (Challenger had a way of alluding toMalone as if he were a promising boy of ten) "told me you werestudying the subject." He roared with offensive laughter. "'Theproper study of mankind is spooks', eh, Mr. Atkinson?"

"Dad really knows nothing about it, so don't be offended withhim," said Enid. "But I assure you, Dad, you would have beeninterested." She proceeded to give a sketch of their adventures,though interrupted by a running commentary of groans, grunts andderisive jeers. It was only when the Summerlee episode wasreached that Challenger's indignation and contempt could nolonger be restrained. The old volcano blew his head off and atorrent of red-hot invective descended upon his listeners.

"The blasphemous rascals!" he shouted. "To think that theycan't let poor old Summerlee rest in his grave. We had ourdifferences in his time and I will admit that I was compelled totake a moderate view of his intelligence" but if he came backfrom the grave he would certainly have something worth hearing tosay to us. It is an absurdity—a wicked, indecent absurdityupon the face of it. I object to any friend of mine being made apuppet for the laughter of an audience of fools. They didn'tlaugh! They must have laughed when they heard an educated man, aman whom I have met upon equal terms, talking such nonsense. Isay it was nonsense. Don't contradict me, Malone. I won't haveit! His message might have been the postscript of a schoolgirl'sletter. Isn't that nonsense, coming from such a source? Are younot in agreement, Mr. Atkinson? No! I had hoped better thingsfrom you."

"Good Heavens, where are your brains? Have not the names ofSummerlee and Malone been associated with my own in somepeculiarly feeble fiction which attained some notoriety? Is itnot also known that you two innocents were doing the Churchesweek by week? Was it not patent that sooner or later you wouldcome to a Spiritualist gathering? Here was a chance for aconvert! They set a bait and poor old gudgeon Malone came alongand swallowed it. Here he is with the hook still stuck in hissilly mouth. Oh, yes, Malone, plain speaking is needed and youshall have it." The Professor's black mane was bristling and hiseyes glaring from one member of the company to another.

"You seem very qualified, sir, to express the negative one. Atthe same time I would repeat in my own person the words ofThackeray. He said to some objector: 'What you say is natural,but if you had seen what I have seen you might alter youropinion'. Perhaps sometime you will be able to look into thematter, for your high position in the scientific world would giveyour opinion great weight."

"If I have a high place in the scientific world as you say, itis because I have concentrated upon what is useful and discardedwhat is nebulous or absurd. My brain, sir, does not pare theedges. It cuts right through. It has cut right through this andhas found fraud and folly."

"Both are there at times," said Atkinson, "and yet—andyet! Ah, well, Malone, I'm some way from home and it is late. Youwill excuse me, Professor. I am honoured to have met you."

Malone was leaving also and the two friends had a few minutes'chat before they went their separate ways, Atkinson to WimpoleStreet and Malone to South Norwood, where he was now living.

"Grand old fellow!" said Malone, chuckling. "You must neverget offended with him. He means no harm. He is splendid."

"Of course he is. But if anything could make me a real out-and-out Spiritualist it is that sort of intolerance. It is verycommon, though it is generally cast rather in the tone of thequiet sneer than of the noisy roar. I like the latter best. Bythe way, Malone, if you care to go deeper into this subject I maybe able to help you. You've heard of Linden?"

"Linden, the professional medium. Yes, I've been told he isthe greatest blackguard unhung."

"Ah, well, they usually talk of them like that. You must judgefor yourself. He put his knee-cap out last winter and I put it inagain, and that has made a friendly bond between us. It's notalways easy to get him, and of course a small fee, a guinea Ithink, is usual, but if you wanted a sitting I could workit."

"I daresay they all take the line of least resistance. I canonly say that I have never detected him in fraud. You must judgefor yourself."

"I will," said Malone. "I am getting hot on this trail. Andthere is copy in it, too. When things are more easy I'll write toyou, Atkinson, and we can go more deeply into the matter."

IV. — WHICH DESCRIBES SOMESTRANGE DOINGS IN HAMMERSMITH

THE article by the Joint Commissioners (such wastheir glorious title) aroused interest and contention. It hadbeen accompanied by a depreciating leaderette from the sub-editorwhich was meant to calm the susceptibilities of his orthodoxreaders, as who should say: "These things have to be noticed andseem to be true, but of course you and I recognize howpestilential it all is." Malone found himself at once plungedinto a huge correspondence, for and against, which in itself wasenough to show how vitally the question was in the minds of men.All the previous articles had only elicited a growl here or therefrom a hide-bound Catholic or from an iron-clad Evangelical, butnow his post-bag was full. Most of them were ridiculing the ideathat psychic forces existed and many were from writers who,whatever they might know of psychic forces, had obviously not yetlearned to spell. The Spiritualists were in many cases not morepleased than the others, for Malone had— even while hisaccount was true—exercised a journalist's privilege oflaying an accent on the more humorous sides of it.

One morning in the succeeding week Mr. Malone was aware of alarge presence in the small room wherein he did his work at theoffice. A page-boy, who preceded the stout visitor, had laid acard on the corner of the table which bore the legend 'JamesBolsover, Provision Merchant, High Street, Hammersmith.' It wasnone other than the genial president of last Sunday'scongregation. He wagged a paper accusingly at Malone, but hisgood-humoured face was wreathed in smiles.

"Well, yes, Mr. Malone, I think you and the young woman havedone your best for us. But, of course, you know nothing and itall seems queer to you. Come to think of it, it would be a dealqueerer if all the clever men who leave this earth could notamong them find some way of getting a word back to us."

"Well, there are a lot of stupid people leave the world. Theydon't change. And then, you know, one never knows what sort ofmessage is needed. We had a clergyman in to see Mrs. Debbsyesterday. He was broken-hearted because he had lost hisdaughter. Mrs. Debbs got several messages through that she washappy and that only his grief hurt her. 'That's no use', said he.'Anyone could say that. That's not my girl'. And then suddenlyshe said: 'But I wish to goodness you would not wear a Romancollar with a coloured shirt'. That sounded a trivial message,but the man began to cry. 'That's her', he sobbed. 'She wasalways chipping me about my collars'. It's the little things thatcount in this life—just the homely, intimate things, Mr.Malone."

Mr. Bolsover laughed. "You're a hard proposition. So was Ionce, so I can't blame you. But I called here with a purpose. Iexpect you are a busy man and I know that I am, so I'll get downto the brass tacks. First, I wanted to say that all our peoplethat have any sense are pleased with the article. Mr. AlgernonMailey wrote me that it would do good, and if he is pleased weare all pleased."

"Only that we would help you if you and the young lady wantedto go further in the matter. Not for publicity, mind you, butjust for your own good—though we don't shrink frompublicity, either. I have psychical phenomena seances at my ownhome without a professional medium, and if you would like..."

"Then you shall come—both of you. I don't have manyoutsiders. I wouldn't have one of those psychic research peopleinside my doors. Why should I go out of my way to be insulted byall their suspicions and their traps? They seem to think thatfolk have no feelings. But you have some ordinary common sense.That's all we ask."

"Not in the least. So long as you are fair-minded and don'tdisturb the conditions, all is well. Spirits out of the bodydon't like disagreeable people any more than spirits in the bodydo. Be gentle and civil, same as you would to any othercompany."

"They are funny sometimes," said Mr. Bolsover, in reminiscentvein. "It is as well to keep on the right side of them. They arenot allowed to hurt humans, but we all do things we're notallowed to do, and they are very human themselves. You rememberhow theTimes correspondent got his head cut open withthe tambourine in one of the Davenport Brothers' seances. Verywrong, of course, but it happened. No friend ever got his headcut open. There was another case down Stepney way. A money lenderwent to a seance. Some victim that he had driven to suicide gotinto the medium. He got the moneylender by the throat and it wasa close thing for his life. But I'm off, Mr. Malone. We sit oncea week and have done for four years without a break. Eighto'clock Thursdays. Give us a day's notice and I'll get Mr. Maileyto meet you. He can answer questions better than I. NextThursday! Very good." And Mr. Bolsover lurched out of theroom.

Both Malone and Enid Challenger had, perhaps, been more shakenby their short experience than they had admitted, but both weresensible people who agreed that every possible natural causeshould be exhausted—and very thoroughly exhausted—before the bounds of what is possible should be enlarged.Both of them had the utmost respect for the ponderous intellectof Challenger and were affected by his strong views, thoughMalone was compelled to admit in the frequent arguments in whichhe was plunged that the opinion of a clever man who has had noexperience is really of less value than that of the man in thestreet who has actually been there.

These arguments, as often as not, were with Mervin, editor ofthe psychic paper Dawn, which dealt with every phase of theoccult, from the lore of the Rosicrucians to the strange regionsof the students of the Great Pyramid, or of those who uphold theJewish origin of our blonde Anglo-Saxons. Mervin was a small,eager man with a brain of a high order, which might have carriedhim to the most lucrative heights of his profession had he notdetermined to sacrifice worldly prospects in order to help whatseemed to him to be a great truth. As Malone was eager forknowledge and Mervin was equally keen to impart it, the waitersat the Literary Club found it no easy matter to get them awayfrom the corner-table in the window at which they were wont tolunch. Looking down at the long, grey curve of the Embankment andthe noble river with its vista of bridges, the pair would lingerover their coffee, smoking cigarettes and discussing varioussides of this most gigantic and absorbing subject, which seemedalready to have disclosed new horizons to the mind of Malone.

There was one warning given by Mervin which aroused impatienceamounting almost to anger in Malone's mind. He had the hereditaryIrish objection to coercion and it seemed to him to be appearingonce more in an insidious and particularly objectionableform.

"You are going to one of Bolsover's family seances," saidMervin. "They are, of course, well known among our people, thoughfew have been actually admitted, so you may consider yourselfprivileged. He has clearly taken a fancy to you."

"Well, it wasn't much of an article, but still among thedreary, purblind nonsense that assails us it did show some tracesof dignity and balance and sense of proportion."

"Bolsover's seances and others like them are, or course,things of no moment to the real psychic. They are like the rudefoundations of a building which certainly help to sustain theedifice, but are forgotten when once you come to inhabit it. Itis the higher superstructure with which we have to do. You wouldthink that the physical phenomena were the whole subject—those and a fringe of ghosts and haunted houses—if you wereto believe the cheap papers who cater for the sensationalist. Ofcourse, these physical phenomena have a use of their own. Theyrivet the attention of the inquirer and encourage him to gofurther. Personally, having seen them all, I would not go acrossthe road to see them again. But I would go across many roads toget high messages from the beyond."

"Yes, I quite appreciate the distinction, looking at it fromyour point of view. Personally, of course, I am equally agnosticas to the messages and the phenomena."

"Quite so. St. Paul was a good psychic. He makes the point soneatly that even his ignorant translators were unable to disguisethe real occult meanings as they have succeeded in doing in somany cases."

"I know my New Testament pretty well, but I am not letter-perfect. It is the passage where he says that the gift oftongues, which was an obvious sensational thing, was for theuninstructed, but that prophecies, that is real spiritualmessages, were for the elect. In other words that an experiencedSpiritualist has no need of phenomena."

"You will find it in Corinthians, I think. By the way, theremust have been a pretty high average of intelligence among thoseold congregations if Paul's letters could have been read aloud tothem and thoroughly comprehended."

"Well, it is a concrete example of it. However, I am down aside-track. What I wanted to say to you is that you must not takeBolsover's little spirit circus too seriously. It is honest asfar as it goes, but it goes a mighty short way. It's a disease,this phenomena hunting. I know some of our people, women mostly,who buzz around seance rooms continually, seeing the same thingover and over, sometimes real, sometimes, I fear, imitation. Whatbetter are they for that as souls or as citizens or in any otherway? No, when your foot is firm on the bottom rung don't marktime on it, but step up to the next rung and get firm uponthat."

"Solid!" cried Mervin. "Good Lord! But the paper goes to pressto-day and I must get down to the printer. With a circulation often thousand or so we do things modestly, you know—not likeyou plutocrats of the daily press. I am practically thestaff."

"Yes, yes, I wanted to give you a warning." Mervin's thin,eager face became intensely serious. "If you have any ingrainedreligious or other prejudices which may cause you to turn downthis subject after you have investigated it, then don'tinvestigate at all—for it is dangerous."

"They don't mind honest doubt, or honest criticism, but ifthey are badly treated they are dangerous."

"Ah, who are they? I wonder. Guides, controls, psychicentities of some kind. Who the agents of vengeance—or Ishould say justice— are, is really not essential. The pointis that they exist."

"Pernicious rot! These are the old theological bogies of theMiddle Ages coming up again. I am surprised at a sensible manlike you!"

Mervin smiled—he had a whimsical smile—but hiseyes, looking out from under bushy yellow brows, were as seriousas ever.

"You may come to change your opinion. There are some queersides to this question. As a friend I put you wise to thisone."

Thus encouraged, Mervin went into the matter. He rapidlysketched the career and fate of a number of men who had, in hisopinion, played an unfair game with these forces, become anobstruction, and suffered for it. He spoke of judges who hadgiven prejudiced decisions against the cause, of journalists whohad worked up stunt cases for sensational purposes and to throwdiscredit on the movement; of others who had interviewed mediumsto make game of them, or who, having started to investigate, haddrawn back alarmed, and given a negative decision when theirinner soul knew that the facts were true. It was a formidablelist, for it was long and precise, but Malone was not to bedriven.

"If you pick your cases I have no doubt one could make such alist about any subject. Mr. Jones said that Raphael was abungler, and Mr. Jones died of angina pectoris. Therefore it isdangerous to criticize Raphael. That seems to be theargument."

"Take the other side. Look at Morgate. He has always been anenemy, for he is a convinced materialist. But he prospers—look at his professorship."

"Ah, Falconer! Do you know anything of Falconer's privatelife? No. Well, take it from me he has got his dues. He doesn'tknow why. Some day these gentlemen will begin to compare notesand then it may dawn on them. But they get it."

He went on to tell a horrible story of one who had devoted hisconsiderable talents to picking Spiritualism to pieces, thoughreally convinced of its truth, because his worldly ends wereserved thereby. The end was ghastly—too ghastly forMalone.

"Oh, cut it out, Mervin!" he cried impatiently. "I'll say whatI think, no more and no less, and I won't be cared by you or yourspooks into altering my opinions."

"You got a bit near it. What you have said strikes me as puresuperstition. If what you say is true you should have the policeafter you."

"Yes, if we did it. But it is out of our hands. However,Malone, for what it's worth I have given you the warning and youcan now go your way. Bye-bye! You can always ring me up at theoffice of Dawn."

If you want to know if a man is of the true Irish blood thereis one infallible test. Put him in front of a swing-door with"Push" or "Pull" printed upon it. The Englishman will obey like asensible man. The Irishman, with less sense but moreindividuality, will at once and with vehemence do the opposite.So it was with Malone. Mervin's well-meant warning simply raiseda rebellious spirit within him, and when he called for Enid totake her to the Bolsover seance he had gone back several degreesin his dawning sympathy for the subject. Challenger bade themfarewell with many gibes, his beard projecting forward and hiseyes closed with upraised eyebrows, as was his wont when inclinedto be facetious.

"You have your powder-bag, my dear Enid. If you see aparticularly good specimen of ectoplasm in the course of theevening don't forget your father. I have a microscope, chemicalreagents and everything ready. Perhaps even a small poltergeistmight come your way. Any trifle would be welcome."

The provision merchant's establishment of Mr. Bolsover provedto be a euphemism for an old-fashioned grocer's shop in the mostcrowded part of Hammersmith. The neighbouring church was chimingout the three-quarters as the taxi drove up, and the shop wasfull of people. So Enid and Malone walked up and down outside. Asthey were so engaged another taxi drove up and a large, untidy-looking, ungainly bearded man in a suit of Harris tweed steppedout of it. He glanced at his watch and then began to pace thepavement. Presently he noted the others and came up to them.

"May I ask if you are the journalists who are going to attendthe seance? I thought so. Old Bolsover is terribly busy so youwere wise to wait. Bless him, he is one of God's saints in hisway."

"Yes. I am the gentleman whose credulity is giving rise toconsiderable anxiety upon the part of my friends, as one of therags remarked the other day." His laugh was so infectious thatthe others were-bound to laugh also. Certainly, with his athleticproportions, which had run a little to seed but were stillnotable, and with his virile voice and strong if homely face, hegave no impression of instability.

"We are all labelled with some stigma by our opponents" saidhe. "I wonder what yours will be."

"We must not sail under false colours, Mr. Mailey," said Enid."We are not yet among the believers."

"Quite right. You should take your time over it. It isinfinitely the most important thing in the world, so it is worthtaking time over. I took many years myself. Folk can be blamedfor neglecting it, but no one can be blamed for being cautious inexamination. Now I am all out for it, as you are aware, because Iknow it is true. There is such a difference between believing andknowing. I lecture a good deal. But I never want to convert myaudience. I don't believe in sudden conversions. They areshallow, superficial things. All I want is to put the thingbefore the people as clearly as I can. I just tell them the truthand why we know it is the truth. Then my job is done. They cantake it or leave it. If they are wise they will explore along thepaths that I indicate. If they are unwise they miss their chance.I don't want to press them or to proselytize. It's their affair,not mine."

"Well, that seems a reasonable view," said Enid, who wasattracted by the frank manner of their new acquaintance. Theywere standing now in the full flood of light cast by Bolsover'sbig plate-glass window. She had a good look at him, his broadforehead, his curious grey eyes, thoughtful and yet eager, hisstraw-coloured beard which indicated the outline of an aggressivechin. He was solidity personified—the very opposite of thefanatic whom she had imagined. His name had been a good deal inthe papers lately as a protagonist in the long battle, and sheremembered that it had never been mentioned without an answeringsnort from her father.

"I wonder," she said to Malone, "what would happen if Mr.Mailey were locked up in a room with Dad!"

Malone laughed. "There used to be a schoolboy question as towhat would occur if an irresistible force were to strike aninvincible obstacle."

"Oh, you are the daughter of Professor Challenger," saidMailey with interest. "He is a big figure in the scientificworld. What a grand world it would be if it would only realizeits own limitations."

"It is this scientific world which is at the bottom of much ofour materialism. It has helped us in comfort—if comfort isany use to us. Otherwise it has usually been a curse to us, forit has called itself progress and given us a false impressionthat we are making progress, whereas we are really drifting verysteadily backwards."

"Really, I can't quite agree with you there, Mr. Mailey," saidMalone, who was getting restive under what seemed to him dogmaticassertion. "Look at wireless. Look at the S.O.S. call at sea. Isthat not a benefit to mankind?"

"Oh, it works out all right sometimes. I value my electricreading-lamp, and that is a product of science. It gives us, as Isaid before, comfort and occasionally safety."

"Because it obscures the vital thing—the object of life.We were not put into this planet in order that we should go fiftymiles an hour in a motor-car, or cross the Atlantic in anairship, or send messages either with or without wires. These arethe mere trimmings and fringes of life. But these men of sciencehave so riveted our attention on these fringes that we forget thecentral object."

"It is not how fast you go that matters, it is the object ofyour journey. It is not how you send a message, it is what thevalue of the message may be. At every stage this so-calledprogress may be a curse, and yet as long as we use the word weconfuse it with real progress and imagine that we are doing thatfor which God sent us into the world."

"To prepare ourselves for the next phase of life. There ismental preparation and spiritual preparation, and we areneglecting both. To be in an old age better men and women, moreunselfish, more broadminded, more genial and tolerant, that iswhat we are for. It is a soul factory, and it is turning out abad article. But Hullo!" he burst into his infectious laugh."Here I am delivering my lecture in the street. Force of habit,you see. My son says that if you press the third button of mywaistcoat I automatically deliver a lecture. But here is the goodBolsover to your rescue."

The worthy grocer had caught sight of them through the windowand came bustling out, untying his white apron.

"Good evening, all! I won't have you waiting in the cold.Besides, there's the clock, and time's up. It does not do to keepthem waiting. Punctuality for all that's my motto and theirs. Mylads will shut up the shop. This way, and mind the sugar-barrel."

They threaded their way amid boxes of dried fruits and pilesof cheese, finally passing between two great casks which hardlyleft room for the grocer's portly form. A narrow door beyondopened into the residential part of the establishment. Ascendingthe narrow stair, Bolsover threw open a door and the visitorsfound themselves in a considerable room in which a number ofpeople were seated round a large table. There was Mrs. Bolsoverherself, large, cheerful and buxom like her husband. Threedaughters were all of the same pleasing type. There was anelderly woman who seemed to be some relation, and two othercolourless females who were described as neighbours andSpiritualists. The only other man was a little grey-headed fellowwith a pleasant face and quick, twinkling eyes, who sat at aharmonium in the corner.

"Mr. Smiley, our musician," said Bolsover. "I don't know whatwe could do without Mr. Smiley. It's vibrations, you know. Mr.Mailey could tell you about that. Ladies, you know Mr. Mailey,our very good friend. And these are the two inquirers—MissChallenger and Mr. Malone." The Bolsover family all smiledgenially, but the nondescript elderly person rose to her feet andsurveyed them with an austere face.

"You're very welcome here, you two strangers," she said. "Butwe would say to you that we want outward reverence. We respectthe shining ones and we will not have them insulted."

"No, no, Mrs. Seldon. That won't happen again. We were ratherupset over that," Bolsover added, turning to the visitors. "Thatman came here as our guest, and when the lights were out he pokedthe other sitters with his finger so as to make them think it wasa spirit hand. Then he wrote the whole thing up as an exposure inthe public Press, when the only fraudulent thing present had beenhimself."

Malone was honestly shocked. "I can assure you we areincapable of such conduct."

The old lady sat down, but still regarded them with asuspicious eye. Bolsover bustled about and got things ready.

"You sit here Mr. Mailey. Mr. Malone, will you sit between mywife and my daughter? Where would the young lady like tosit?"

Enid was feeling rather nervous. "I think," said she, "that Iwould like to sit next to Mr. Malone."

"Quite so. Most natural, I am sure." They all settled intotheir places. Mr. Bolsover had switched off the electric light,but a candle burned in the middle of the table. Malone thoughtwhat a picture it would have made for a Rembrandt. Deep shadowsdraped it in, but the yellow light flickered upon the circle offaces—the strong, homely, heavy features of Bolsover, thesolid line of his family circle, the sharp, austere countenanceof Mrs. Seldon, the earnest eyes and yellow beard of Mailey, theworn, tired faces of the two Spiritualist women, and finally thefirm, noble profile of the girl who sat beside him. The wholeworld had suddenly narrowed down to that one little group, sointensely concentrated upon its own purpose.

On the table there was scattered a curious collection ofobjects, which had all the same appearance of tools which hadlong been used. There was a battered brass speaking-trumpet, verydiscoloured, a tambourine, a musical-box, and a number of smallerobjects. "We never know what they may want," said Bolsover,waving his hand over them. "If Wee One calls for a thing and itisn't there she lets us know all about it—oh, yes,something shocking!"

"Why not, the pretty dear?" said the austere lady. "I expectshe has enough to try it with researchers and what-not. I oftenwonder she troubles to come at all."

"Well, she never failed us yet, except when that man Meadowsclawed hold of the trumpet and put it outside the circle."

"Well, we don't know ourselves. We all help, I think. Maybe, Igive as much as anyone. And mother, she is a help."

"It is usual but not necessary," said Mailey in his deep,authoritative voice. "Crawford showed that pretty clearly in theGallagher seances when he proved, by weighing chairs, thateveryone in the circle lost from half to two pounds at a sitting,though the medium, Miss Kathleen, lost as many as ten or twelve.Here the long series of sittings—How long, Mr.Bolsover?"

"The long series has developed everyone to some extent, sothat there is a high average output from each, instead of anextraordinary amount from one."

"Animal magnetism, ectoplasm—in fact, power. That is themost comprehensive word. The Christ used that word. 'Much powerhas gone out of me'. It is'dunamis' in the Greek, butthe translators missed the point and translated it 'virtue'. If agood Greek scholar who was also a profound occult student was tore-translate the New Testament we should get some eye-openers.Dear old Ellis Powell did a little in that direction. His deathwas a loss to the world."

"Aye, indeed," said Bolsover in a reverent voice. "But now,before we get to work, Mr. Malone, I want you just to note one ortwo things. You see the white spots on the trumpet and thetambourine? Those are luminous points so that we can see wherethey are. The table is just our dining-table, good British oak.You can examine it if you like. But you'll see things that won'tdepend upon the table. Now, Mr. Smiley, out goes the light andwe'll ask you for 'The Rock of Ages'."

The harmonium droned in the darkness and the circle sang. Theysang very tunefully, too, for the girls had fresh voices and trueears. Low and vibrant, the solemn rhythm became most impressivewhen no sense but that of hearing was free to act. Their hands,according to instructions, were laid lightly upon the table, andthey were warned not to cross their legs. Malone, with his handtouching Enid's, could feel the little quiverings which showedthat her nerves were highly strung. The homely, jovial voice ofBolsover relieved the tension.

"That should do it," he said. "I feel as if the conditionswere good to-night. Just a touch of frost in the air, too. I'llask you now to join with me in prayer."

It was effective, that simple, earnest prayer in the darkness—an inky darkness which was only broken by the last redglow of a dying fire.

"Oh, great Father of us all," said the voice. "You who arebeyond our thoughts and who yet pervade our lives, grant that allevil may be kept from us this night and that we may be privilegedto get in touch, if only for an hour, with those who dwell upon ahigher plane than ours. You are our Father as well as theirs.Permit us, for a short space, to meet in brotherhood, that we mayhave an added knowledge of that eternal life which awaits us, andso be helped during our years of waiting in this lower world." Heended with the "Our Father", in which we all joined. Then theyall sat in expectant silence Outside was the dull roar of trafficand the occasional ill-tempered squawk of a passing car. Insidethere was absolute stillness. Enid and Malone felt every senseupon the alert and every nerve on edge as they gazed out into thegloom.

"Nothing doing, mother," said Bolsover at last. "It's thestrange company. New vibrations. They have to tune them in to getharmony. Give us another tune, Mr. Smiley." Again the harmoniumdroned. It was still playing when a woman's voice cried: "Stop!Stop! They are here!"

Silence again, and then it came—such a marvel to thevisitors, such a matter of course to the circle.

There was a burst of greeting and of welcoming laughter fromthe circle. They were all speaking at once. "Good evening, WeeOne!" "There you are, dear!" "I knew you would come!" "Well done,little girl guide!"

"Gooda evenin', all!" replied the voice. "Wee One so glad seeDaddy and Mummy and the rest. Oh, what big man with beard!Mailey, Mister Mailey, I meet him before. He big Mailey, I littlefemaley. Glad to see you, Mr. Big Man."

Enid and Malone listened with amazement, but it was impossibleto be nervous in face of the perfectly natural way in which thecompany accepted it. The voice was very thin and high—moreso than any artificial falsetto could produce. It was the voiceof a female child. That was certain. Also that there was nofemale child in the room unless one had been smuggled in afterthe light went out. That was possible. But the voice seemed to bein the middle of the table. How could a child get there?

"Easy get there, Mr. Gentleman," said the voice, answering hisunspoken thought. "Daddy strong man. Daddy lift Wee One on totable. Now I show what Daddy not able to do."

The little circle of luminous paint rose noiselessly into theair. Now it was swaying above their heads.

"Go up and hit the ceiling!" cried Bolsover. Up it went andthey heard the metallic tapping above them. Then the high voicecame from above:

"Clever Daddy! Daddy got fishing-rod and put trumpet up toceiling. But how Daddy make the voice, eh? What you say, prettyEnglish Missy? Here is a present from Wee One."

"No, no, Mr. Mailey," said Bolsover. "They were in the vase onthe harmonium. Speak to her, Miss Challenger. Keep the vibrationsgoing."

"Oh, come, dear," said mother in her rich, coaxing voice. "Youwere eight when you came to us first, and that was yearsago."

"Years ago to you. All one time to me. I to do my job aseight-year child. When job done then Wee One become Big One allin one day. No time here, same as you have. I always eight-year-old."

"In the ordinary way they grow up exactly as we do here," saidMailey. "But if they have a special bit of work for which a childis needed, then as a child they remain It's a sort of arresteddevelopment."

"That's me. 'Rested envelopment'," said the voice proudly. "Ilearn good England when big man here."

They all laughed. It was the most genial, free-and-easyassociation possible. Malone heard Enid's voice whispering in hisear.

"Pinch me from time to time, Edward—just to make me surethat I am not in a dream."

"Oh, yes, indeeda! Wee One sing to you." She began some simplesong, but faded away in a squeak, while the trumpet clattered onto the table.

"Ah, power run down!" said Mailey. "I think a little moremusic will set us right. 'Lead, Kindly Light'"

They sang the beautiful hymn together. As the verse closed anamazing thing happened—amazing, at least, to the novices,though it called for no remark from the circle. The trumpet stillshone upon the table, but two voices, those apparently of a manand a woman, broke out in the air above them and joined verytunefully in the singing. The hymn died away and all was silenceand tense expectancy once more.

It was broken by a deep male voice from the darkness. It wasan educated English voice, well modulated, a voice which spoke ina fashion to which the good Bolsover could never attain.

"It is our teaching guide," Bolsover explained. "He is a highspirit from the sixth sphere who gives us instruction."

"I may seem high to you," said the voice. "But what am I tothose in turn who instruct me! It is not my wisdom. Give me nocredit. I do but pass it on."

"I see you have two inquirers present. Good evening, younglady! You know nothing of your own powers or destiny. You willfind them out. Good evening, sir, you are on the threshold ofgreat knowledge. Is there any subject upon which you would wishme to say a few words? I see that you are making notes."

Malone had, as a fact, disengaged his hand in the darkness andwas jotting down in shorthand the sequence of events.

"Well, I will say a few words on that. I will not take long,for others are waiting. The room is crowded with spirit people. Iwish you to understand that there is one man, and only one, foreach woman, and one woman only for each man. When those two meetthey fly together and are one through all the endless chain ofexistence. Until they meet all unions are mere accidents whichhave no meaning. Sooner or later each couple becomes complete. Itmay not be here. It may be in the next sphere where the sexesmeet as they do on earth. Or it may be further delayed. But everyman and every woman has his or her affinity, and will find it. Ofearthly marriages perhaps one in five is permanent. The othersare accidental. Real marriage is of the soul and spirit. Sexactions are a mere external symbol which mean nothing and arefoolish, or even pernicious, when the thing which they shouldsymbolize is wanting. Am I clear?"

"Some have the wrong mate here. Some have no mate, which ismore fortunate. But all will sooner or later get the right mate.That is certain. Do not think that you will not necessarily haveyour present husband when you pass over."

"No. Mrs. Melder, it is love—real love—whichunites us here. He goes his way. You go yours. You are onseparate planes, perhaps. Some day you will each find your own,when your youth has come back as it will over here."

"Children are not born here. That is only on the earth plane.It was this aspect of marriage to which the great Teacherreferred when he said: 'There will be neither marriage nor givingin marriage'. No! It is purer, deeper, more wonderful, a unity ofsouls, a complete merging of interests and knowledge without aloss of individuality. The nearest you ever get to it is thefirst high passion, too beautiful for physical expression whentwo high-souled lovers meet upon your plane. They find lowerexpression afterwards, but they will always in their hearts knowthat the first delicate, exquisite soul-union was the morelovely. So it is with us. Any question?"

"It seldom happens. She nearly always knows which is reallynearest to her. If she really did so, then it would be a proofthat neither was the real affinity, for he is bound to stand highabove all. Of course, if she..."

"Sing 'Angels are hoverin' around'!" cried Bolsover. "Smiley,hit that old harmonium. The vibrations are at zero."

Another bout of music, another silence, and then a most dismalvoice. Never had Enid heard so sad a voice. It was like clods ona coffin. At first it was a deep mutter. Then it was a prayer—a Latin prayer apparently—for twice the wordDomine sounded and once the wordpeccavimus.There was an indescribable air of depression and desolation inthe room. "For God's sake what is it?" cried Malone.

"Some poor chap out of the lower spheres, I think," saidBolsover. "Orthodox folk say we should avoid them. I say weshould hurry up and help them."

"He doesn't know. He doesn't understand the conditions. Whereis Luke? He'll know what to do."

"Ah! yes, yes, he has come from the outer darkness," said Lukein a sympathetic voice. "He doesn't know. He doesn't understand.They come over here with a fixed idea, and when they find thereal thing is quite different from anything they have been taughtby the Churches, they are helpless. Some adapt themselves andthey go on. Others don't, and they just wander on unchanging,like this man. He was a cleric, and a very narrow, bigoted one.This is the growth of his own mental seed sown upon earth—sown in ignorance and reaped in misery."

"He does not know he is dead. He walks in the mist. It is allan evil dream to him. He has been years so. To him it seems aneternity."

"The higher spirits cannot reach earth-bound folk," saidMailey. "They are in very different zones of vibration. It is wewho are near them and can help them."

"Mr. Mailey, speak to him. You know him!" The low mutter hadbroken out again in the same weary monotone.

"Friend, I would have a word with you," said Mailey in a firm,loud voice. The mutter ceased and one felt that the invisiblepresence was straining its attention. "Friend, we are sorry atyour condition. You have passed on. You see us and you wonder whywe do not see you. You are in the other world. But you do notknow it, because it is not as you expected. You have not beenreceived as you imagined. It is because you imagined wrong.Understand that all is well, and that God is good, and that allhappiness is awaiting you if you will but raise your mind andpray for help, and above all think less of your own condition andmore of those other poor souls who are round you."

"He has heard you. He wants to thank you. He has some glimmernow of his condition. It will grow within him. He wants to knowif he may come again."

"Yes! yes!" cried Bolsover. "We have quite a number who reportprogress from time to time. God bless you, friend. Come as oftenas you can." The mutter had ceased and there seemed to be a newfeeling of peace in the air. The high voice of Wee One washeard.

"Red Cloud is our Indian control. He is usually busy when anypurely physical phenomena have to be done. You there, RedCloud?"

"Good day, Chief! How the squaw? How the papooses? Strangefaces in wigwam to-night."

Again there was a long hush of expectancy. Then the noviceswere faced once more with the miraculous.

There came a dull glow in the darkness. It was apparently awisp of luminous vapour. It whisked across from one side to theother and then circled in the air. By degrees it condensed into acircular disc of radiance about the size of a bull's-eye lantern.It cast no reflection round it and was simply a clean-cut circlein the gloom. Once it approached Enid's face and Malone saw itclearly from the side.

The light vanished and an instant afterwards Malone feltpressure upon his own hand. He turned it palm upwards and clearlyfelt three fingers laid across it, smooth, warm fingers of adultsize. He closed his own fingers and the hand seemed to melt awayin his grasp.

"Yes! Red Cloud is not very good at materializations. Perhapswe don't give him the proper sort of power. But his lights areexcellent."

Several more had broken out. They were of different types,slow-moving clouds and little dancing sparks like glow-worms. Atthe same time both visitors were conscious of a cold wind whichblew upon their faces. It was no delusion, for Enid felt her hairstream across her forehead.

"You fed the rushing wind," said Mailey. "Some of these lightswould pass for tongues of fire, would they not? Pentecost doesnot seem such a very remote or impossible thing, does it?"

The tambourine had risen in the air, and the dot of luminouspaint showed that it was circling round. Presently it descendedand touched their heads each in turn. Then with a jingle itquivered down upon the table.

"The only one which shows automatically by its noise where itis flying. I don't know what other I could suggest except amusical-box."

"Our box here flies round somethin' amazin'," said Mrs.Bolsover. "It thinks nothing of winding itself up in the air asit flies. It's a heavy box too."

"Nine pounds," said Bolsover. "Well, we seem to have got tothe end of things. I don't think we shall get much more to-night.It has not been a bad sitting—what I should call a fairaverage sitting. We must wait a little before we turn on thelight. Well, Mr. Malone, what do you think of it? Let's have anyobjections now before we part. That's the worst of you inquirers,you know. You often bottle things up in your own minds and letthem loose afterwards, when it would have been easy to settle itat the time. Very nice and polite to our faces, and then we are agang of swindlers in the report."

"I am confused," he said, "but impressed. Oh, yes, certainlyimpressed. I've read of these things, but it is very differentwhen you see them. What weighs most with me is the obvioussincerity and sanity of all you people. No one could doubtthat."

"I try to think the objections which would be raised by otherswho were not present. I'll have to answer them. First, there isthe oddity of it all. It is so different to our preconceptions ofspirit people."

"We must fit our theories to the facts," said Mailey. "Up tonow we have fitted the facts to our theories. You must rememberthat we have been dealing to-night—with all respect to ourdear good hosts—with a simple, primitive, earthly type ofspirit, who has his very definite uses, but is not to be taken asan average type. You might as well take the stevedore whom yousee on the quay as being a representative Englishman."

"Ah, yes, he is, of course, very much higher. You heard himand could judge. What else, Mr. Malone?"

"Well, the darkness! Everything done in darkness. Why shouldall mediumship be associated with gloom?"

"You mean all physical mediumship. That is the only branch ofthe subject which needs darkness. It is purely chemical, like thedarkness of the photographic room. It preserves the delicatephysical substance which, drawn from the human body, is the basisof these phenomena. A cabinet is used for the purpose ofcondensing this same vaporous substance and helping it tosolidify. Am I clear?"

"Yes, but it is a pity all the same. It gives a horrible airof deceit to the whole business."

"We get it now and again in the light, Mr. Malone," saidBolsover. "I don't know if Wee One is gone yet. Wait a bit! Whereare the matches?" He lit the candle, which set them all blinkingafter their long darkness, "Now let us see what we can do."

There was a round wood platter or circle of wood lying amongthe miscellaneous objects littered over the table to serve asplaythings for the strange forces. Bolsover stared at it. Theyall stared at it. They had risen but no one was within three feetof it.

"Please, Wee One, please!" cried Mrs. Bolsover. Malone couldhardly believe his eyes. The disc began to move. It quivered andthen rattled upon the table, exactly as the lid of a boiling potmight do.

The circle of wood, in the full light of the candle, rose uponedge and stood there shaking, as if trying to keep itsbalance.

"I am so glad you have seen that," said Mailey. "There isTelekenesis in its simplest and most decisive form."

"Nor I," said Malone. "I have extended my knowledge of what ispossible. Mr. Bolsover, you have enlarged my views."

"As to the power at the back of these things I am stillignorant. As to the thing themselves I have now and henceforwardnot the slightest doubt in the world. I know that they are true.I wish you all good night. It is not likely that Miss Challengeror I will ever forget the evening that we have spent under yourroof"

It was like another world when they came out into the frostyair, and saw the taxis bearing back the pleasure-seekers from thetheatre or cinema palace. Mailey stood beside them while theywaited for a cab.

"I know exactly how you feel," he said, smiling. "You look atall these bustling, complacent people, and you marvel to thinkhow little they know of the possibilities of life. Don't you wantto stop them? Don't you want to tell them? And yet they wouldonly think you a liar or a lunatic. Funny situation, is itnot?"

"They will come back to-morrow morning. It is curious howfleeting these impressions are. You will persuade yourselves thatyou have been dreaming. Well, good-bye—and let me know if Ican help your studies in the future." The friends—one couldhardly yet call them lovers— were absorbed in thoughtduring their drive home. When he reached Victoria Gardens Maloneescorted Enid to the door of the flat, but he did not go in withher. Somehow the jeers of Challenger which usually rather wokesympathy within him would now get upon his nerves. As it was heheard his greeting in the hall.

"Well, Enid. Where's your spook? Spill him out of the bag onthe floor and let us have a look at him." His evening's adventureended as it had begun, with a bellow of laughter which pursuedhim down the lift.

V. — WHERE OURCOMMISSIONERS HAVE A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE

MALONE sat at the side table of the smoking-roomof the Literary Club. He had Enid's impressions of the seancebefore him—very subtle and observant they were—and hewas endeavouring to merge them in his own experience. A group ofmen were smoking and chatting round the fire. This did notdisturb the journalist, who found, as many do, that his brain andhis pen worked best sometimes when they were stimulated by theknowledge that he was part of a busy world. Presently, however,somebody who observed his presence brought the talk round topsychic subjects, and then it was more difficult for him toremain aloof. He leaned back in his chair and listened.

Polter, the famous novelist, was there, a brilliant man with asubtle mind, which he used too often to avoid obvious truth andto defend some impossible position for the sake of the emptydialectic exercise. He was holding forth now to an admiring, butnot entirely a subservient audience.

"Science," said he, "is gradually sweeping the world clear ofall these old cobwebs of superstition. The world was like someold, dusty attic, and the sun of science is bursting in, floodingit with light, while the dust settles gradually to thefloor."

"By science," said someone maliciously, "you mean, of course,men like Sir William Crookes, Sir Oliver Lodge, Sir WilliamBarrett, Lombroso, Richet, and so forth."

"No, sir, I mean nothing so preposterous," he answered, with aglare. "No name, however eminent, can claim to stand for scienceso long as he is a member of an insignificant minority ofscientific men."

"He is, then, a crank," said Pollifex, the artist, who usuallyplayed jackal to Polter.

The objector, one Millworthy, a free-lance of journalism, wasnot to be so easily silenced.

"Then Galileo was a crank in his day," said he. "And Harveywas a crank when he was laughed at over the circulation of theblood."

"It's the circulation of theDaily Gazette which isat stake," said Marrible, the humorist of the club. "If they getoff their stunt I don't suppose they care a tinker's curse whatis truth or what is not."

"Why such things should be examined at all, except in a policecourt, I can't imagine," said Polter. "It is a dispersal ofenergy, a misdirection of human thought into channels which leadnowhere. We have plenty of obvious, material things to examine.Let us get on with our job."

Atkinson, the surgeon, was one of the circle, and had satsilently listening. Now he spoke.

"I think the learned bodies should find more time for theconsideration of psychic matters."

"You can't have less than nothing. They ignore themaltogether. Some time ago I had a series of cases of telepathicrapport which I wished to lay before the Royal Society. Mycolleague Wilson, the zoologist, also had a paper which heproposed to read. They went in together. His was accepted andmine rejected. The title of his paper was 'The ReproductiveSystem of the Dung-Beetle'."

"Quite right, too," said Polter. "The humble dung-beetle wasat least a fact. All this psychic stuff is not."

"No doubt you have good grounds for your views," chirped themischievous Millworthy, a mild youth with a velvety manner. "Ihave little time for solid reading, so I should like to ask youwhich of Dr. Crawford's three books you consider the best?"

"Good Heavens, man! Why, he is the authority. If you want purelaboratory experiments those are the books. You might as well laydown the law about zoology and confess that you had never heardof Darwin."

"What is really not science," said Atkinson, with some heat,"is the laying down of the law on matters which you have notstudied. It is talk of that sort which has brought me to the edgeof Spiritualism, when I compare this dogmatic ignorance with theearnest search for truth conducted by the great Spiritualists.Many of them took twenty years of work before they formed theirconclusions."

"But their conclusions are worthless because they areupholding a formed opinion."

"But each of them fought a long fight before he formed thatopinion. I know a few of them, and there is not one who did nottake a lot of convincing." Polter shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, they can have their spooks if it makes them happier solong as they let me keep my feet firm on the ground."

"I would rather be in the mud with sane people thin in the airwith lunatics," said Polter. "I know some of these Spiritualistspeople and I believe that you can divide them equally into foolsand rogues."

Malone had listened with interest and then with a growingindignation. Now he suddenly took fire.

"Look here, Polter," he said, turning his chair towards thecompany, "it is fools and dolts like you which are holding backthe world's progress. You admit that you have read nothing ofthis, and I'll swear you have seen nothing. Yet you use theposition and the name which you have won in other matters inorder to discredit a number of people who, whatever they may be,are certainly very earnest and very thoughtful."

"Oh," said Polter, "I had no idea you had got so far. Youdon't dare to say so in your articles. You are a Spiritualistthen. That rather discounts your views, does it not?"

"I am not a Spiritualist, but I am an honest inquirer, andthat is more than you have ever been. You call them rogues andfools, but, little as I know, I am sure that some of them are menand women whose boots you are not worthy to clean."

"Oh, come, Malone!" cried one or two voices, but the insultedPolter was on his feet. "It's men like you who empty this club,"he cried, as he swept out. "I shall certainly never come hereagain to be insulted."

"I felt inclined to help him out with a kick. Why should heride roughshod over other people's feelings and beliefs? He hasgot on and most of us haven't, so he thinks it's a condescensionto come among us."

"Dear old Irishman!" said Atkinson, patting his shoulder."Rest, perturbed spirit, rest! But I wanted to have a word withyou. Indeed, I was waiting here because I did not want tointerrupt you."

"I've had interruptions enough!" cried Malone. "How could Iwork with that damned donkey braying in my ear?"

"Well, I've only a word to say. I've got a sitting withLinden, the famous medium of whom I spoke to you, at the PsychicCollege to-night. I have an extra ticket. Would you care tocome?"

"I have another ticket. I should have asked Polter if he hadnot been so offensive. Linden does not mind sceptics, but objectsto scoffers. Who should I ask?"

"It's at seven o'clock to-night. The Psychic College. You knowthe place down at Holland Park."

"Yes, I have the address. Very well, Miss Challenger and Iwill certainly be there."

Behold the pair, then, upon a fresh psychic adventure. Theypicked Atkinson up at Wimpole Street, and then traversed thatlong, roaring rushing, driving belt of the great city whichextends through Oxford Street and Bayswater to Notting Hill andthe stately Victorian houses of Holland Park. It was at one ofthese that the taxi drew up, a large, imposing building, standingback a little from the road. A smart maid admitted them, and thesubdued light of the tinted hall-lamp fell upon shining linoleumand polished woodwork with the gleam of white marble statuary inthe corner. Enid's female perceptions told her of a well-run,well-appointed establishment, with a capable direction at thehead. This direction took the shape of a kindly Scottish lady whomet them in the hall and greeted Mr. Atkinson as an old friend.She was, in turn, introduced to the journalists as Mrs. Ogilvy.Malone had already heard how her husband and she had founded andrun this remarkable institute, which is the centre of psychicexperiment in London, at a very great cost, both in labour and inmoney, to themselves.

"Linden and his wife have gone up," said Mrs. Ogilvy. "Heseems to think that the conditions are favourable. The rest arein the drawing-room. Won't you join them for a few minutes?"

Quite a number of people had gathered for the seance, some ofthem old psychic students who were mildly interested, others,beginners who looked about them with rather startled eyes,wondering what was going to happen next. A tall man was standingnear the door who turned and disclosed the tawny beard and openface of Algernon Mailey. He shook hands with the newcomers.

"Another experience, Mr. Malone? Well, I thought you gave avery fair account of the last. You are still a neophyte, but youare well within the gates of the temple. Are you alarmed, MissChallenger?"

"Of course, a materialization seance is a little different toany other—more impressive, in a way. You'll find it veryinstructive, Malone, as bearing upon psychic photography andother matters. By the way, you should try for a psychic picture.The famous Hope works upstairs."

"On the contrary, I should say it was the best established ofall phenomena, the one which leaves the most permanent proof.I've been a dozen times under every possible test conditions. Thereal trouble is, not that it lends itself to fraud, but that itlends itself to exploitation by that villainous journalism whichcares only for a sensation. Do you know anyone here?"

"The tall, handsome lady is the Duchess of Rossland. Then,there are Lord and Lady Montnoir, the middle-aged couple near thefire. Real, good folk and among the very few of the aristocracywho have shown earnestness and moral courage in this matter. Thetalkative lady is Miss Badley, who lives for seances, a jadedSociety woman in search of new sensations—always visible,always audible, and always empty. I don't know the two men. Iheard someone say they were researchers from the university. Thestout man with the lady in black is Sir James Smith—theylost two boys in the war. The tall, dark person, is a weird mannamed Barclay, who lives, I understand, in one room and seldomcomes out save for a seance."

"That is a pompous ass named Weatherby. He is one of those whowander about on the obscure edges of Masonry, talking withwhispers and reverence of mysteries where no mystery is.Spiritualism, with its very real and awful mysteries, is, to him,a vulgar thing because it brought consolation to common folk, buthe loves to read papers on the Palladian Cultus, ancient andaccepted Scottish rites, and Baphometic figures. Eliphas Levi ishis prophet."

"Or very absurd. But, hullo! Here are mutual friends." The twoBolsovers had arrived, very hot and frowsy and genial. There isno such leveller of classes as Spiritualism, and the charwomanwith psychic force is the superior of the millionaire who lacksit. The Bolsovers and the aristocrats fraternized instantly. TheDuchess was just asking for admission to the grocer's circle,when Mrs. Ogilvy bustled in.

The seance room was a large, comfortable chamber on the firstfloor, with a circle of easy chairs, and a curtain-hung divanwhich served as a cabinet. The medium and his wife were waitingthere. Mr. Linden was a gentle, large-featured man, stoutish inbuild, deep-chested, clean-shaven, with dreamy, blue eyes andflaxen, curly hair which rose in a pyramid at the apex of hishead. He was of middle age. His wife was rather younger, with thesharp, querulous expression of the tired housekeeper, and quick,critical eyes, which softened into something like adoration whenshe looked at her husband. Her role was to explain matters, andto guard his interests while he was unconscious.

"The sitters had better just take their own places," said themedium. "If you can alternate the sexes it is as well. Don'tcross your knees, it breaks the current. If we have amaterialization, don't grab at it. If you do, you are liable toinjure me."

The two sleuths of the Research Society looked at each otherknowingly. Mailey observed it.

"Quite right," he said. "I have seen two cases of dangeroushaemorrhage in the medium brought on by that very cause."

"Because the ectoplasm used is drawn from the medium. Itrecoils upon him like a snapped elastic band. Where it comesthrough the skin you get a bruise. Where it comes from mucousmembrane you get bleeding."

"And when it comes from nothing, you get nothing," said theresearcher with a grin.

"I will explain the procedure in a few words," said Mrs.Ogilvy, when everyone was seated. "Mr. Linden does not enter thecabinet at all. He sits outside it, and as he tolerates red lightyou will be able to satisfy yourselves that he does not leave hisseat. Mrs. Linden sits on the other side. She is there toregulate and explain. In the first place we would wish you toexamine the cabinet. One of you will also please lock the door onthe inside and be responsible for the key."

The cabinet proved to be a mere tent of hangings, detachedfrom the wall and standing on a solid platform. The researchersferreted about inside it and stamped on the boards. All seemedsolid.

"It serves as a reservoir and condensing place for theectoplasmic vapour from the medium, which would otherwise diffuseover the room."

"It has been known to serve other purposes also," remarked oneof the researchers, who overheard the conversation.

"That's true enough," said Mailey philosophically. "I am allin favour of caution and supervision."

"Well, it seems fraud-proof on this occasion, if the mediumsits outside." The two researchers were agreed on this.

The medium was seated on one side of the little tent, his wifeon the other. The light was out, and a small red lamp near theceiling was just sufficient to enable outlines to be clearlyseen. As the eyes became accustomed to it some detail could alsobe observed.

"Mr. Linden will begin by some clairvoyant readings" said Mrs.Linden. Her whole attitude, seated beside the cabinet with herhands on her lap and the air of a proprietor, made Enid smile,for she thought of Mrs. Jarley and her waxworks.

Linden, who was not in a trance, began to give clairvoyance.It was not very good. Possibly the mixed influence of so manysitters of various types at close quarters was too disturbing.That was the excuse which he gave himself when several of hisdescriptions were unrecognized. But Malone was more shocked bythose which were recognized, since it was so clear that the wordwas put into the medium's mouth. It was the folly of the sitterrather than the fault of the medium, but it was disconcerting allthe same.

"Oh, darling, darling, have you then come back!" cried MissBadley. "Oh, has he a message?"

"Oh, how evidential! It is so exactly what the dear boy wouldhave said! My first lover, you know," she added, in a simperingvoice to the company. "He never fails to come. Mr. Linden hasbrought him again and again."

"There is a young fellow in khaki building up on the left. Isee a symbol over his head. It might be a Greek cross."

"And the Greek cross is probably a propeller," said Sir James."He was in the Air Service, you know." Malone and Enid were bothrather shocked. Mailey was also uneasy.

"This is not good," he whispered to Enid. "Wait a bit! Youwill get something better."

There were several good recognitions, and then someoneresembling Summerlee was described for Malone. This was wiselydiscounted by him, since Linden might have been in the audienceon the former occasion. Mrs. Debbs' exhibition seemed to him farmore convincing than that of Linden.

"The medium will now try for materializations," said Mrs.Linden. "If the figures appear I would ask you not to touch them,save by request. Victor will tell you if you may do so. Victor isthe medium's control."

The medium had settled down in his chair and he now began todraw long, whistling breaths with deep intakes, puffing the airout between his lips. Finally he steadied down and seemed to sinkinto a deep coma, his chin upon his breast. Suddenly he spoke,but it seemed that his voice was better modulated and morecultivated than before.

"I am afraid that the vibrations are not very harmonious. Thesceptical element is present, but not, I think, predominant, sothat we may hope for results. Martin Lightfoot is doing what hecan."

"I think that if you would start the gramophone it would behelpful. A hymn is always best, though there is no real objectionto secular music. Give us what you think best, Mrs. Ogilvy."

There was the rasping of a needle which had not yet found itsgrooves. Then "Lead, Kindly Light" was churned out. The audiencejoined in in a subdued fashion. Mrs. Ogilvy then changed it to"O, God, our help in ages past".

"They often change the records themselves," said Mrs. Ogilvy,"but to-night there is not enough power."

"Oh, yes," said the voice. "There is enough power, Mrs.Ogilvy, but we are anxious to conserve it all for thematerializations. Martin says they are building up verywell."

At this moment the curtain in front of the cabinet began tosway. It bellied out as if a strong wind were behind it. At thesame time a breeze was felt by all who were in the circle,together with a sensation of cold.

"It is not a subjective feeling," Mailey answered. "Mr. HarryPrice has tested it with thermometric readings. So did ProfessorCrawford."

"My God!" cried a startled voice. It belonged to the pompousdabbler in mysteries, who was suddenly faced with a real mystery.The curtains of the cabinet had parted and a human figure hadstolen noiselessly out. There was the medium clearly outlined onone side. There was Mrs. Linden, who had sprung to her feet, onthe other. And, between them, the little black, hesitatingfigure, which seemed to be terrified at its own position. Mrs.Linden soothed and encouraged it.

"It is someone who has never been through before," sheexplained to the company. "Naturally it seems very strange toher. Just as strange as if we broke into their world. That'sright, dear. You are gaining strength, I can see. Well done!"

The figure was moving forward. Everyone sat spellbound, withstaring eyes. Miss Badley began to giggle hysterically. Weatherbylay back in his chair, gasping with horror. Neither Malone norEnid felt any fear, but were consumed with curiosity. Howmarvellous to hear the humdrum flow of life in the street outsideand to be face to face with such a sight as that.

Slowly the figure moved round. Now it was close to Enid andbetween her and the red light. Stooping, she could get thesilhouette sharply outlined. It was that of a little, elderlywoman, with sharp, clear-cut features.

"Yes, yes, dear, it is your sister Susie," cried her husband."I never saw her in anything but black. Susan, speak to us!"

"They seldom speak the first time they come," said Mrs.Linden, whose rather blase, business-like air was in contrast tothe intense emotion of the company. "I'm afraid she can't holdtogether long. Ah, there! She has gone!"

The figure had disappeared. There had been some backwardmovement towards the cabinet, but it seemed to the observers thatshe sank into the ground before she reached it. At any rate, shewas gone.

"Gramophone, please!" said Mrs. Linden. Everyone relaxed andsat back with a sigh. The gramophone struck up a lively air.Suddenly the curtains parted, and a second figure appeared.

It was a young girl, with flowing hair down her back. She cameforward swiftly and with perfect assurance to the centre of thecircle.

"Good evening, Lucille!" cried the Duchess. "I met you lastmonth, you will remember, when your medium came to MaltraverTowers."

"Yes, yes, lady, I remember you. You have a little boy, Tommy,on our side of life. No, no, not dead, lady! We are far morealive than you are. All the fun and frolic are with us!" Shespoke in a high clear voice and perfect English.

"Shall I show you what we do over here?" She began a graceful,gliding dance, while she whistled as melodiously as a bird. "PoorSusan could not do that. Susan has had no practice. Lucille knowshow to use a built-up body."

For the second time in her life Enid had to pinch herself hardto satisfy herself that she was not dreaming. Was this gracefulcreature, who had now sat down in the centre of the circle, areal materialization of ectoplasm, used for the moment as amachine for expression by a soul that had passed, or was it anillusion of the senses, or was it a fraud? There were the threepossibilities. An illusion was absurd when all had the sameimpression. Was it a fraud? But this was certainly not the littleold woman. She was inches taller and fair, not dark. And thecabinet was fraud-proof. It had been meticulously examined. Thenit was true. But if it were true, what a vista of possibilitiesopened out. Was it not far the greatest matter which could claimthe attention of the world!

Meanwhile, Lucille had been so natural and the situation wasso normal that even the most nervous had relaxed. The girlanswered most cheerfully to every question, and they rained uponher from every side.

"Perhaps I had better answer that," interposed Mrs. Linden."It will save the power. Lucille was bred in South Dakota in theUnited States, and passed over at the age of fourteen. We haveverified some of her statements."

"Lucille has little time. There are others who wish to come.If Lucille uses too much power, the others have less. Oh, God isvery good and kind! You poor people on earth do not know how goodand kind He is because it is grey down there. But it is grey foryour own good. It is to give you your chance to earn all thelovely things which wait for you. But you can only tell howwonderful He is when you get over here."

"Seen Him! How could you see God? No, no, He is all round usand in us and in everything, but we do not see Him. But I haveseen the Christ. Oh, He was glorious, glorious! Now, good-bye—good-bye!" She backed towards the cabinet and sank intothe shadows.

Now came a tremendous experience for Malone. A small, dark,rather broad figure of a woman appeared slowly from the cabinet.Mrs. Linden encouraged her, and then came across to thejournalist.

Malone advanced and peered, awestruck, into the face of theapparition. There was not a foot between them. Surely that largehead, that solid, square outline was familiar! He put his facestill nearer—it was almost touching. He strained his eyes.It seemed to him that the features were semi-fluid, mouldingthemselves into a shape, as if some unseen hand was modellingthem in putty. "Mother!" he cried. "Mother!"

Instantly the figure threw up both her hands in a wild gestureof joy. The motion seemed to destroy her equilibrium and shevanished.

"She had not been through before. She could not speak," saidMrs. Linden, in her business-like way. "It was your mother."

Malone went back half-stunned to his seat. It is only whenthese things come to one's own address that one understands theirfull force. His mother! Ten years in her grave and yet standingbefore him. Could he swear it was his mother? No, he could not.Was he morally certain that it was his mother? Yes, he wasmorally certain. He was shaken to the core.

But other wonders diverted his thoughts. A young man hademerged briskly from the cabinet and had advanced to the front ofMailey, where he had halted.

"Hullo, Jock! Dear old Jock!" said Mailey. "My nephew," heexplained to the company. "He always comes when I am withLinden."

"The power is sinking," said the lad, in a clear voice. "Ican't stay very long. I am so glad to see you, Uncle. You know,we can see quite clearly in this light, even if you can't."

"Yes, I know you can. I say, Jock. I wanted to tell you that Itold your mother I had seen you. She said her Church taught herit was wrong."

"I know. And that I was a demon. Oh, it is rotten, rotten,rotten, and rotten things will fall!" His voice broke in asob.

"No, no, I don't blame her! She will know better some day. Theday is coming soon when all truth will be manifest and all thesecorrupt Churches will be swept off the earth with their crueldoctrines and their caricatures of God."

"Love, Uncle! Love! That is all that counts. What matter whatyou believe if you are sweet and kind and unselfish as the Christwas of old?"

"There are many heavens. I am in a very humble one. But it isglorious all the same."

Enid had thrust her head forward during this dialogue. Hereyes had got used to the light and she could see more clearlythan before. The man who stood within a few feet of her was nothuman. Of that she had no doubt whatever, and yet the points werevery subtle. Something in his strange, yellow-white colouring ascontrasted with the faces of her neighbours. Something, also, inthe curious stiffness of his carriage, as of a man in very rigidstays.

"Now, Jock," said Mailey, "give an address to the company.Tell them a few words about your life."

"Teach the folk what death is," the figure began. "God wantsthem to know. That is why He lets us come back. It is nothing.You are no more changed than if you went into the next room. Youcan't believe you are dead. I didn't. It was only when I saw oldSam that I knew, for I was certain that he was dead, anyhow. ThenI came back to mother. And"—his voice broke—"shewould not receive me."

"Teach them the truth! Teach it to them! Oh, it u so much moreimportant than all the things men talk about. If papers for oneweek gave as much attention to psychic things as they do tofootball, it would be known to all. It is ignorance whichstands—"

The observers were conscious of a sort of flash towards thecabinet, but the youth had disappeared.

"Power run down," said Mailey. "Poor lad, he held on to thelast. He always did. That was how he died."

There was a long pause. The gramophone started again. Thenthere was a movement of the curtains. Something was emerging.Mrs. Linden sprang up and waved the figure back. The medium forthe first time stirred in his chair and groaned.

"Only half-formed," she answered. "The lower face had notmaterialized. Some of you would have been alarmed. I think thatwe shall have no more to-night The power has sunk very low."

So it proved. The lights were gradually turned on. The mediumlay with a white face and a clammy brow in his chair, while hiswife sedulously watched over him, unbuttoning his collar andbathing his face from a water-glass. The company broke intolittle groups, discussing what they had seen.

"Oh, wasn't it thrilling?" cried Miss Badley. "It really wasmost exciting. But what a pity we could not see the one with thesemi-materialized face."

"Thanks, I have seen quite enough," said the pompous mystic,all the pomposity shaken out of him. "I confess that it has beenrather too much for my nerves."

"Oh, come, Scott!" said the other. "You've no right to saythat. You admitted that the cabinet was fraud-proof."

"Yes, but it is Maskelyne's own stage. This is not Linden'sown stage. He has no machinery."

"Populus vult decepi," the other answered, shrugginghis shoulders. "I should certainly reserve judgment." He movedaway with the dignity of one who cannot be deceived, while hismore rational companion still argued with him as they went.

"Did you hear that?" said Atkinson. "There is a certain classof psychic researcher who is absolutely incapable of receivingevidence. They misuse their brains by straining them to find away round when the road is quite clear before them. When thehuman race advances into its new kingdom, these intellectual menwill form the absolute rear."

"No, no," said Mailey, laughing. "The bishops are predestinedto be the rearguard. I see them all marching in step, a solidbody, with their gaiters and cassocks—the last in the wholeworld to reach spiritual truth."

"Of course they are. It's quite physiological. They are a bodyof elderly men, and the elderly brain is sclerosed and cannotrecord new impressions. It's not their fault, but the factremains. You are very silent, Malone." But Malone was thinking ofa little, squat, dark figure which waved its hands in joy when hespoke to it. It was with that image in his mind that he turnedfrom this room of wonders and passed down into the street.

VI. — IN WHICH THE READERIS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL

WE will now leave that little group with whom wehave made our first exploration of these grey and ill-defined,but immensely important, regions of human thought andexperiences. From the researchers we will turn to the researched.Come with me and we will visit Mr. Linden at home, and willexamine the lights and shades which make up the life of aprofessional medium.

To reach him we will pass down the crowded thoroughfare ofTottenham Court Road, where the huge furniture emporia flank theway, and we will turn into a small street of drab houses whichleads eastwards towards the British Museum. Tullis Street is thename and 40 the number. Here it is, one of a row, flat-faced,dull-coloured and commonplace, with railed steps leading up to adiscoloured door, and one front-room window, in which a hugegilt-edged Bible upon a small round table reassures the timidvisitor. With the universal pass-key of imagination we open thedingy door, pass down a dark passage and up a narrow stair. It isnearly ten o'clock in the morning and yet it is in his bedroomthat we must seek the famous worker of miracles. The fact us thathe has had, as we have seen, an exhausting sitting the nightbefore, and that he has to conserve his strength in themornings.

At the moment of our inopportune, but invisible, visit he wassitting up, propped by the pillows, with a breakfast-tray uponhis knees. The vision he presented would have amused those whohave prayed with him in the bumble Spiritualist temples, or hadsat with awe at the seances where he had exhibited the modernequivalents of the gifts of the Spirit. He looked unhealthilypallid in the dim morning light, and his curly hair rose up in atangled pyramid above his broad, intellectual brow. The opencollar of his nightshirt displayed a broad, bull's neck, and thedepth of his chest and spread of his shoulders showed that he wasa man of considerable personal strength. He was eating hisbreakfast with avidity while he conversed with the little, eager,dark-eyed wife who was seated on the side of the bed.

"Fair to middling, Tom. There was two of them researchersraking round with their feet and upsetting everybody. D'ye thinkthose folk in the Bible would have got their phenomena if theyhad chaps of that sort on the premises? 'Of one accord', that'swhat they say in the book."

"Yes, I think she was very pleased. So was Mr. Atkinson, thesurgeon. There was a new man there called Malone of the Press.Then Lord and Lady Montnoir got evidence, and so did Sir JamesSmith and Mr. Mailey."

"I wasn't satisfied with the clairvoyance," said the medium."The silly idiots kept on putting things into my mind. 'That'ssurely my Uncle Sam', and so forth. It blurs me so that I can seenothing clear."

"Yes, and they think they are helping! Helping to muddle youand deceive themselves. I know the kind."

"But I went under nicely and I am glad there were some finematerializations. It took it out of me, though. I'm a rag thismorning."

"Well, maybe at Easter we could do a week. It would be fine. Idon't mind readings and clairvoyance, but the physicals do tryyou. I'm not as bad as Hallows. They say he just lies white andgasping on the floor after them."

"Yes," cried the woman bitterly. "And then they run to himwith whisky, and so they teach him to rely on the bottle and youget another case of a drunken medium. I know them. You keep offit, Tom!"

"Yes, one of our trade should stick to soft drinks. If he canstick to vegetables, too, he's all the better, but I can't preachthat while I am wolfin' up ham and eggs. By Gosh, Mary! it's pastten and I have a string of them comin' this morning. I'm going tomake a bit to-day."

"Well, some hard cases come my way. So long as we can makeboth ends meet what more do we want? I expect they will lookafter us all right."

"It's the rich folk that are to blame not the Spirit-people,"said Tom Linden hotly. "It makes me see red when I remember thesefolk, Lady This and Countess That, declaring all the comfort theyhave had, and then leaving those who gave it to die in the gutteror rot in the workhouse. Poor old Tweedy and Soames and the restall living on old-age pensions and the papers talking of themoney that mediums make, while some damned conjuror makes morethan all of us put together by a rotten imitation with two tonsof machinery to help him."

"Don't worry, dear," cried the medium's wife, putting her thinhand caressingly upon the tangled mane of her man. "It all comeslevel in time and everybody pays the price for what they havedone."

Linden laughed loudly. "It's my Welsh half that comes out whenI flare up. Let the conjurors take their dirty money and let therich folk keep their purses shut. I wonder what they think moneyis for. Paying death duties is about the only fun some of themseem to get out of it. If I had their money..."

"Please, sir, your brother Silas is below." The two looked ateach other with some dismay.

Linden shrugged his shoulders. "All right, Susan!" he cried."Tell him I'll be down. Now, dear, you keep him going and I'll bewith you in a quarter of an hour."

In less time than he named he was down in the front room—his consulting room—where his wife was evidentlyhaving some difficulty in making agreeable conversation withtheir visitor. He was a big, heavy man, not unlike his elderbrother, but with all the genial chubbiness of the mediumcoarsened into pure brutality. He had the same pile of curlyhair, but he was clean-shaven with a heavy, obstinate jowl. Hesat by the window with his huge freckled hands upon his knees. Avery important part of Mr. Silas Linden lay in those hands, forhe had been a professional boxer, and at one time was fancied forthe welter-weight honours of England. Now, as his stained tweedsuit and frayed boots made clear, he had fallen on evil days,which he endeavoured to mitigate by cadging on his brother.

"Mornin', Tom," he said in a husky voice. Then as the wifeleft the room: "Got a drop of Scotch about? I've a head on methis morning. I met some of the old set last night down at 'TheAdmiral Vernon'. Quite a reunion it was—chaps I hadn't seensince my best ring days."

"Sorry, Silas," said the medium, seating himself behind hisdesk. "I keep nothing in the house."

"Well, the price of a drink will do as well. If you've got aBradbury about you I could do with it, for there's nothing comingmy way."

"Here you are, Silas. So long as I have any you have yourshare. But you had two pounds last week. Is it gone?"

"Gone! I should say so!" He put the note in his pocket. "Now,look here, Tom, I want to speak to you very serious as betweenman and man."

"You see that!" He pointed to a lump on the back of his hand."That's a bone! See? It will never be right. It was when I hitCurly Jenkins third round and outed him at the N.S.C. I outedmyself for life that night. I can put up a show fight andexhibition bout, but I'm done for the real thing. My right hasgone west."

"Damned hard! But that's neither here nor there. What mattersis that I've got to pick up a living and I want to know how to doit. An old scrapper don't find many openings. Chucker-out at apub with free drinks. Nothing doing there. What I want to know'Tom, is what's the matter with my becoming a medium?"

"Why the devil should you stare at me! If it's good enough foryou it's good enough for me."

"Oh, come! Keep that for the newspapers. It's all in thefamily, and between you an' me, how d'ye do it?"

"And get four or five quid a week for it. That's a good yarn.Now you can't fool me. Tom, I'm not one o' those duds that payyou a thick 'un for an hour in the dark. We're on the square, youan' me. How d'ye do it?"

"Well, them raps, for example. I've seen you sit there at yourdesk, as it might be, and raps come answerin' questions overyonder on the bookshelf. It's damned clever—fair puzzles'em every time. How d'ye get them?"

"Rats! You can tell me, Tom. I'm Griffiths, the safe man. Itwould set me up for life if I could do it."

"You're an impudent, blasphemous rascal, Silas Linden. It'smen like you who come into our movement and give it a bad name.You should know me better than to think that I am a cheat. Getout of my house, you ungrateful rascal!"

"Out you go, or I'll put you out, brother or no brother."Silas doubled his great fists and looked ugly for a moment. Thenthe anticipation of favours to come softened his mood.

"Well, well, no harm meant," he growled, as he made for thedoor. "I expect I can make a shot at it without your help." Hisgrievance suddenly overcame his prudence as he stood in thedoorway. "You damned, canting, hypocritical box-of-tricks. I'llbe even with you yet."

"Wanted me to put him wise to mediumship. Thinks it's a trickof some sort that I could teach him."

"The foolish lump! Well, it's a good thing, for he won't dareshow his face here again."

"If he does I'll slap it for him. To think of his upsettin'you like this. Why, you're shakin' all over!"

"I suppose I wouldn't be a medium if I wasn't high strung.Someone said we were poets, only more so. But it's bad just whenwork is beginning."

She put her little work-worn hands over his high forehead andheld them there in silence.

"That's better!" said he. "Well done, Mary. I'll have acigarette in the kitchen. That will finish it."

"No, there's someone here." She had looked out of the window."Are you fit to see her? It's a woman."

An instant later a woman entered, a pale, tragic figure inblack, whose appearance told its own tale. Linden motioned her toa chair away from the light. Then he looked through hispapers.

He was looking at her with the medium's gaze in his light greyeyes—that gaze which looks round and through a thing ratherthan at it.

"You have been wise to come, very wise. There is someonebeside you who has an urgent message which could not be delayed.I get a name...Francis—yes, Francis." The woman clasped herhands.

"A dark man, very sad, very earnest—oh, so earnest. Hewill speak. He must speak! It is urgent. He says, 'Tink-a-bell'.Who is Tink-a-bell?"

"He is speaking. His hand is on your head. 'Tink-a-bell', hesays, 'If you do what you purpose doing it will make a gap thatit will take many years to cross'. Does that mean anything?"

She sprang from her chair. "It means everything. Oh, Mr.Linden, this was my last chance. If this had failed—if Ifound that I had really lost him I meant to go and seek him. Iwould have taken poison this night."

"Thank God that I have saved you. It is a terrible thing,madame, to take one's life. It breaks the law of Nature, andNature's laws cannot be broken without punishment. I rejoice thathe has been able to save you. He has more to say to you. Hismessage is, 'If you will live and do your duty I will for ever beby your side, far closer to you than ever I was in life. Mypresence will surround you and guard both you and our threebabes.'"

It was marvellous the change! The pale, worn woman who hadentered the room was now standing with flushed cheeks and smilinglips. It is true that tears were pouring down her face' but theywere tears of joy. She clapped her hands. She made littleconvulsive movements as if she would dance.

"He's not dead! He's not dead! How can he be dead if he canspeak to me and be closer to me than ever? Oh, it's glorious! Oh,Mr. Linden, what can I do for you? You have saved me fromshameful death! You have restored my husband to me! Oh, what aGod-like power you have!"

"My dear lady, say no more. It is not I. I do nothing. You canthank God Who in His mercy permits some of His mortals to discerna spirit or to carry a message. Well, well, a guinea is my fee,if you can afford it. Come back to me if ever you are introuble."

"I am content now," she cried, drying her eyes, "to awaitGod's will and to do my duty in the world until such time as itshall be ordained that we unite once more."

The widow left the house walking on air. Tom Linden also feltthat the clouds left by his brother's visit had been blown awayby this joyful incident, for there is no happiness like givinghappiness and seeing the beneficient workings of one's own power.He had hardly settled down in his chair, however, before anotherclient was ushered in. This time it was a smartly-dressed, white-spatted, frock-coated man of the world, with a bustling air as ofone to whom minutes are precious.

"Mr. Linden, I believe? I have heard, sir, of your powers. Iam told that by handling an object you can often get some clue asto the person who owned it?"

"I should like to test you. I have a letter here which Ireceived this morning. Would you try your powers upon that?"

The medium took the folded letter, and, leaning back in hischair, he pressed it upon his forehead. He sat with his eyesclosed for a minute or more. Then he returned the paper.

"I don't like it" he said. "I get a feeling of evil. I see aman dressed all in white. He has a dark face. He writes at abamboo table. I get a sensation of heat. The letter is from thetropics."

"They do not know everything. Their power and knowledge are asclosely limited as ours. But this is not a matter for the spiritpeople. What I did then was psychometry, which, so far as weknow, is a power of the human soul."

"Well, you are right as far as you have gone. This man, mycorrespondent, wants me to put up the money for the half-share inan oil boring. Shall I do it?"

"These powers are given to some of us, sir, for theconsolation of humanity and for a proof of immortality. They werenever meant for worldly use. Trouble always comes of such use,trouble to the medium and trouble to the client. I will not gointo the matter."

"A fat lot of use the gift is, then!" said the visitor, risingfrom his chair. "I can get all the rest from the parsons who arelicensed, and you are not. There is your guinea, but I have nothad the worth of it."

"I am sorry, sir, but I cannot break a rule. There is a ladybeside you—near your left shoulder—an elderlylady..."

"Why, dash it, man, that is what my mother always wore! D'youtell me you can see her?"

"Weeping! My mother! Why, she is in heaven if ever a womanwas. They don't weep in heaven!"

"Not in the imaginary heaven. They do in the real heaven. Itis only we who ever make them weep. She left a message."

"I was a damned fool to let you have my name when I made theappointment. You have been making inquiries. You don't take me inwith your tricks. I've had enough of it—more thanenough!"

"He didn't like his message." Linden explained to his wife."It was his poor mother. She is fretting over him. Lord! If folkonly knew these things it would do them more good than all theforms and ceremonies."

"Well, Tom, it's not your fault if they don't," his wifeanswered. "There are two women waiting to see you. They have notan introduction but they seem in great trouble."

"I've a bit of a headache. I haven't got over last night.Silas and I are the same in that. Our night's work finds us outnext morning. I'll just take these and no more, for it is bad tosend anyone sorrowin' away if one can help it."

The two women were shown in, both of them austere figuresdressed in black, one a stern-looking person of fifty, the otherabout half that age.

"I believe your fee is a guinea," said the elder, putting thatsum upon the table.

"To those who can afford it," Linden answered. As a matter offact, the guinea often went the other way.

"Oh yes, I can afford it," said the woman. "I am in sadtrouble and they told me maybe you could help me."

"I lost my poor husband in the war—killed at Ypres hewas. Could I get in touch with him?"

"You don't seem to bring any influence with you. I get noimpression. I am sorry but we can't command these things. I getthe name Edmund. Was that his name?"

"I am sorry, but it seems confused—cross vibrations,perhaps, and a mix-up of messages like crossed telegraphwires."

"It was about this girl of mine that I really wanted advice.My husband would have told me what to do. She has got engaged toa young man, a fitter by trade, but there are one or two thingsagainst it and I want to know what to do."

"Do give us some advice," said the young woman, looking at themedium with a hard eye.

"Well, if you don't feel more than that about him, I shouldleave him alone. Nothing but unhappiness comes of such amarriage."

"And money—will she have money? We are down hearted, Mr.Linden, and we want a little."

At this moment there came a most surprising interruption. Thedoor flew open and little Mrs. Linden rushed into the room withpale face and blazing eyes.

"They are policewomen, Tom. I've had a warning about them.It's only just come. Get out of this house, you pair ofsnivelling hypocrites. Oh, what a fool! What a fool I was not torecognize what you were." The two women had risen.

"Yes, you are rather late, Mrs. Linden," said the senior. "Themoney has passed."

"No, no, the money has passed. We have had our fortune told.You will hear more of this, Mr. Linden."

"You brace of frauds! You talk of frauds when it is you whoare the frauds all the time! He would not have seen you if it hadnot been for compassion."

"It is no use scolding us," the woman answered. "We do ourduty and we did not make the law. So long as it is on the StatuteBook we have to enforce it. We must report the case atheadquarters."

Tom Linden seemed stunned by the blow, but, when thepolicewomen had disappeared, he put his arm round his weepingwife and consoled her as best he might.

"The typist at the police office sent down the warning," shesaid. "Oh, Tom, it is the second time!" she cried. "It means gaoland hard labour for you."

"Well, dear, so long as we are conscious of having done nowrong and of having done God's work to the best of our power, wemust take what comes with a good heart."

"Yes, Victor," said Tom Linden, shaking his head at the airabove him, "where were you? I've got a crow to pick with you. Youknow, dear," he added, "just as a doctor can never treat his owncase, a medium is very helpless when things come to his ownaddress. That's the law. And yet I should have known. I wasfeeling in the dark. I had no inspiration of any sort. It wasjust a foolish pity and sympathy that led me on when I had nosort of a real message. Well, dear Mary, we will take what'scoming to us with a brave heart. Maybe they have not enough tomake a case, and maybe the beak is not as ignorant as most ofthem. We'll hope for the best."

In spite of his brave words the medium was shaking andquivering at the shock. His wife had put her hands upon him andwas endeavouring to steady him, when Susan, the maid, who knewnothing of the trouble, admitted a fresh visitor into the room.It was none other than Edward Malone.

"He can't see you," said Mrs. Linden, "the medium is ill. Hewill see no one this morning."

"This is Mr. Malone, my dear, of theDaily Gazette.He was with us last night. We had a good sitting, had we not,sir?"

"I am sure the public does not realize how this law isenforced, or there would be a row. This agent-provocateurbusiness is quite foreign to British justice. But in any case,Linden, you are a real medium. The law was made to suppress falseones."

"There are no real mediums in British law," said Linden,ruefully. "I expect the more real you are the greater theoffence. If you are a medium at all and take money you areliable. But how can a medium live if he does not take money? It'sa man's whole work and needs all his strength. You can't be acarpenter all day and a first-class medium in the evening."

"What a wicked law! It seems to be deliberately stifling allphysical proofs of spiritual power."

"Yes, that is just what it is. If the Devil passed a law itwould be just that. It is supposed to be for the protection ofthe public and yet no member of the public has ever been known tocomplain. Every case is a police trap. And yet the police know aswell as you or I that every Church charity garden-party has gotits clairvoyante or its fortune-teller."

"Well, I expect a summons will come along. Then a police courtcase. Then fine or imprisonment. It's the second time, yousee."

"Well, your friends will give evidence for you and we willhave a good man to defend you."

"You never know who are your friends. They slip away likewater when it comes to the pinch."

"Well, I won't, for one," said Malone, heartily. "Keep me intouch with what is going on. But I called because I had somethingto ask you."

"No, no, nothing psychic. I simply wanted to ask you whetherthe presence of a strong sceptic would stop all yourphenomena?"

"Not necessarily. But, of course, it makes everything moredifficult. If they will be quiet and reasonable we can getresults. But they know nothing, break every law, and ruin theirown sittings. There was old Sherbank, the doctor, the other day.When the raps came on the table he jumped up, put his hand on thewall, and cried, 'Now then, put a rap on the palm of my handwithin five seconds'. Because he did not get it he declared itwas all humbug and stamped out of the room. They will not admitthat there are fixed laws in this as in everything else."

"Well, I must confess that the man I am thinking of might bequite as unreasonable. It is the great Professor Challenger."

"He won't come to you or to any place you name. He imaginesall sorts of wires and contrivances. You might have to come downto his country house."

"I can do nothing until this horrible affair is over. It willtake a month or two."

"Well, I will keep in touch with you till then. When all iswell again we shall make our plans and see if we can bring thesefacts before him, as they have been brought before me. Meanwhile,let me say how much I sympathize. We will form a committee ofyour friends and all that can will surely be done."

VII. — IN WHICH THENOTORIOUS CRIMINAL GETS WHAT THE BRITISH LAW CONSIDERS TO BE HISDESERTS.

BEFORE we pursue further the psychic adventuresof our hero and heroine, it would be well to see how the Britishlaw dealt with that wicked man, Mr. Tom Linden.

The two policewomen returned in triumph to Bardley SquareStation where Inspector Murphy, who had sent them, was waitingfor their report. Murphy was a jolly-looking, red-faced, black-moustached man who had a cheerful, fatherly way with women whichwas by no means justified by his age or virility. He sat behindhis official table, his papers strewn in front of him.

"I think it's a go, Mr. Murphy," said the elder policewoman."We have the evidence you want."

"That, of course, is part of the game. He'll be sorry forhimself before he is through with it. He didn't say, 'You are asingle woman and never had a husband?'"

"Well, that's one up against his spirits, is it not? Thatshould impress the Court. What more?"

"Ah, that's a pity. But, anyhow, he did not know that Pedrowas your Alsatian dog. He considered the name. That's goodenough. Make the jury laugh and you have your verdict. Now aboutfortune-telling? Did you do what I suggested?"

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, if we spread that a little we havegot all we want. Now sit down and dictate your report while youhave it fresh. Then we can go over it together and see how we canput it best. Amy must write one, also."

"Then we shall apply for the warrant. You see, it all dependsupon which magistrate it comes before. There was Mr. Dalleret wholet a medium off last month. He is no we to us. And Mr. Lancinghas been mixed up with these people. Mr. Melrose is a stiffmaterialist. We could depend on him, and have timed the arrestaccordingly. It would never do to fail to get ourconviction."

"We are supposed to be protecting the public, but between youand me none of the public have ever yet asked to be protected.There are no complaints. Therefore it is left to us to uphold thelaw as best we can. As long as it is there we have got to enforceit. Well, good-bye, girls! Let me have the report by fouro'clock."

"You wait, my dear. If we get twenty-five pounds fine it hasgot to go somewhere—Police Fund, of course, but there maybe something over. Anyhow, you go and cough it up and then weshall see."

Next morning a scared maid broke into Linden's modest study."Please sir, it's an officer."

The stricken couple who spent their lives in bringing comfortto others were sadly in need of comfort themselves. She put herarm round his neck while they read the cheerless document:

Information has been laid this day byPatrick Murphy, Inspector Of Police, that you the said ThomasLinden on the 10th day of November at the above dwelling didprofess to Henrietta Dresser and to Amy Bellinger to tellfortunes to deceive and impose on certain of His Majesty'ssubjects, to wit those above mentioned. You are thereforesummoned to appear before the Magistrate of the Police Court inBardsley Square on Wednesday next, the 17th, at the hour of 11 inthe forenoon to answer to the said information.

On the same afternoon Mailey called upon Malone and theysat in consultation over this document. Then they went togetherto see Summerway Jones, an acute solicitor and an earnest studentof psychic affairs. Incidentally, he was a hard rider to hounds,a good boxer, and a man who carried a fresh-air flavour into themustiest law chambers. He arched his eyebrows over thesummons.

"The poor devil has not an earthly!" said he. "He's lucky tohave a summons. Usually they act on a warrant. Then the man iscarted right off, kept in the cells all night, and tried nextmorning with no one to defend him. The police are cute enough, ofcourse, to choose either a Roman Catholic or a materialist as themagistrate. Then, by the beautiful judgment of Chief JusticeLawrence—the first judgment, I believe, that he deliveredin that high capacity—the profession of mediumship orwonder-working is in itself a legal crime, whether it be genuineor no, so that no defence founded upon good results has a lookin. It's a mixture of religious persecution and police blackmail.As to the public, they don't care a damn! Why should they? Ifthey don't want their fortune told, they don't go. The wholething is the most absolute bilge and a disgrace to ourlegislature."

"Well, there are two Acts, each more putrid than the other,and both passed long before Spiritualism was ever heard of. Thereis the Witchcraft Act dating from George the Second. That hasbecome too absurd, so they only use it as a second string. Thenthere is the Vagrancy Act of 1824. It was passed to control thewandering gipsy folk on the roadside, and was never intended, ofcourse, to be used like this." He hunted among his papers. "Hereis the beastly thing. 'Every person professing to tell fortunesor using any subtle craft, means or device to deceive and imposeon any of His Majesty's subjects shall be deemed a rogue and avagabond', and so on and so forth. The two Acts together wouldhave roped in the whole Early Christian movement just as surelyas the Roman persecution did."

"I'm damned if I know!" said the solicitor, scratching hishead. "It's perfectly hopeless!"

"Oh, dash it all!" cried Malone, "we can't give it up soeasily. We know the man is an honest man."

"I don't know if you call yourself a Spiritualist yet," hesaid, "but you are the kind of chap we want. There are too manywhite-livered folk in our movement who fawn on a medium when allis well, and desert him at the first breath of an accusation But,thank God! there are a few stalwarts. There is Brookes and Rodwinand Sir James Smith. We can put up a hundred or two amongus."

"Right-o!" said the solicitor, cheerily. "If you feel likethat we will give you a run for your money."

"Well, they don't plead in police courts. If you'll leave itin my hands I fancy I can do as well as anyone, for I've had alot of these cases. It will keep the costs down, too."

"I believe in the good old British public. Slow and stupid,but sound at the core. They will not stand for injustice if youcan get the truth into their heads."

"They damned well need trepanning before you can get itthere," said the solicitor. "Well, you do your bit and I'll domine and we will see what comes of it."

The fateful morning arrived and Linden found himself in thedock facing a spruce, middle-aged man with rat-trap jaws, Mr.Melrose, the redoubtable police magistrate. Mr. Melrose had areputation for severity with fortune-tellers and all who foretoldthe future, though he spent the intervals in his court by readingup the sporting prophets, for he was an ardent follower of theTurf, and his trim, fawn-coloured coat and rakish hat werefamiliar objects at every race meeting which was within hisreach. He was in no particularly good humour this morning as heglanced at the charge-sheet and then surveyed the prisoner. Mrs.Linden had secured a position below the dock, and occasionallyextended her hand to pat that of the prisoner which rested on theedge. The court was crowded and many of the prisoner's clientshad attended to show their sympathy.

"Yes, your worship," said Summerway Jones. "May I, before itopens, make an objection?"

"I beg to respectfully request your ruling before the case isproceeded with. My client is not a vagrant, but a respectablemember of the community, living in his own house, paying ratesand taxes, and on the same footing as every other citizen. He isnow prosecuted under the fourth section of the Vagrancy Act of1824, which is styled, 'An Act for punishing idle and disorderlypersons, and rogues and vagabonds'. The Act was intended, as thewords imply, to restrain lawless gipsies and others, who at thattime infested the country. I ask your worship to rule that myclient is clearly not a person within the purview of this Act orliable to its penalties."

"I fear, Mr. Jones, that there have been too many precedentsfor the Act to be now interpreted in this limited fashion. I willask the solicitor prosecuting on behalf of the Commissioner ofPolice to put forward his evidence." A little bull of a man withside-whiskers and a raucous voice sprang to his feet.

The elder policewoman popped up in the box with the alacrityof one who is used to it. She held an open notebook in herhand.

"I understand that you watched the prisoner's home the daybefore you called on him?"

"Seven pounds in one day! Pretty good wages when many anhonest man is content with five shillings."

"I must ask you not to interrupt. You are already veryefficiently represented" said the magistrate severely.

"Now, Henrietta Dresser," continued the prosecutor, wagginghis pince-nez. "Let's hear what occurred when you and AmyBellinger visited the prisoner."

The policewoman gave an account which was in the main true,reading it from her book. She was not a married woman, but themedium had accepted her statement that she was. He had fumbledwith several names and had seemed greatly confused. The name of adog—Pedro had been submitted to him, but he had notrecognized it as such. Finally, he had answered questions as tothe future of her alleged daughter, who was, in fact, no relationto her, and had foretold that she would be unhappy in hermarriage.

"Did you come to this man as one who needed consolation? Anddid he attempt to give it?"

"May I ask, your worship, whether it is in order that thesewitnesses should read their evidence?" asked Mr. Jones.

"It is clearly a method of securing that the evidence of thesetwo witnesses shall be in accord," said Jones. "I submit thatthese accounts are carefully prepared and collated."

"Naturally, the police prepare their case," said themagistrate. "I do not see that you have any grievance, Mr. Jones.Now, witness, let us hear your evidence."

"I think," said the magistrate, "that the policewomen havegiven their evidence very fairly and well. Have you any witnessesfor the defence, Mr. Jones?"

"There are a number of people in court, your worship, who havereceived great benefit from the mediumship of the prisoner. Ihave subpoenaed one woman who was, by her own account, saved fromsuicide that very morning by what he told her. I have another manwho was an atheist, and had lost all belief in future life. Hewas completely converted by his experience of psychic phenomena.I can produce men of the highest eminence in science andliterature who will testify to the real nature of Mr. Linden'spowers."

"You must know, Mr. Jones, that such evidence would be quitebeside the question. It has been clearly laid down by the rulingof the Lord Chief Justice and others that the law of this countrydoes not recognize supernatural powers of any sort whatever, andthat a pretence of such powers where payment is involvedconstitutes a crime in itself. Therefore your suggestion that youshould call witnesses could not possibly lead to anything save awasting of the time of the court. At the same time, I am, ofcourse, ready to listen to any observations which you may care tomake after the solicitor for the prosecution has spoken."

"Might I venture to point out, your worship," said Jones,"that such a ruling would mean the condemnation of any sacred orholy person of whom we have any record, since even holy personshave to live, and have therefore to receive money."

"If you refer to Apostolic times, Mr. Jones," said themagistrate sharply, "I can only remind you that the Apostolic ageis past and also that Queen Anne is dead. Such an argument ishardly worthy of your intelligence. Now, sir, if you haveanything to add..."

Thus encouraged the prosecutor made a short address, stabbingthe air at intervals with his pince-nez as if every stabpunctured afresh all claims of the spirit. He pictured thedestitution among the working-classes, and yet charlatans, byadvancing wicked and blasphemous claims, were able to earn a richliving. That they had real powers was, as had been observed,beside the question, but even that excuse was shattered by thefact that these policewomen, who had discharged an unpleasantduty in a most exemplary way, had received nothing but nonsensein return for their money. Was it likely that other clients faredan better? These parasites were increasing in number, tradingupon the finer feelings of bereaved parents, and it was high timethat some exemplary punishment should warn them that they wouldbe wise to turn their hands to some more honest trade.

Mr. Summerway Jones replied as best he might. He began bypointing out that the Acts were being used for a purpose forwhich they were never intended. ("That point has already beenconsidered!" snapped the magistrate.) The whole position was opento criticism. The convictions were secured by evidence fromagents-provocateurs, who, if any crime had beencommitted, were obviously inciters to it and also participants.The fines obtained were often deflected for purposes in which thepolice had a direct interest.

"Surely, Mr. Jones, you do not mean to cast a reflection uponthe honesty of the police!"

The police were human, and were naturally inclined to stretcha point where there own interests were affected. All these caseswere artificial. There was no record at any time of any realcomplaint from the public or any demand for protection. Therewere frauds in every profession, and if a man deliberatelyinvested and lost a guinea in a false medium he had no more rightto protection than the man who invested his money in a badcompany on the stock market. Whilst the police were wasting timeupon such cases, and their agents were weeping crocodile tears inthe character of forlorn mourners, many of her branches of realcrime received far less attention than they deserved. The law wasquite arbitrary in its action. Every big garden-party, even, ashe had been informed, every policefÃªte was incompletewithout its fortune-teller or palmist.

Some years ago theDaily Mail had raised an outcryagainst fortune-tellers. That great man, the late LordNorthcliffe, had been put in the box by the defence, and it hadbeen shown that one of his other papers was running a palmistrycolumn, and that the fees received were divided equally betweenthe palmist and the proprietors. He mentioned this in no spiritwhich was derogatory to the memory of this great mall, but merelyas an example of the absurdity of the law as it was nowadministered. Whatever might be the individual opinion of membersof that court, it was incontrovertible that a large number ofintelligent and useful citizens regarded this power of mediumshipas a remarkable manifestation of the power of spirit, making forthe great improvement of the race. Was it not a most fatal policyin these days of materialism to crush down by law that which inits higher manifestation might work for the regeneration ofmankind? As to the undoubted fact that information received bythe policewomen was incorrect and that their lying statementswere not detected by the medium, it was a psychic law thatharmonious conditions were essential for true results, and thatdeceit on one side produced confusion on the other. If the courtwould for a moment adopt the Spiritualistic hypothesis, theywould realize how absurd it would be to expect that angelic hostswould descend in order to answer the questions of two mercenaryand hypocritical inquirers.

Such, in a short synopsis, was the general line of Mr.Summerway Jones's defence which reduced Mrs. Linden to tears andthrew the magistrate's clerk into a deep slumber. The magistratehimself rapidly brought the matter to a conclusion.

"Your quarrel, Mr. Jones, seems to be with the law, and thatis outside my competence. I administer it as I find it, though Imay remark that I am entirely in agreement with it. Such men asthe defendant are the noxious fungi which collect on a corruptsociety, and the attempt to compare their vulgarities with theholy men of old, or to claim similar gifts, must be reprobated byall right-thinking men.

"As to you, Linden," he added, fixing his stern eyes upon theprisoner, "I fear that you are a hardened offender since aprevious conviction has not altered your ways. I sentence you,therefore, to two months' hard labour without the option of afine."

"Good-bye, dear, don't fret," said the medium, glancing overthe side of the dock. An instant later he had been hurried downto the cell.

Summerway Jones, Mailey and Malone met in the hall, and Maileyvolunteered to escort the poor stricken woman home.

"What had he ever done but bring comfort to all?" she moaned."Is there a better man living in the whole great City ofLondon?"

"I don't think there is a more useful one," said Mailey. "I'llventure to say that the whole of Crockford's Directory with theArchbishops at their head could not prove the things of religionas I have seen Tom Linden prove them, or convert an atheist as Ihave seen Linden convert him."

"The touch about vulgarity was funny," said Jones. "I wonderif he thinks the Apostles were very cultivated people. Well, Idid my best. I had no hopes, and it has worked out as I thought.It is a pure waste of time."

"Not at all," Malone answered. "It has ventilated an evil.There were reporters in court. Surely some of them have somesense. They will note the injustice."

"Not they," said Mailey. "The Press is hopeless. My God, whata responsibility these people take on themselves, and how littlethey guess the price that each will pay! I know. I have spokenwith them while they were paying it."

"Well, I for one will speak out," said Malone, "and I believeothers will also. The Press is more independent and intelligentthan you seem to think."

But Mailey was right, after all. When he had left Mrs. Lindenin her lonely home and had reached Fleet Street once more, Malonebought aPlanet. As he opened it a scare headline methis eye:

IMPOSTOR IN THE POLICE COURT.
DOG MISTAKEN FOR MAN.
WHO WAS PEDRO?
EXEMPLARY SENTENCE.

"No wonder these Spiritualists feel bitterly," he thought"They have good cause."

Yes, poor Tom Linden had a bad Press. He went down into hismiserable cell amid universal objurgation. ThePlanet,an evening paper which depended for its circulation upon thesporting forecasts of Captain Touch-and-go, remarked upon theabsurdity of forecasting the future. Honest John, a weeklyjournal which had been mixed up with some of the greatest fraudsof the century, was of the opinion that the dishonesty of Lindenwas a public scandal. A rich country rector wrote toTheTimes to express his indignation that anyone should professto sell the gifts of the spirit. The Churchman remarked that suchincidents arose from the growing infidelity, while theFreethinker saw in them a reversion to superstition. Finally Mr.Maskelyne showed the public, to the great advantage of his boxoffice, exactly how the swindle was perpetrated. So for a fewdays Tom Linden was what the French call a"succÃ¨sd'exÃ©cration." Then the world moved on and he was left tohis fate.

VIII. — IN WHICH THREEINVESTIGATORS COME UPON A DARK SOUL

LORD ROXTON had returned from a Central Americanheavy game shooting, and had at once carried out a series ofAlpine ascents which had satisfied and surprised everyone excepthimself.

"Top of the Alps is becomin' a perfect bear-garden," said he."Short of Everest there don't seem to be any decent privacyleft."

His advent into London was acclaimed by a dinner given in hishonour at the 'Travellers' by the Heavy Game Society. Theoccasion was private and there were no reporters, but LordRoxton's speech was fixed verbatim in the minds of all hisaudience and has been imperishably preserved. He writhed fortwenty minutes under the flowery and eulogistic periods of thepresident, and rose himself in the state of confused indignationwhich the Briton feels when he is publicly approved. "Oh, I say!By Jove! What!" was his oration, after which he resumed his seatand perspired profusely.

Malone was first aware of Lord Roxton's return throughMcArdle, the crabbed old red-headed news editor, whose bald domeprojected further and further from its ruddy fringe as the yearsstill found him slaving at the most grinding of tasks. Heretained his keen scent of what was good copy, and it was thissense of his which caused him one winter morning to summon Maloneto his presence. He removed the long glass tube which he used asa cigarette-holder from his lips, and he blinked through his biground glasses at his subordinate.

"Aye, he's back. Dootless you've heard that he was wounded inthe war. He led a small column in East Africa and made a wee warof his own till he got an elephant bullet through his chest. Oh,he's done fine since then, or he couldn't be climbin' thesemountains. He's a deevil of a man and aye stirring up somethingnew."

"What is the latest?" asked Malone, eyeing a slip of paperwhich McArdle was waving between his finger and thumb.

"Well, that's where he impinges on you. I was thinking maybeyou could hunt in couples and, there would be copy in it. There'sa leaderette in the Evening Standard" He handed it over. It ranthus:

"A quaint advertisement in the columns of a contemporary showsthat the famous Lord John Roxton, third son of the Duke ofPomfret, is seeking fresh worlds to conquer. Having exhausted thesporting adventures of this terrestrial globe, he is now turningto those of the dim, dark and dubious regions of psychicresearch. He is in the market apparently for any genuine specimenof a haunted house, and is open to receive information as to anyviolent or dangerous manifestation which called forinvestigation. As Lord John Roxton is a man of resolute characterand one of the best revolver shots in England, we would warn anypractical joker that he would be well-advised to stand aside andleave this matter to those who are said to be as impervious tobullets as their supporters are to common sense."

"I'm thinking they are getting pairsonal there, friend Malone,for if you are no a supporter, you're well on the way. But areyou no of the opeenion that this chiel and you between you mightput up a spook and get two racy columns off him?"

"Well, I can see Lord Roxton," said Malone. "He's still, Isuppose, in his old rooms in the Albany. I would wish to call inany case, so I can open this up as well."

Thus it was that in the late afternoon just as the murk ofLondon broke into dim circles of silver, the pressman foundhimself once more walking down Vigo Street and accosting theporter at the dark entrance of the old-fashioned chambers. Yes,Lord John Roxton was in, but a gentleman was with him. He wouldtake a card. Presently he returned with word that in spite of theprevious visitor, Lord Roxton would see Malone at once. Aninstant later, he had been ushered into the old luxurious roomswith their trophies of war and of the chase. The owner of themwith outstretched hand was standing at the door, long, thin,austere, with the same gaunt, whimsical, Don Quixote face as ofold. There was no change save that he was more aquiline, and hiseyebrows jutted more thickly over his reckless, restlesseyes.

"Hullo, young fellah!" he cried. "I was hopin' you'd draw thisold covert once more. I was comin' down to the office to look youup. Come in! Come in! Let me introduce you to the ReverendCharles Mason."

A very tall, thin clergyman, who was coiled up in a largebasket chair, gradually unwound himself and held out a bony handto the newcomer. Malone was aware of two very earnest and humangrey eyes looking searchingly into his, and of a broad, welcomingsmile which disclosed a double row of excellent teeth. It was aworn and weary face, the tired face of the spiritual fighter, butit was very kindly and companionable, none the less. Malone hadheard of the man, a Church of England vicar, who had left hismodel parish and the church which he had built himself in orderto preach freely the doctrines of Christianity, with the newpsychic knowledge super-added.

"You never will, Mr. Malone," said the lean clergyman,chuckling. "The world never will until it has absorbed this newknowledge which God has sent. You can't get away from it. It istoo big. At the present moment, in this great city there is not aplace where men or women meet that it does not come up. And yetyou would not know it from the Press."

"Well, you can't level that reproach at theDailyGazette," said Malone. "Possibly you may have read my owndescriptive articles."

"Yes, I read them. They are at least better than the awfulsensational nonsense which the London Press usually serves up,save when they ignore it altogether. To read a paper likeTheTimes you would never know that this vital movement existedat all. The only editorial allusion to it that I can everremember was in a leading article when the great paper announcedthat it would believe in it when it found it could, by means ofit, pick out more winners on a race-card than by othermeans."

"Doosed useful, too," said Lord Roxton. "It's just what Ishould have said myself. What!"

"That brings me back to the object of my visit," he said. Heturned to Malone. "I took the liberty of calling upon Lord Roxtonin connection with his advertisement to say that if he went onsuch a quest with a good intention, no better work could be foundin the world, but if he did it out of a love of sport, followingsome poor earth-bound soul in the same spirit as he followed thewhite rhinoceros of the Lido, he might be playing with fire."

"Well, padre, I've been playin' with fire all my life andthat's nothin' new. What I mean—if you want me to look atthis ghost business from the religious angle, there's nothin'doin', for the Church of England that I was brought up in fillsmy very modest need. But if it's got a spice of danger, as yousay, then it's worth while. What!"

"Incorrigible, is he not?" he said to Malone. "Well, I canonly wish you a fuller comprehension of the subject." He rose asif to depart.

"Wait a bit, padre!" cried Lord Roxton, hurriedly. "When I'mexplorin', I begin by ropin' in a friendly native. I expectyou're just the man. Won't you come with me?"

"Well, sit down and I'll tell you." He rummaged among a pileof letters on his desk. "Fine selection of spooks!" he said. "Igot on the track of over twenty by the first post. This is aneasy winner, though. Read it for yourself. Lonely house, mandriven mad, tenants boltin' in the night, horrible spectre.Sounds all right—what!"

The Rev. Mason pulled out a pocket-almanac. "I have a servicefor ex-Service men on Wednesday, and a lecture the sameevening."

"If there is any poor soul in trouble it becomes a duty. Verywell, I will come."

"Of course there is, young fellah! What I mean—I expectthat old, red-headed bird at the office sent you round with noother purpose. Ah, I thought so. Well, you can write an adventurethat is not perfect bilge for a change—what! There's atrain from Victoria at eight o'clock. We can meet there, and I'llhave a look in at old man Challenger as I pass."

They dined together in the train and after dinner reassembledin their first-class carriage, which is the snuggest mode oftravel which the world can show. Roxton, behind a big blackcigar, was full of his visit to Challenger.

"The old dear is the same as ever. Bit my head off once ortwice in his own familiar way. Talked unadulterated tripe. SaysI've got brain-softenin', if I could think there was such a thingas a real spook. 'When you're dead you're dead'". That's the oldman's cheery slogan. Surveyin' his contemporaries' he said,extinction was a doosed good thing! 'It's the only hope of theworld', said he. 'Fancy the awful prospect if they survived'.Wanted to give me a bottle of chlorine to chuck at the ghost. Itold him that if my automatic was not a spook-stopper, nothin'else would serve. Tell me, padre, is this the first time you'vebeen on safari after this kind of game?"

"You treat the matter too lightly, Lord John," said theclergyman gravely. "You have clearly had no experience of it. Inanswer to your question I may say that I have several times triedto help in similar cases."

"I am no authority upon the general question. You knowAlgernon Mailey, the barrister, do you not? He could give youfacts and figures. I approach the subject rather perhaps from thepoint of view of instinct and emotion. I remember Maileylecturing on Professor Bozzano's book on ghosts where over fivehundred well-authenticated instances were given, every one ofthem sufficient to establish an a priori case. There isFlammarion, too. You can't laugh away evidence of that kind."

"I've read Bozzano and Flammarion, too," said Malone, "but itis your own experience and conclusions that I want."

"Well, if you quote me, remember that I do not look on myselfas a great authority on psychic research. Wiser brains than minemay come along and give some other explanation. Still, what Ihave seen has led me to certain conclusions. One of them is tothink that there is some truth in the theosophical idea ofshells."

"They imagined that all spirit bodies near the earth wereempty shells or husks from which the real entity had departed.Now, of course, we know that a general statement of that sort isnonsense, for we could not get the glorious communications whichwe do get from anything but high intelligences. But we also mustbeware of generalizations. They are not all high intelligences.Some are so low that I think the creature is purely external andis an appearance rather than a reality."

"Yes, that is the question. It is usually allowed that thereis the natural body, as St. Paul called it, which is dissolved atdeath, and the etheric or spiritual body which survives andfunctions upon an etheric plane. Those are the essential things.But we may really have as many coats as an onion and there may bea mental body which may shed itself at any spot where greatmental or emotional strain has been experienced. It may be a dullautomatic simulacrum and yet carry something of our appearanceand thoughts."

"Well" said Malone, "that would to some extent get over thedifficulty, for I could never imagine that a murderer or hisvictim could spend whole centuries re-acting the old crime. Whatwould be the sense of it?"

"Quite right, young fellah," said Lord Roxton. "There was apal of mine, Archie Soames, the gentleman Jock, who had an oldplace in Berkshire. Well, Nell Gwynne had lived there once, andhe was ready to swear he met her a dozen times in the passage.Archie never flinched at the big jump at the Grand National, but,by Jove! he flinched at those passages after dark. Doosed finewoman she was and all that, but dash it all! What I mean—one has to draw the line—what!"

"Quite so!" the clergyman answered. "You can't imagine thatthe real soul of a vivid personality like Nell could spendcenturies walking those passages. But if by chance she had ateher heart out in that house, brooding and fretting, one couldthink that she might have cast a shell and left some thought-image of herself behind her."

"I had one before ever I knew anything of Spiritualism. Ihardly expect that you will believe me, but I assure you it istrue. I was a very young curate up in the north. There was ahouse in the village which had a poltergeist, one of those verymischievous influences which cause so much trouble. I volunteeredto exorcize it. We have an official form of exorcism in theChurch, you know, so I thought that I was well-armed. I stood inthe drawing-room which was the centre of the disturbances, withall the family on their knees beside me, and I read the service.What do you think happened?"

Mason's gaunt face broke into a sweetly humorous laugh. "Justas I reached Amen, when the creature should have been slinkingaway abashed, the big bearskin hearthrug stood up on end andsimply enveloped me. I am ashamed to say that I was out of thathouse in two jumps. It was then that I learned that no formalreligious proceeding has any effect at all."

"Well, kindness and reason may do something. You see, theyvary greatly. Some of these earthbound or earth-interestedcreatures are neutral, like these simulacra or shells that Ispeak of. Others are essentially good like these monks ofGlastonbury, who have manifested so wonderfully of late years andare recorded by Bligh Bond. They are held to earth by a piousmemory. Some are mischievous children like the poltergeists. Andsome—only a few, I hope—are deadly beyond words,strong, malevolent creatures too heavy with matter to rise aboveour earth plane—so heavy with matter that their vibrationsmay be low enough to affect the human retina and to becomevisible. If they have been cruel, cunning brutes in life, theyare cruel and cunning still with more power to hurt. It is evilmonsters of this kind who are let loose by our system of capitalpunishment, for they die with unused vitality which may beexpended upon revenge."

"Exactly. That is why I disapprove of levity. He seems to meto be the very type of the creature I speak of. Just as anoctopus may have his den in some ocean cave, and come floatingout a silent image of horror to attack a swimmer, so I picturesuch a spirit lurking in the dark of the house which he curses byhis presence, and ready to float out upon all whom he caninjure."

"Yes, I think we have. If we had not, such a creature coulddevastate the earth. Our protection is that there are whiteforces as well as dark ones. We may call them 'guardian angels'as the Catholics do, or 'guides' or 'controls', but whatever youcall them, they really do exist and they guard us from evil onthe spiritual plane."

"What about the chap who was driven mad, padre? Where was yourguide when the spook put the rug round you? What!"

"The power of our guides may depend upon our own worthiness.Evil may always win for a time. Good wins in the end. That's myexperience in life."

"If good wins, then it runs a doosed long waitin' race, andmost of us never live to see the finish. Look at those rubberdevils that I had a scrap with up the Putomayo River. Where arethey? What! Mostly in Paris havin' a good time. And the poorniggers they murdered. What about them?"

"Yes, we need faith sometimes. We have to remember that wedon't see the end. 'To be continued in our next' is theconclusion of every life-story. That's where the enormous valueof the other world accounts come in. They give us at least onechapter more."

"There are many wonderful books, though the world has not yetlearned to appreciate them—records of the life beyond. Iremember one incident—you may take it as a parable, if youlike—but it is really more than that. The dead rich manpauses before the lovely dwelling. His sad guide draws him away.'It is not for you. It is for your gardener'. He shows him awretched shack. 'You gave us nothing to build with. It was thebest that we could do'. That may be the next chapter in the storyof our rubber millionaires."

"I gave some of them a shack that was six foot long and twofoot deep," said he. "No good shakin' your head, padre. What Imean—I don't love my neighbour as myself, and never shall.I hate some of 'em like poison."

"Well, we should hate sin, and, for my own part, I have neverbeen strong enough to separate sin from the sinner. How can Ipreach when I am as human and weak as anyone?"

"Why, that's the only preachin' I could listen to," said LordRoxton. "The chap in the pulpit is over my head. If he comes downto my level I have some use for him. Well, it strikes me we won'tget much sleep to-night. We've just an hour before we reachDryfont. Maybe we had better use it."

It was past eleven o'clock of a cold, frosty night when theparty reached their destination. The station of the littlewatering-place was almost deserted, but a small, fat man in a furovercoat ran forward to meet them, and greeted them warmly.

"I am Mr. Belchamber, owner of the house. How do you do,gentlemen? I got your wire, Lord Roxton, and everything is inorder. It is indeed kind of you to come down. If you can doanything to ease my burden I shall indeed be grateful."

Mr. Belchamber led them across to the little Station Hotelwhere they partook of sandwiches and coffee, which he hadthoughtfully ordered. As they ate he told them something of histroubles. "It isn't as if I was a rich man, gentlemen. I am aretired grazier and all my savings are in three houses. That isone of them, the Villa Maggiore. Yes, I got it cheap, that'strue. But how could I think there was anything in this story ofthe mad doctor?"

"He was there away back in Queen Victoria's time. I've seenhim myself. A long, stringy, dark-faced kind of man, with a roundback and a queer, shuffling way of walking. They say he had beenin India all his life, and some thought he was hiding from somecrime, for he would never show his face in the village and seldomcame out till after dark. He broke a dog's leg with a stone, andthere was some talk of having him up for it, but the people wereafraid of him, and no one would prosecute. The little boys wouldrun past, for he would sit glowering and glooming in the frontwindow. Then one day he didn't take the milk in, and the same thenext day, and so they broke the door open, and he was dead in hisbath—but it was a bath of blood, for he opened the veins ofhis arm. Tremayne was his name. No one here forgets it."

"Well, it was re-papered and painted and fumigated, and doneup outside. You'd have said it was a new house. Then, I let it toMr. Jenkins of the Brewery. Three days he was in it. I loweredthe rent, and Mr. Beale, the retired grocer, took it. It was hewho went mad—clean mad— after a week of it. And I'vehad it on my hands ever since—sixty pounds out of myincome, and taxes to pay on it, into the bargain. If yougentlemen can do anything, for God's sake do it! If not, it wouldpay me to burn it down."

The Villa Maggiore stood about half a mile from the town onthe slope of a low hill. Mr. Belchamber conducted them so far,and even up to the hall door. It was certainly a depressingplace, with a huge, gambrel roof which came down over the upperwindows and nearly obscured them. There was a half-moon, and byits light they could see that the garden was a tangle of scraggy,winter vegetation, which had, in some places, almost overgrownthe path. It was all very still, very gloomy and veryominous.

"The door is not locked," said the owner. "You will find somechairs and a table in the sitting-room on the left of the hall. Ihad a fire lit there, and there is a bucketful of coals. You willbe pretty comfortable, I hope. You won't blame me for not comingin, but my nerves are not so good as they were." With a fewapologetic words, the owner slipped away, and they were alonewith their task.

Lord Roxton had brought a strong electric torch. On openingthe mildewed door, he flashed a tunnel of light down the passage,uncarpeted and dreary, which ended in a broad, straight, woodenstaircase leading to the upper floor. There were doors on eitherside of the passage. That on the right led into a large,cheerless, empty room, with a derelict lawn-mower in one cornerand a pile of old books and journals. There was a correspondingroom upon the left which was a much more cheery apartment. Abrisk fire burned in the grate, there were three comfortablechairs, and a deal table with a water carafe, a bucket of coals,and a few other amenities. It was lit by a large oil-lamp. Theclergyman and Malone drew up to the fire, for it was very cold,but Lord Roxton completed his preparations. From a little hand-bag he extracted his automatic pistol, which he put upon themantelpiece. Then he produced a packet of candles, placing two ofthem in the hall. Finally he took a ball of worsted and tiedstrings of it across the back passage and across the oppositedoor.

"We will have one look round," said he, when his preparationswere complete. "Then we can wait down here and take whatcomes."

The upper passage led at right angles to left and right fromthe top of the straight staircase. On the right were two large,bare, dusty rooms, with the wallpaper hanging in strips and thefloor littered with scattered plaster. On the left was a singlelarge room in the same derelict condition. Out of it was thebathroom of tragic memory, with the high, zinc bath still inposition. Great blotches of red lay within it, and though theywere only rust stains, they seemed to be terrible reminders fromthe past. Malone was surprised to see the clergyman stagger andsupport himself against the door. His face was ghastly white andthere was moisture on his brow. His two comrades supported himdown the stairs, and he sat for a little, as one exhausted,before he spoke.

"Did you two really feel nothing?" he asked. "The fact is thatI am mediumistic myself and very open to psychic impressions.This particular one was horrible beyond description."

"It is difficult to describe these things. It was a sinking ofmy heart, a feeling of utter desolation. All my senses wereaffected. My eyes went dim. I smelt a terrible odour ofputrescence. The strength seemed to be sapped out of me. Believeme, Lord Roxton, it is no light thing which we are facing to-night."

The sportsman was unusually grave. "So I begin to think," saidhe. "Do you think you are fit for the job?"

"I am sorry to have been so weak," Mr. Mason answered. "Ishall certainly see the thing through. The worse the case, themore need for my help. I am all right now," he added, with hischeery laugh, drawing an old charred briar from his pocket. "Thisis the best doctor for shaken nerves. I'll sit here and smoketill I'm wanted."

"That's what I cannot understand, in spite of all my reading,"said Malone. "These authorities are all agreed that there is amaterial basis, and that this material basis is drawn from thehuman body. Call it ectoplasm, or what you like, it is human inorigin, is it not?"

"Well, then, are we to suppose that this Dr. Tremayne buildsup his own appearance by drawing stuff from me and you?"

"I think, so far as I understand it, that in most cases aspirit does so. I believe that when the spectator feels that hegoes cold, that his hair rises and the rest of it, he is reallyconscious of this draft upon his own vitality which may be enoughto make him faint or even to kill him. Perhaps he was drawing onme then."

"There is a very full case that I read lately," Mr. Masonanswered. "It was closely observed—reported by ProfessorNeillson of Iceland. In that case the evil spirit used to go downto an unfortunate photographer in the town, draw his suppliesfrom him, and then come back and use them. He would openly say,'Give me time to get down to So-and-so. Then I will show you whatI can do'. He was a most formidable creature and they had greatdifficulty in mastering him."

"Strikes me, young fellah, we have taken on a larger contractthan we knew," said Lord Roxton. "Well, we've done what we could.The passage is well lit. No one can come at us except down thestair without breaking the worsted. There is nothing more we cando except just to wait."

So they waited. It was a weary time. A carriage clock had beenplaced on the discoloured wooden mantelpiece, and slowly itshands crept on from one to two and from two to three. Outside anowl was hooting most dismally in the darkness. The villa was on aby-road, and there was no human sound to link them up with life.The padre lay dozing in his chair. Malone smoked incessantly.Lord Roxton turned over the pages of a magazine. There were theoccasional strange tappings and creakings which come in thesilence of the night. Nothing else until...

There could not be a doubt of it. It was a furtive, and yet aclear footstep.Creak! Creak! Creak! Then it had reachedthe level. Then it had reached their door. They were all sittingerect in their chairs, Roxton grasping his automatic. Had it comein? The door was ajar, but had not further opened. Yet all wereaware of a sense that they were not alone, that they were beingobserved. It seemed suddenly colder, and Malone was shivering. Aninstant later the steps were retreating. They were low and swift—much swifter than before. One could imagine that amessenger was speeding back with intelligence to some greatmaster who lurked in the shadows above.

"By Jove!" said Lord Roxton at last. His face was pale butfirm. Malone scribbled some notes and the hour. The clergyman waspraying.

"Well, we are up against it," said Roxton after a pause. "Wecan't leave it at that. We have to go through with it. I don'tmind tellin' you, padre, that I've followed a wounded tiger inthick jungle and never had quite the feelin' I've got now. If I'mout for sensations, I've got them. But I'm going upstairs."

"Stay here, young fellah! And you, too, padre. Three of usmake too much noise. I'll call you if I want you. My idea is justto steal out and wait quiet on the stair. If that thing, whateverit was, comes again, it will have to pass me."

All three went into the passage. The two candles were throwingout little circles of light, and the stair was deeplyilluminated, with heavy shadows at the top. Roxton sat down half-way up the stair, pistol in hand. He put his finger to his lipsand impatiently waved his companions back to the room. Then theysat by the fire, waiting, waiting.

Half an hour, three-quarters—and then, suddenly it came.There was a sound as of rushing feet, the reverberation of ashot, a scuffle and a heavy fall, with a loud cry for help.Shaking with horror, they rushed into the hall. Lord Roxton waslying on his face amid a litter of plaster and rubbish. He seemedhalf dazed as they raised him, and was bleeding where the skinhad been grazed from his cheek and hands. Looking up the stair,it seemed that the shadows were blacker and thicker at thetop.

"I'm all right," said Roxton, as they led him to his chair."Just give me a minute to get my wind and I'll have another roundwith the devil— for if this is not the devil, then noneever walked the earth."

"I hardly know myself. I sat, as you saw, with my back to thetop landing. Suddenly I heard a rush. I was aware of somethingdark right on the top of me. I half-turned and fired. The nextinstant I was chucked down as if I had been a baby. All thatplaster came showering down after me. That's as much as I cantell you."

"Why should we go further in the matter?" said Malone. "Youare convinced that this is more than human, are you not?"

"Well, I, at least, want something more," said Mr. Mason. "Ithink our help is needed."

"Strikes me that we shall need the help," said Lord Roxton,rubbing his knee. "We shall want a doctor before we get through.But I'm with you, padre. I feel that we must see it through. Ifyou don't like it, young fellah—" The mere suggestion wastoo much for Malone's Irish blood.

They stood together in the candle-lit, shadow-draped passage.Malone had his hand on the balustrade and his foot on the lowerstep, when it happened.

What was it? They could not tell themselves. They only knewthat the black shadows at the top of the staircase had thickened,had coalesced, had taken a definite, batlike shape. Great God!They were moving! They were rushing swiftly and noiselesslydownwards! Black, black as night, huge, ill-defined, semi-humanand altogether evil and damnable. All three men screamed andblundered for the door. Lord Roxton caught the handle and threwit open. It was too late; the thing was upon them. They wereconscious of a warm, glutinous contact, of a purulent smell, of ahalf-formed, dreadful face and of entwining limbs. An instantlater all three were lying half-dazed and horrified, hurledoutwards on to the gravel of the drive. The door had shut with acrash.

Malone whimpered and Roxton swore, but the clergyman wassilent as they gathered themselves together, each of them badlyshaken and bruised, but with an inward horror which made allbodily ill seem insignificant. There they stood in a little groupin the light of the sinking moon, their eyes turned upon theblack square of the door.

"More than enough," said Malone. "I wouldn't enter that houseagain for anything Fleet Street could offer."

Malone gave a cry of disgust. "Featureless save for thedreadful eyes! Semi-materialized! Horrible!"

"Well, Belchamber can come in the morning. Maybe he is waitingfor us now at the inn."

"Yes, let us go to the inn. Let us get back to humanity."Malone and Roxton turned away, but the clergyman stood fast. Hehad drawn a crucifix from his pocket.

"Padre, this is madness! It will break your neck. We were alllike stuffed dolls in its clutch."

But it was too late With a few quick steps, Mr. Mason hadreached the door, flung it open, passed in and closed it behindhim. As his comrades tried to follow, they heard a creaking clangupon the further side. The padre had bolted them out. There was agreat slit where the letter-box had been. Through it Lord Roxtonentreated him to return.

"Stay there!" said the quick, stern voice of the clergyman. "Ihave my work to do. I will come when it is done." A moment laterhe began to speak. His sweet, homely, affectionate accents rangthrough the hall. They could only hear snatches outside, bits ofprayer, bits of exhortation, bits of kindly greeting. Lookingthrough the narrow opening, Malone could see the straight, darkfigure in the candlelight, its back to the door, its face to theshadows of the stair, the crucifix held aloft in its righthand.

His voice sank into silence and then there came one more ofthe miracles of this eventful night. A voice answered him. It wassuch a sound as neither of the auditors had heard before—aguttural, rasping, croaking utterance, indescribably menacing.What it said was short, but it was instantly answered by theclergyman, his tone sharpened to a fine edge by emotion. Hisutterance seemed to be exhortation and was at once answered bythe ominous voice from beyond. Again and again, and yet againcame the speech and the answer, sometimes shorter, sometimeslonger, varying in every key of pleading, arguing, praying,soothing, and everything save upbraiding. Chilled to the marrow,Roxton and Malone crouched by the door, catching snatches of thatinconceivable dialogue. Then, after what seemed a weary time,though it was less than an hour, Mr. Mason, in a loud, full,exultant tone, repeated the "Our Father." Was it fancy, or echo,or was there really some accompanying voice in the darknessbeyond him? A moment later the light went out in the left-handwindow, the bolt was drawn, and the clergyman emerged carryingLord Roxton's bag. His face looked ghastly in the moonlight, buthis manner was brisk and happy.

"By Jove! You don't give us the slip again!" cried thenobleman. "Padre, you should have a row of Victoria Crosses."

"No, no, it was my duty. Poor fellow, he needed help so badly.I am but a fellow-sinner and yet I was able to give it."

"I humbly hope so. I was but the instrument of the higherforces. The house is haunted no longer. He promised. But I willnot speak of it now. It may be easier in days to come."

The landlord and the maids stared at the three adventurers inamazement when, in the chill light of the winter dawn, theypresented themselves at the inn once more. Each of them seemed tohave aged five years in the night. Mr. Mason, with the reactionupon him, threw himself down upon the horsehair sofa in thehumble coffee-room and was instantly asleep.

"Poor chap! He looks pretty bad!" said Malone. Indeed, hiswhite, haggard face and long, limp limbs might have been those ofa corpse.

"We will get a cup of hot tea into him," Lord Roxton answered,warming his hands at the fire, which the maid had just lit. "ByJove! We shall be none the worse for some ourselves. Well, youngfellah, we've got what we came for. I've had my sensation, andyou've had your copy.

"And he has had the saving of a soul. Well, we must admit thatour objects seem very humble compared to his."

They caught the early train to London, and had a carriage tothemselves. Mason had said little and seemed to be lost inthought. Suddenly he turned to his companions. "I say, you two,would you mind joining me in prayer?" Lord Roxton made a grimace."I warn you, padre, I am rather out of practice."

They knelt down, side by side, the padre in the middle. Malonemade a mental note of the prayer.

"Father, we are all Your children, poor, weak, helplesscreatures, swayed by Fate and circumstance. I implore You thatYou will turn eyes of compassion upon the man, Rupert Tremayne,who wandered far from You, and is now in the dark. He has sunkdeep, very deep, for he had a proud heart which would not soften,and a cruel mind, which was filled with hate. But now he wouldturn to the light, and so I beg help for him and for the woman,Emma, who, for the love of him, has gone down into the darkness.May she raise him, as she had tried to do. May they both breakthe bonds of evil memory which tie them to earth. May they, fromto-night, move up towards that glorious light which sooner orlater shines upon even the lowest."

"That's better!" cried the padre, thumping his chest with hisbony hand, and breaking out into his expansive, toothsome grin."What a night! Good Lord, what a night!"*

IX. — WHICH INTRODUCESSOME VERY PHYSICAL PHENOMENA

MALONE seemed destined to be entangled in theaffairs of the Linden family, for he had hardly seen the last ofthe unfortunate Tom before he became involved in a very much moreunpleasant fashion with his unsavoury brother.

The episode began by a telephone ring in the morning and thevoice of Algernon Mailey at the far end of the wire.

"I say, Malone, you are a hefty man. You played Rugger forIreland, did you not? You don't mind a possible rough-and-tumble,do you?"

"It may be really rather formidable. We shall have possibly totackle a prize-fighter."

"And we want another man for the job. Do you know any fellowwho would come along just for the sake of the adventure. If heknows anything about psychic matters, all the better."

"There is Roxton," said he. "He's not a chicken, but he is auseful man in a row. I think I could get him. He has been keen onyour subject since his Dorsetshire experience."

"Right! Bring him along! If he can't come, we shall have totackle the job ourselves. Forty-one, Belshaw Gardens, S.W. NearEarl's Court Station. Three p.m. Right!"

"What's that, young fellah? A scrap? Why, certainly. What... Imean I had a golf match at Richmond Deer Park, but this soundsmore attractive...What? Very good. I'll meet you there."

And so it came about that at the hour of three, Mailey, LordRoxton and Malone found themselves seated round the fire in thecomfortable drawing-room of the barrister. His wife, a sweet andbeautiful woman, who was his helpmate in his spiritual as well asin his material life, was there to welcome them.

"Now, dear, you are not on in this act," said Mailey. "Youwill retire discreetly into the wings. Don't worry if you hear arow."

"I think your furniture may possibly get hurt. You havenothing else to fear, dear. And it's all for the good of theCause. That always settles it," he explained, as his wifereluctantly left the room. "I really think she would go to thestake for the Cause. Her great, loving, womanly heart knows whatit would mean for this grey earth if people could get away fromthe shadow of death, and realize the great happiness that is tocome. By Jove! she is an inspiration to me...Well," he went onwith a laugh, "I must not get on to that subject. We havesomething very different to think of— something as hideousand vile as she is beautiful and good. It concerns Tom Linden'sbrother."

"I've heard of the fellow," said Malone. "I used to box a bitand I am still a member of the N.S.C. Silas Linden was verynearly champion in the Welters."

"That's the man. He is out of a job and thought he would takeup mediumship. Naturally I and other Spiritualists took himseriously, for we all love his brother, and these powers oftenrun in families, so that his claim seemed reasonable. So we gavehim a trial last night."

"I suspected the fellow from the first. You understand that itis hardly possible for a medium to deceive an experiencedSpiritualist. When there is deception it is at the expense ofoutsiders. I watched him carefully from the first, and I seatedmyself near the cabinet. Presently he emerged clad in white. Ibroke the contact by prearrangement with my wife who sat next me,and I felt him as he passed me. He was, of course, in white. Ihad a pair of scissors in my pocket and snipped off a bit fromthe edge."

"There it is, you see. Very ordinary linen. I have no doubtthe fellow was wearing his night-gown."

"There were several ladies there, and I was the only reallyable-bodied man in the room."

"I have appointed that he come here at three-thirty. He is duenow. Unless he has noticed the small cut in his linen, I don'tthink he has any suspicion why I want him."

"Well, that depends on him. We have to stop him at any cost.That is the way our Cause gets bemired. Some villain who knowsnothing about it comes into it for money and so the labours ofthe honest mediums get discounted. The public very naturallybrackets them all together. With your help I can talk to thisfellow on equal terms which I certainly could not do if I werealone. By Jove, here he is!"

There was a heavy step outside. The door was opened and SilasLinden, fake medium and ex-prize-fighter, walked in. His small,piggy grey eyes under their shaggy brows looked round withsuspicion at the three men. Then he forced a smile and nodded toMailey.

"Sit down, Linden," said Mailey, indicating a chair. "It'sabout last night that I want to talk to you. You cheated us."

"It was cut out of the white gown you wore. I cut it outmyself as you stood in front of me. If you examine the gown youwill find the place. It's no use, Linden. The game is up. Youcan't deny it."

For a moment the man was completely taken aback. Then he burstinto a stream of horrible profanity.

"What's the game?" he cried, glaring round him. "Do you thinkI am easy and that you can play me for a sucker? Is it a frame-up, or what? You've chose the wrong man for a try-on of thatsort."

"There is no use being noisy or violent, Linden," said Maileyquietly, "I could bring you up in the police court to-morrow. Idon't want any public scandal, for your brother's sake. But youdon't leave this room until you have signed a paper that I havehere on my desk."

"You will! Well, try that!" He stood before them with rage inhis eyes and his great hands knotted. "Will you get out of theway?"

They did not answer, but they all three gave the fightingsnarl which is perhaps the oldest of all human expressions. Thenext instant Linden was upon them, his fists flashing out withterrific force. Mailey, who had boxed in his youth, stopped oneblow, but the next beat in his guard and he fell with a crashagainst the door. Lord Roxton was hurled to one side, but Malone,with a footballer's instinct, ducked his head and caught theprize-fighter round the knees. If a man is too good for you onhis feet, then put him on his back, for he cannot be scientificthere. Over went Linden, crashing through an armchair before hereached the ground. He staggered to one knee and got in a shortjolt to the chin, but Malone had him down again and Roxton's bonyhand had closed upon his throat. Silas Linden had a yellow streakin him and he was cowed.

He lay now spreadeagled upon his back. Malone and Roxton werebending over him. Mailey had gathered himself together, pale andshaken after his fall.

"I'm all right!" he cried, in answer to a feminine voice atthe other side of the door. "No, not yet, dear, but we shall soonbe ready for you. Now, Linden, there's no need for you to get up,for you can talk very nicely where you are. You've got to signthis paper before you leave the room."

"I, Silas Linden, hereby admit that I haveacted as a rogue and a scoundrel by simulating to be a spirit,and I swear that I will never again in my life pretend to be amedium. Should I break this oath, then this signed confession maybe used for my conviction in the police court."

"Shall I give him another squeeze?" asked Lord Roxton."Perhaps I could choke some sense into him—what!"

"Not at all," said Mailey. "I think that his case now would dogood in the police court, for it would show the public that weare determined to keep our house clean. I'll give you one minutefor consideration, Linden, and then I ring up the police."

"All right," said he in a sulky voice, "I'll sign." He wasallowed to rise with a warning that if he played any tricks hewould not get off so lightly the second time. But there was nokick left in him and he scrawled a big, coarse "Silas Linden" atthe bottom of the paper without a word. The three men signed aswitnesses.

"Now, get out!" said Mailey, sharply. "Find some honest tradein future and leave sacred things alone!"

"Keep your damned cant to yourself!" Linden answered, and sodeparted, grumbling and swearing, into the outer darkness fromwhich he had come. He had hardly passed before Mrs. Mailey hadrushed into the room to reassure herself as to her husband. Oncesatisfied as to this she mourned over her broken chair, for likeall good women she took a personal pride and joy in every detailof her little menage.

"Never mind, dear. It's a cheap price to pay in order to getthat blackguard out of the movement. Don't go away, you fellows.I want to talk to you."

"Perhaps something stronger would be better," said Mailey, andindeed, all three were rather exhausted, for it was sharp whileit lasted. Roxton, who had enjoyed the whole thing immensely, wasfull of vitality, but Malone was shaken and Mailey had narrowlyescaped serious injury from that ponderous blow.

"I have heard," said Mailey, as they all settled down roundthe fire, "that this blackguard has sweated money out of poor TomLinden for years. It was a form of blackmail, for he was quitecapable of denouncing him. By Jove!" he cried, with suddeninspiration, "that would account for the police raid. Why shouldthey pick Linden out of all the mediums in London? I remember nowthat Tom told me the fellow had asked to be taught to be amedium, and that he had refused to teach him."

"Could he teach him?" asked Malone. Mailey was thoughtful overthis question. "Well, perhaps he could," he said at last. "ButSilas Linden as a false medium would be very much less dangerousthan Silas Linden as a true medium."

"Mediumship can be developed" said Mrs. Mailey. "One mightalmost say it was catching."

"That was what the laying-on of hands meant in the earlyChurch," Mailey explained. "It was the conferring of thaumaturgicpowers. We can't do it now as rapidly as that. But if a man orwoman sits with the desire of development, and especially if thatsitting is in the presence of a real medium, the chance is thatpowers will come."

"Because it could be used for evil. I assure you, Malone, thatthe talk of black magic and of evil entities is not an inventionof the enemy. Such things do happen and centre round the wickedmedium. You can get down into a region which is akin to thepopular idea of witchcraft, It is dishonest to deny it."

"Like attracts like," explained Mrs. Mailey, who was quite ascapable an exponent as her husband. "You get what you deserve. Ifyou sit with wicked people you get wicked visitors."

"Do you know anything on earth which has not a dangerous sideif it is mishandled and exaggerated? This dangerous side existsquite apart from orthodox Spiritualism, and our knowledge is thesurest way to counteract it. I believe that the witchcraft of theMiddle Ages was a very real thing, and that the best way to meetsuch practices is to cultivate the higher powers of the spirit.To leave the thing entirely alone is to abandon the field to theforces of evil."

"When I was in Paris last year," said he, "there was a fellahcalled La Paix who dabbled in the black magic business. He heldcircles and the like. What I mean, there was no great harm in thething, but it wasn't what you would call very spiritual,either."

"It's a side that I as a journalist would like to seesomething of, if I am to report impartially upon the subject"said Malone.

"Well, young fellah, if you would give me a week of your timeand come to Paris, I'll introduce you to La Paix," saidRoxton.

"It is a curious thing, but I also had a Paris visit in mymind for our friend here," said Mailey. "I have been asked overby Dr. Maupuis of the Institut MÃ©tapsychique to see some of theexperiments which he is conducting upon a Galician medium. It isreally the religious side of this matter which interests me, andthat is conspicuously wanting in the minds of these scientificmen of the Continent; but for accurate, careful examination ofthe psychic facts they are ahead of anyone except poor Crawfordof Belfast, who stood in a class by himself. I promised Maupuisto run across and he has certainly been having some wonderful—in some respects, some rather alarming results."

"Well, his materializations lately have not been human at all.That is confirmed by photographs. I won't say more, for it isbest that, if you go, you should approach it with an openmind."

Tea had arrived to interrupt the conversation in theirritating way that our bodily needs intrude upon our higherpursuits. But Malone was too keen to be thrown off his scent.

"Not necessarily. If we can help any lower spirit we do so,and we can only do it by encouraging it to tell us its troubles.Most of them are not wicked. They are poor, ignorant, stuntedcreatures who are suffering the effects of the narrow and falseviews which they have learned in this world. We try to help them—and we do."

"Because they report to us afterwards and register theirprogress. Such methods are often used by our people. They arecalled 'rescue circles'."

"I have heard of rescue circles. Where could I attend one?This thing attracts me more and more. Fresh gulfs seem alwaysopening. I would take it as a great favour if you would help meto see this fresh side of it." Mailey became thoughtful.

"We don't want to make a spectacle of these poor creatures. Onthe other hand, though we can hardly claim you yet as aSpiritualist, you have treated the subject with someunderstanding and sympathy." He looked enquiringly at his wife,who smiled and nodded.

"Ah, you have permission. Well then, you must know that we runour own little rescue circle, and that at five o'clock to-day wehave our weekly sitting. Mr. Terbane is our medium. We don'tusually have anyone else except Mr. Charles Mason, the clergyman.But if you both care to have the experience, we shall be veryhappy if you will stay. Terbane should be here immediately aftertea. He is a railway-porter, you know, so his time is not hisown. Yes, psychic power in its varied manifestations is found inhumble quarters, but surely that has been its main characteristicfrom the beginning—fishermen, carpenters, tent-makers,camel drivers, these were the prophets of old. At this momentsome of the highest psychic gifts in England lie in a miner, acotton operative, a railway-porter, a barge-man and a charwoman.Thus does history repeat itself, and that foolish beak, with TomLinden before him, was but Felix judging Paul. The old wheel goesround."

X. — DE PROFUNDIS

THEY were still having tea when Mr. CharlesMason was ushered in. Nothing draws people together into suchintimate soul-to-soul relationship as psychic quest, and thus itwas that Roxton and Malone, who had only known him in the oneepisode, felt more near to this man than to others with whom theyhad associated for years. This close vital comradeship is one ofthe outstanding features of such communion. When his loosely-built, straggling, lean clerical figure appeared, with thatgaunt, worn face illuminated by its human grin and dignified byits earnest eyes, through the doorway, they both felt as if anold friend had entered. His own greeting was equally cordial.

"Still exploring!" he cried, as he shook them by the hand. "Wewill hope your new experiences will not be so nerve-racking asour last."

"By Jove, padre!" said Roxton. "I've worn out the brim of myhat taking it off to you since then."

"No, no!" cried Mason. "I tried in my poor way to guide adarkened soul. Let us leave it at that. But that is exactly whatwe are here for now, and what these dear people do every week oftheir lives. It was from Mr. Mailey here that I learned how toattempt 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 themoment, your hypothesis that we are surrounded by material earth-bound spirits who find themselves under strange conditions whichthey don't understand, and who want counsel and guidance. Thatmore or less expresses it, does it not?"

"Well, their dead friends and relatives are presumably on theother side and cognizant of their benighted condition They knowthe truth. Could they not minister to the wants of theseafflicted ones far better than we can?"

"It is a most natural question," Mailey answered. "Of coursewe put that objection to them and we can only accept theiranswer. They appear to be actually anchored to the surface ofthis 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 arecognizant of us, but not of anything higher. Therefore it is wewho can reach them best."

"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 thelady. "This poor fellow was nursed along by us, week by week. Hehad really come from the depths. Then one day he cried inrapture, 'My mother has come! My mother is here!' We naturallysaid, 'But why did she not come before?' 'How could she', saidhe, 'when I was in so dark a place that she could not seeme?'"

"That's very well," said Malone, "but so far as I can followyour methods it is some guide or control or higher Spirit whoregulates the whole matter and brings the sufferer to you. If hecan be cognizant, one would think other higher spirits could alsobe."

"No, for it is his particular mission." said Mailey. "To showhow marked the divisions are I can remember one occasion when wehad a dark soul here. Our own people came through and did notknow he was there until we called their attention to it. When wesaid to the dark soul, 'Don't you see our friends beside you?' heanswered, 'I can see a light but nothing else'."

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrivalof Mr. John Terbane from Victoria Station, where his mundaneduties lay. He was dressed now in civil garb and appeared as apale, sad-faced, clean-shaven, plump-featured man with dreamy,thoughtful eyes, but no other indication of the remarkable usesto which he was put.

Mrs. Mailey, smiling, handed him an envelope. "We kept it allready for you but you can read it at home. You see," sheexplained, "poor Mr. Terbane is in trance and knows nothing ofthe wonderful work of which he is the instrument, so after eachsitting my husband and I draw up an account for him."

"Well, I don't know about that," Terbane answered humbly. "Idon't see that the tool need to be proud because the workerhappens to use it. Yet it is a privilege, of course."

"Good old Terbane!" said Mailey, laying his handaffectionately on the railwayman's shoulder. "The better themedium the more unselfish. That is my experience. The wholeconception of a medium is one who gives himself up for the use ofothers, and that is incompatible with selfishness. Well, Isuppose we had better get to work or Mr. Chang will scoldus."

"Oh, you will soon make the acquaintance of Mr. Chang! We neednot sit round the table. A semi-circle round the fire does verywell. Lights half-down. That is all right. You'll make yourselfcomfortable, Terbane. Snuggle among the cushions."

The medium was in the corner of a comfortable sofa, and hadfallen at once into a doze. Both Mailey and Malone at withnotebooks upon their knees awaiting developments.

They were not long in coming. Terbane suddenly sat up, hisdreamy self transformed into a very alert and masterfulindividuality. A subtle change had passed over his ace. Anambiguous smile fluttered upon his lips, his eye seemed moreoblique and less open, his face projected. The two hands werethrust into the sleeves of his blue lounge jacket.

"Good evening," said he, speaking crisply and in shortstaccato sentences. "New faces! Who these?"

"You know Mr. Mason. This is Mr. Malone who studies oursubject. This is Lord Roxton who has helped me to-day."

As each name was mentioned, Terbane made a sweeping Orientalgesture of greeting, bringing his hand down from his forehead.His whole bearing was superbly dignified and very different fromthe 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 called him 'foreign devil' then. Chang, too, had much tolearn."

"He is speaking of Lord Macartney. That would be over ahundred years ago. Chang was a great living philosopher then,"Mailey explained.

"Not lose time!" cried the control. "Much to do to-day. Crowdwaiting. Some new, some old. I gather strange folk in my net. NowI go." He sank back among the cushions. A minute elapsed, then hesuddenly sat up.

"I want to thank you," he said, speaking perfect English. "Icame two weeks ago. I have thought over all you said. The path islighter."

"Yes, yes! I said so in my anger. I was so weary—soweary. Oh, the time, the endless time, the grey mist, the heavyweight of remorse! Hopeless! Hopeless! And you brought mecomfort, you and this great Chinese spirit. You gave me the firstkind words I have had since I died."

"Oh! It seems an eternity. We do not measure as you do. It isa long, horrible dream without change or break."

"Victoria was queen. I had attuned my mind to matter and so itclung to matter. I did not believe in a future life. Now I knowthat I was all wrong, but I could not adapt my mind to newconditions."

"It is all—all grey. That is the awful part of it. One'ssurroundings are so horrible."

"No, but they know no more than I. They, too, scoff and doubtand are miserable."

"Poor soul!" said Mrs. Mailey in her sweet, caressing voice, avoice which could bring every animal to her side. "You havesuffered much. But do not think of yourself. Think of theseothers. Try to bring one of them up and so you will best kelpyourself."

"Thank you, lady, I will. There is one here whom I brought. Hehas heard you. We will go on together. Perhaps some day we mayfind the light."

"I will pray for you," said Mason. "Could you say the 'OurFather' now?" He uttered the old universal prayer, but before hehad finished Terbane had collapsed again among the cushions. Hesat up again as Chang.

"He come on well," said the control. "He give up time forothers who wait. That is good. Now I have hard case. Ow!"

He gave a comical cry of disapprobation and sank back. Nextmoment he was up, his face long and solemn, his hands palm topalm.

"What is this?" he asked in a precise and affected voice. "Iam at a loss to know what right this Chinese person has to summonme here. Perhaps you can enlighten me."

"When I desire help, sir, I ask for it. At present I do notdesire it. The whole proceeding seems to me to be a very greatliberty. So far as this Chinaman can explain it, I gather that Iam the involuntary spectator of some sort of religiousservice."

"A most pernicious sect. A most blasphemous proceeding. As ahumble parish priest I protest against such desecrations."

"You are held back, friend, by those narrow views. It is youwho suffer. We want to relieve you."

"Yes, an asylum for bad cases. I fear you are one of them. Areyou happy where you are?"

"Sir, I must give you some religious instruction. When onedies and has led an honourable life, one assumes a glorified bodyand one associates with the angels. I am now in exactly the samebody as in life, and I am in a very dull, drab place. Suchcompanions as I have are not such as I have been accustomed toassociate with in life, and certainly no one could describe themas angels. Therefore your absurd conjecture may bedismissed."

"Do not continue to deceive yourself. We wish to help you. Youcan never progress until you realize your position."

The medium fell back among the cushions. An instant later theChinese control, with his whimsical smile and his hands tuckedaway in his sleeves, was talking to the circle.

"He good man—fool man—learn sense soon. Bring himagain. Not waste more time. Oh, my God! My God! Help! Mercy!Help!"

He had fallen full length upon the sofa, face upwards, and hiscries were so terrible that the little audience all sprang totheir feet. "A saw! A saw! Fetch a saw!" yelled the medium. Hisvoice sank into a moan.

"Someone has obsessed him. I can't understand it. It may besome strong evil entity."

The medium writhed in agony. "Oh, my God! Why don't you fetcha saw!" he cried. "It's here across my breast-bone. It iscracking! 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 withhorror. Then in an instant the Chinaman was blinking at them withhis slanting eyes.

"It was for him," nodding towards Malone. "He want newspaperstory, I give him newspaper story. He will understand. No time'splain now. Too many waiting. Sailor man come next. Here hecome!"

The Chinaman was gone, and a jovial, puzzled grin passed overthe face of the medium. He scratched his head.

"Well, damn me," said he. "I never thought I would take ordersfrom a Chink, but he says 'hist!' and by crums you've got to histand no back talk either. Well, here I am. What did you want?"

"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 bitsbefore my eyes. If he's dead I'm dead and all the rest of us, forwe 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."

"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 withthem later. That is so, sir, is it not?"

"We've seen nothing of them this side. Just as well, maybe. Wedon't forget nothing."

"But you must," said Mailey. "That's what is the matter withyou. That is why the Chinese control brought you through. We arehere to teach you. Carry our message to your mates."

"Well, then, I tell you and them that the time for hardthoughts and worldly strife is over. Your faces are to be turnedforward, not back. Leave this earth which still holds you by theties of thought and let all your desire be to make yourselfunselfish and worthy of a higher, more peaceful, more beautifullife. 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 tofind ourselves cast away like this. We had heard of heaven and wehad heard of hell, but this don't seem to fit in with either. Butthis Chinese gent says time is up, and we can report again nextweek. I thank you, sir, for self and company. I'll comeagain."

"If I were to put down that man's sailor talk and slang asemanating from a world of spirits, what would the publicsay?"

"Does it matter what the public says? I started as a fairlysensitive person, and now a tank takes as much notice of smallshot as I do of newspaper attacks. They honestly don't eveninterest me. Let us just stick fast to truth as near as we canget 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 decentordinary people. What? Why should they be wanderin' about in thedark, and hauled up here by this Chinaman when they've done nopartic'lar harm in life?"

"It is the strong earth tie and the absence of any spiritualnexus in each case," Mailey explained. "Here is a clergyman withhis mind entangled with formulas and ritual. Here is amaterialist who has deliberately attuned himself to matter. Hereis a seaman brooding over revengeful thoughts. They are there bythe million million."

"Here," Mailey answered. "Actually on the surface of theearth. Well, you saw it for yourself, I understand, when you wentdown to Dorsetshire. That was on the surface, was it not? Thatwas a very gross case, and that made it more visible and obvious,but it did not change the general law. I believe that the wholeglobe is infested with the earth-bound, and that when a greatcleansing comes, as is prophesied, it will be for their benefitas much as for that of the living."

Malone thought of the strange visionary Miromar and his speechat the Spiritualistic Church on the first night of his quest.

Mailey smiled. "That is rather a large subject to open up," hesaid. "I believe—But here is Mr. Chang again!"

"I heard you. I sit and listen," said he. "You speak now ofwhat is to come. Let it be! Let it be! The Time is not yet. Youwill be told when it is good that you know. Remember this. All isbest. Whatever come all is best. God makes no mistakes. Nowothers here who wish your help, I leave you."

Several spirits came through in quick succession. One was anarchitect who said that he had lived at Bristol. He had not beenan evil man, but had simply banished all thoughts of the future.Now he was in the dark and needed guidance. Another had lived inBirmingham. He was an educated man but a materialist. He refusedto accept the assurances of Mailey, and was by no means convincedthat he was really dead. Then came a very noisy and violent manof a crudely-religious and narrow, intolerant type, who spokerepeatedly of "the blood ".

"It is part of his deceit. I tell you it is of the devil! Bewarned! I will take no further part in it."

"Good man. Foolish man," he repeated once more. "Plenty time.He learn better some day. Now I bring bad case—very badcase. Ow!"

He reclined his head in the cushion and did not raise it asthe voice, a feminine voice, broke out:

"Janet, I say! Where is the morning tea? Janet! This isintolerable! I have called you again and again I Janet!" Thefigure sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

"What is this?" cried the voice. "Who are you? What right haveyou here? Are you aware that this is my house?"

"Your house! How can it be your house when this is my bedroom?Go away this moment!"

"I will have you put out. What insolence! Janet! Janet! Willno one look after me this morning?"

"It is a room I never saw in my life. Where am I? What is themeaning of it? You look like a kind lady. Tell me, for God'ssake, what is the meaning of it? Oh, I am so terrified, soterrified! Where are John and Janet?"

"I remember speaking severely to Janet. She is my maid, youknow. She has become so very careless. Yes, I was very angry withher. I was so angry that I was ill. I went to bed feeling veryill. They told me that I should not get excited. How can one helpgetting excited? Yes, I remember being breathless. That was afterthe light was out. I tried to call Janet. But why should I be inanother room?"

There was a long silence. Then there came a shrill scream."No, no, no! It is a dream! A nightmare! Wake me! Wake me! Howcan I be dead? I was not ready to die? I never thought of such athing. If I am dead, why am I not in heaven or hell? What is thisroom? This room is real room."

"A man?" She convulsively felt the coat and passed her handover the face. "Yes, it is a man. Oh, I am dead! I am dead! Whatshall I do?"

"You are here that we may explain to you. You have been, Ijudge, a worldly woman—a society woman. You have livedalways for material things."

"That is nothing. It is the inner daily life that counts. Youwere material. Now you are held down to the world. When you leavethis man's body you will be in your own body once more and inyour old surroundings. But no one will see you. You will remainthere unable to show yourself. Your body of flesh will be buried.You will still persist, the same as ever."

"You will take what comes in a good spirit and understand thatit is for your cleansing. We only clear ourselves of matter bysuffering. All will be well. We will pray for you."

"Bad case," said the Chinaman, sitting up. "Selfish woman! Badwoman! Live for pleasure. Hard on those around her. She have muchto suffer. But you put her feet on the path. Now my medium tired.Plenty waiting, but no more to-day."

"Seven spheres round the world, heaviest below, lightestabove. First sphere is on the earth. These people belong to thatsphere. Each sphere is separate from the other. Therefore it iseasier for you to speak with these people than for those in anyother sphere."

"Yes. That why you should be plenty careful when you do notknow to whom you talk. Try the spirits."

"Number Three. Summerland. Bible book called it the thirdheaven. Plenty sense in Bible book, but people do notunderstand."

"Ah! That is where the Christs are. All come there atlast—you, me, everybody."

"Too much question, Mr. Mailey. Poor old Chang not know somuch as that. Now good-bye! God bless you! I go."

It was the end of the sitting of the rescue circle. A fewminutes later Terbane was sitting up smiling and alert, but withno apparent recollection of anything which had occurred. He waspressed for time and lived afar, so that he had to make hisdeparture, unpaid save by the blessing of those who he hadhelped. Modest little unvenal man, where will he stand when weall find our real places in the order of creation upon thefurther side?

The circle did not break up at once. The visitors wanted totalk, and the Maileys to listen.

"What I mean," said Roxton, "it's doosed interestin' and allthat, but there is a sort of variety-show element in it. What!difficult to be sure it's really real, if you take what Imean."

"That is what I feel also," said Malone. "Of course on itsface value it is simply unspeakable. It is a thing so great thatall ordinary happenings become commonplace. That I grant. But thehuman mind is very strange. I've read that case Moreton Princeexamined, and Miss Beauchamp and the rest; also the results ofCharcot, the great Nancy hypnotic school. They could turn a maninto anything. The mind seems to be like a rope which can beunravelled into its various threads. Then each thread is adifferent personality which may take dramatic form, and act andspeak as such. That man is honest, and he could not normallyproduce these effects. But how do we know that he is not self-hypnotized, and that under those conditions one strand of himbecomes Mr. Chang and another becomes a sailor and another asociety lady, and so forth?"

Mailey laughed. "Every man his own Cinquevalli" said he, "butit is a rational objection and has to be met."

"We have traced some of the cases," said Mrs. Mailey. "Thereis not a doubt of it—names, addresses, everything."

"Well, then, we have to consider the question of Terbane'snormal knowledge. How can you possibly know what he has learned?I should think a railway-porter is particularly able to pick upsuch information."

"You have seen one sitting," Mailey answered. "If you had beenpresent at as many as we and noted the cumulative effect of theevidence you would not be sceptical."

"That is very possible," Malone answered. "And I daresay mydoubts are very annoying to you. And yet one is bound to bebrutally honest in a case like this. Anyhow, whatever theultimate cause, I have seldom spent so thrilling an hour.Heavens! If it only is true, and if you had a thousand circlesinstead of one, what regeneration would result?"

"That will come," said Mailey in his patient, determinedfashion. "We shall live to see it. I am sorry the thing has notforced conviction upon you. However, you must come again."

But it so chanced that a further experience becameunnecessary. Conviction came in a full flood and in a strangefashion that very evening. Malone had hardly got back to theoffice, and was seated at his desk drawing up some sort ofaccount from his notes of all that had happened in the afternoon,when Mailey burst into the room, his yellow beard bristling withexcitement. He was waving anEvening News in his hand.Without a word he seated himself beside Malone and turned thepaper over. Then he began to read:

This afternoon shortly after five o'clock, anold house, said to date from the fifteenth century, suddenlycollapsed. It was situated between Lesser Colman Street andElliot Square, and next door to the Veterinary Society'sHeadquarters. Some preliminary cracking warned the occupants andmost of them had time to escape. Three of them, however, JamesBeale William Moorson, and a woman whose name has not beenascertained, were caught by the falling rubbish. Two of theseseem to have perished at once, but the third, James Beale, waspinned down by a large beam and loudly demanded help. A saw wasbrought, 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 amongthe debris around him, and though he persevered most manfully,and continued until he was himself badly scorched, it wasimpossible for him to save Beale, who probably died fromsuffocation. Hawkin was removed to the London Hospital, and it isreported 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 theenthusiast vanished out of the office as precipitately as he hadentered.

XI.— WHERE SILAS LINDENCOMES INTO HIS OWN

SILAS LINDEN, prize-fighter and fake-medium, hadhad some good days in his life—days crowded with incidentsfor good or evil. There was the time when he had backed Rosalindat 100 to 1 in the Oaks and had spent twenty-four hours of brutaldebauchery on the strength of it. There was the day also when hisfavourite right uppercut had connected in most accurate andrhythmical fashion with the protruded chin of Bull Wardell ofWhitechapel, whereby Silas put himself in the way of a LonsdaleBelt and a try for the championship. But never in all his variedcareer had he such a day as this supreme one, so it is worth ourwhile to follow him to the end of it. Fanatical believers haveurged that it is dangerous to cross the path of spiritual thingswhen the heart is not clean. Silas Linden's name might be addedto their list of examples, but his cup of sin was full andoverflowing before the judgment fell.

He emerged from the room of Algernon Mailey with every reasonto know that Lord Roxton's grip was as muscular as ever. In theexcitement of the struggle he had hardly realized his injuries,but now he stood outside the door with his hand to his bruisedthroat and a hoarse stream of oaths pouring through it. Hisbreast was aching also where Malone had planted his knee, andeven the successful blow which had struck Mailey down had broughtretribution, or it had jarred that injured hand of which he hadcomplained to his brother. Altogether, if Silas Linden was in amost cursed temper, there was a very good reason for hismood.

"I'll get you one at a time," he growled, looking back withhis angry pigs' eyes at the outer door of the flats. "You wait mylads, and see!" Then with sudden purpose he swung off down thestreet.

It was to the Bardsley Square Police Station that he made hisway, and he found the jovial, rubicund, black-moustachedInspector Murphy seated at his desk.

"That's neither here not there. I don't hold with such thingsin any man. But you got your conviction. What is there for me init?"

"What? Wasn't it I that gave the information? Where would youhave been if I had not given you the office?"

"If there had been a fine we might have allowed you somethingWe 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 gotsomething out of it. Why the hell should I give away my ownbrother for the sake of the likes of you? You'll find your ownbird 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 rosewith a very red face.

"I'll tell you what, Silas Linden, I could find my own birdand never move out of this room. You had best get out of thisquick, or you may chance to stay here longer than you like. We'vehad complaints of your treatment of those two children of yours,and the children's protection folk are taking an interest. Lookout that we don't take an interest, too."

Silas Linden flung out of the room with his temper hotter thanever, and a couple of rum-and-waters on his way home did not helpto appease him. On the contrary, he had always been a man whogrew more dangerous in his cups. There were many of his trade whorefused to drink with him.

Silas lived in one of a row of small brick houses namedBolton's Court, lying at the back of Tottenham Court Road. Hiswas the end house of a cul-de-sac, with the side wall of a hugebrewery beyond. These dwellings were very small, which wasprobably the reason why the inhabitants, both adults andchildren, spent most of their time in the street. Several of theelders were out now, and as Silas passed under the solitary lamp-post, they scowled at his thick-set figure, for though themorality of Bolton's Court was of no high order, it was none theless graduated and Silas was at zero. A tall Jewish woman,Rebecca Levi, thin, aquiline and fierce-eyed, lived next to theprizefighter. She was standing at her door now, with a childholding her apron.

"Mr. Linden," she said as he passed, "them children of yourswant 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'vetold you before now not to push that long, sheeny beak of yoursinto my affairs. If you was a man I'd know better how to speak toyou."

"If I was a man maybe you wouldn't dare to speak to me so. Isay 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 ownunlatched door. A big, frowsy woman with a shock of dyed hair andsome remains of a florid beauty, now long over-ripe, looked outfrom the sitting-room door.

"I thought it was a mad bullock maybe got strayin' down thelane, and buttin' down our door."

"Maybe I am, but I hain't got much to be funny about. Not ashilling in the 'ouse, nor so much as a pint o' beer, and thesedamned 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, theyusually united their forces against the children. He had enteredthe sitting-room and flung himself down in the woodenarmchair.

"I 'eard 'im say somethin' to 'er about it. 'Mother wasthere', 'e says. Then afterwards 'e 'ad one 'o them sleepyfits."

"Yes, it is," retorted the woman. "If you 'adn't sleepy fitsyou'd get some work to do, like other men."

"Oh, shut it, woman! What I mean is, that my brother Tom getsthem fits, and this lad o' mine is said to be the livin' image ofhis uncle. So he had a trance, had he? What did you do?"

"'Ave a care, my lass! There is talk of the p'lice, and ifthey see those burns, you and I may be in the dock together."

"Yes, but it ain't your own child, and stepmothers has a badname, see? There's that Jew woman next door. She saw you when youtook the clothes' rope to little Margery last washin'-day. Shespoke 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 ofreal starvin' would do them no 'arm, and I would 'ave lesssauce."

"Cursed me good and proper, 'e did. All about his mother—wot 'is mother would do to me. I'm dam' well sick of 'ismother!"

"So you say now, Silas Linden, but by all accounts you 'ad aqueer way of showin' it when she was alive."

"Hold your jaw, woman! I've had enough to vex me to-daywithout 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 'ascared for you these five years."

"No, I didn't say that. If he insulted you, it's up to me todeal with him. Where's that strap? Go, fetch him in!"

"Oh hell! don't muck me about. I'm not in the mood. Go andfetch Willie in. You can bring Margery also. It takes the sauceout of her also, for I think she feels it more than he does."

"'E's off again!" said she. "It fair gets on my nerves to seehim. Come 'ere, Silas! 'Ave a look!"

They went together into the back kitchen. A small fire wassmouldering in the grate. Beside it, huddled up in a chair, sat afair-haired boy of ten. His delicate face was upturned to theceiling. His eyes were half-closed, and only the whites visible.There was a look of great peace upon his thin, spiritualfeatures. In the corner a poor little cowed mite of a girl, ayear or two younger, was gazing with sad, frightened eyes at herbrother.

"Looks awful, don't 'e?" said the woman. "Don't seem to belongto this world. I wish to God 'e'd make a move for the other. 'Edon'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 boystill slumbered on. The backs of his hands, which lay upon hislap, were covered with bright scarlet blotches.

"My word, you've dropped enough hot wax on him. D'you mean totell me, Sarah, it took all that to wake him?"

"Maybe I dropped one or two extra for luck. 'E does aggravateme so that I can 'ardly 'old myself. But you wouldn't believe 'owlittle '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. Hegroaned and shivered. Then he sank back into his serenetrance.

"Say!" cried Silas, stroking his stubbled chin as he lookedthoughtfully at his son, "I think there is money in this if it ishandled to rights. Wot about a turn on the halls, eh? 'The BoyWonder or How is it Done?' There's a name for the bills. Thenfolk know his uncle's name, so they will be able to take him ontrust."

"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, sodon't you get my goat' or you'll be sorry." He stepped across andpinched the boy's arm with all his force. "By Cripes, he's awonder! Let us see how far it will go."

He turned to the sinking fire and with the tongs he picked outa half-red ember. This he placed on the boy's head. There was asmell of burning hair, then of roasting flesh, and suddenly, witha scream of pain, the boy came back to his senses.

"Mother! Mother!" he cried. The girl in the corner took up thecry. They were like two lambs bleating together.

"Damn your mother!" cried the woman, shaking Margery by thecollar of her frail black dress. "Stop squallin', you littlestinker!" She struck the child with her open hand across theface. Little Willie ran at her and kicked her shins until a blowfrom Silas knocked him into the corner. The brute picked up astick and lashed the two cowering children, while they screamedfor mercy, and tried to cover their little bodies from the cruelblows.

"It's that blasted Jewess!" said the woman. She went to thekitchen door. "What the 'ell are you doing in our 'ouse? 'Op it,quick, or it will be the worse for you!"

"Get out of it! 'Op it, I tell you!" The frowsy stepmotherbore down in full sail, but the lean, lank Jewess stood herground. Next instant they met. Mrs. Silas Linden screamed, andstaggered back with blood running down her face where four nailshad left as many red furrows. Silas' with an oath, pushed hiswife out of the way, seized the intruder round the waist, andslung her bodily through the door. She lay in the roadway withher long gaunt limbs sprawling about like some half-slain fowl.Without rising, she shook her clenched hands in the air andscreamed curses at Silas, who slammed the door and left her,while neighbours ran from all sides to hear particulars of thefray. Mrs. Linden, staring through the front blind, saw with somerelief that her enemy was able to rise and to limp back to herown door, whence she could be heard delivering a long shrillharangue as to her wrongs. The wrongs of a Jew are not lightlyforgotten, for the race can both love and hate.

"It's what she wants, the damned canting sheeny. It's badenough to have her in the street without her daring to set footinside my door. I'll cut the hide off that young Willie. He's thecause of it all. Where is he?"

"I wouldn't touch 'em now, Silas. The neighbours is all up andabout and we needn't ask for trouble."

"Down to the 'Admiral Vernon'. There's a chance of a job assparrin' partner to Long Davis. He goes into training on Mondayand needs a man of my weight."

"Well, I'll expect you when I see you. I get too much of thatpub of yours. I know what the 'Admiral Vernon' means."

"It means the only place in God's earth where I get any peaceor rest" said Silas.

"That's right. Grouse away!" he growled. "If grousin' made aman happy, you'd be the champion."

He picked up his hat and slouched off down the street, hisheavy tread resounding upon the great wooden flap which coveredthe cellars of the brewery.

Up in a dingy attic two little figures were seated on the sideof a wretched straw-stuffed bed, their arms enlacing each other,their cheeks touching, their tears mingling. They had to cry insilence, for any sound might remind the ogre downstairs of theirexistence. Now and again one would break into an uncontrollablesob, and the other would whisper, "Hush! Hush! Oh hush!" Thensuddenly they heard the slam of the outer door and that heavytread booming over the wooden flap. They squeezed each other intheir joy. Perhaps when he came back he might kill them, but fora few short hours at least they were safe from him. As to thewoman, she was spiteful and vicious, but she did not seem sodeadly as the man. In a dim way they felt that he had huntedtheir mother into her grave and might do as much for them.

The room was dark save for the light which came through thesingle dirty window. It cast a bar across the floor, but allround was black shadow. Suddenly the little boy stiffened,clasped his sister with a tighter grip, and stared rigidly intothe darkness.

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 wasnot really frightened, for many times before had the dead motherreturned in the watches of the night to comfort her strickenchildren.

"Oh, she is beautiful. She is not crying. She is smiling. Itis 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 herhand. We are to follow. She has moved to the door."

"Yes, yes, she nods her head. She bids us fear nothing Now shehas passed through the door. Come, Margery, come, or we shalllose her."

The two little mites crept across the room and Willie unlockedthe door. The mother stood at the head of the stair beckoningthem onwards. Step by step they followed her down into an emptykitchen. The woman seemed to have gone out. All was still in thehouse. The phantom still beckoned them on."

They threw open the door and were in the street. Down thedeserted court they followed the gleaming gracious presence, andthrough a tangle of low streets, and so out into the crowded rushof Tottenham Court Road. Once or twice amid all that blindtorrent of humanity, some man or woman, blessed with the preciousgift of discernment, would start and stare as if they were awareof an angel presence and of two little white-faced children whofollowed behind, the boy with fixed, absorbed gaze, the girlglancing ever in terror over her shoulder. Down the long streetthey passed, then again amid humbler dwellings, and so at last toa quiet drab line of brick houses. On the step of one the spirithad halted.

So it was that Mrs. Tom Linden, sitting lonely in her miseryand brooding over her martyr in gaol, was summoned suddenly tothe door, and found two little apologetic figures outside it. Afew words, a rush of woman's instinct, and her arms were roundthe children. These battered little skiffs, who had started theirlife's voyage so sadly, had found a harbour of peace where nostorm should vex them more.

There were some strange happenings in Bolton's Court thatnight. Some folk thought they had no relation to each other. Oneor two thought they had. The British Law saw nothing and hadnothing to say.

In the second last house, a keen, hawklike face peered frombehind a window-blind into the darkened street. A shaded candlewas behind that fearful face, dark as death, remorseless as thetomb. Behind Rebecca Levi stood a young man whose features showedthat 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 ahanging lamp which cast a circle of yellow light. It was on thispool of radiance that her brooding eyes were fixed.

Then suddenly she saw what she had waited for. She started andhissed out a word. The young man rushed from the room and intothe 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 beenagainst him. He had hung about the bar waiting for drinks and hadgot some, but not enough. Now he was in a dangerous mood. Woe tothe man, woman or child, who crossed his path! He thoughtsavagely of the Jewess who lived in that darkened house. Hethought savagely of all his neighbours. They would stand betweenhim and his children, would they? He would show them. The verynext morning he would take them both out into the street andstrap them within an inch of their lives. That would show themall what Silas Linden thought of their opinions. Why should henot do it now? If he were to waken the neighbours up with theshrieks of his children, it would show them once for all thatthey could not defy him with impunity. The idea pleased him. Hestepped more briskly out. He was almost at his door when...

It was never quite clear how it was that the cellar-flap wasnot securely fastened that night. The jury were inclined to blamethe brewery, but the coroner pointed out that Linden was a heavyman, that he might have fallen on it if he were drunk, and thatall reasonable care had been taken. It was an eighteen-foot fallupon jagged stones, and his back was broken. They did not findhim till next morning, for, curiously enough, his neighbour, theJewess, never heard the sound of the accident. The doctor seemedto think that death had not come quickly. There were horriblesigns that he had lingered. Down in the darkness, vomiting bloodand beer, the man ended his filthy life with a filthy death.

One need not waste words or pity over the woman whom he hadleft. Relieved from her terrible mate, she returned to thatmusic-hall stage from which he, by force of his virility andbull-like strength, had lured her. She tried to regain her placewith:

which was the ditty which had won her her name. But itbecame too painfully evident that she was anything but thedernier cri, and that she could never get back. Slowlyshe sank from big halls to small halls, from small halls to pubs,and so ever deeper and deeper, sucked into the awful silentquicksands of life which drew her down and down until thatvacuous painted face and frowsy head were seen no more.

XII. — THERE ARE HEIGHTSAND THERE ARE DEPTHS

THE Institut MÃ©tapsychique was an imposing stonebuilding in the Avenue Wagram with a door like a baronial castle.Here it was that the three friends presented themselves late inthe evening. A footman showed them into a reception-room wherethey were presently welcomed by Dr. Maupuis in person. The famousauthority on psychic science was a short, broad man with a largehead, a clean-shaven face, and an expression in which worldlywisdom and kindly altruism were blended. His conversation was inFrench with Mailey and Roxton, who both spoke the language well,but he had to fall back upon broken English with Malone, whocould only utter still more broken French in reply. He expressedhis pleasure at their visit, as only a graceful Frenchman can,said a few words as to the wonderful qualities of Panbek, theGalician medium, and finally led the way downstairs to the roomin which the experiments were to be conducted. His air of vividintelligence and penetrating sagacity had already shown thestrangers how preposterous were those theories which tried toexplain away his wonderful results by the supposition that he wasa man who was the easy victim of impostors.

Descending a winding stair they found themselves in a largechamber which looked at first glance like a chemical laboratory,for shelves full of bottles, retorts, test-tubes, scales andother apparatus lined the walls. It was more elegantly furnished,however, than a mere workshop, and a large massive oak tableoccupied the centre of the room with a fringe of comfortablechairs. At one end of the room was a large portrait of ProfessorCrookes, which was flanked by a second of Lombroso, while betweenthem was a remarkable picture of one of Eusapia Palladino'sseances. Round the table there was gathered a group of men whowere talking in low tones, too much absorbed in their ownconversation 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. ThePress is represented to-day by Mr. Forte, sub-editor of theMatin. The tall, dark man who looks like a retiredgeneral you probably know...Not? That is Professor CharlesRichet, our honoured doyen, who has shown great courage in thismatter, though he has not quite reached the same conclusions asyou, Monsieur Mailey. But that also may come. You must rememberthat we have to show policy, and that the less we mix this withreligion, the less trouble we shall have with the Church, whichis still very powerful in this country. The distinguished-lookingman with the high forehead is the Count de Grammont. Thegentleman with the head of a Jupiter and the white beard isFlammarion, the astronomer. Now, gentlemen," he added, in alouder voice, "if you will take your places we shall get towork."

They sat at random round the long table, the three Britonskeeping together. At one end a large photographic camera wasreared aloft. Two zinc buckets also occupied a prominent positionupon a side table. The door was locked and the key given toProfessor Richet. Dr. Maupuis sat at one end of the table with asmall 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, hasplaced his remarkable powers at our disposal for scientificinvestigation, and we all owe him a debt of gratitude. He is nowin his forty-seventh year, a man of normal health, of a neuro-arthritic disposition. Some hyper-excitability of his nervoussystem is indicated, and his reflexes arc exaggerated, but hisblood-pressure is normal. The pulse is now at seventy-two, butrises to one hundred under trance conditions. There are zones ofmarked hyper-aesthesia on his limbs. His visual field andpupillary reaction is normal. I do not know that there isanything to add."

"I might say," remarked Professor Richet, "that the hyper-sensibility is moral as well as physical. Panbek isimpressionable and full of emotion, with the temperament of thepoet and all those little weaknesses, if we may call them so,which the poet pays as a ransom for his gifts. A great medium isa great artist and is to be judged by the same standards."

"He seems to me, gentlemen, to be preparing you for theworst," said the medium with a charming smile, while the companylaughed in sympathy.

"We are sitting in the hopes that some remarkablematerializations which we have recently had may be renewed insuch a form that we may get a permanent record of them." Dr.Maupuis was talking in his dry, unemotional voice. "Thesematerializations have taken very unexpected forms of late, and Iwould beg the company to repress any feelings of fear, howeverstrange these forms may be, as a calm and judicial atmosphere ismost necessary. We shall now turn out the white light and beginwith the lowest degree of red light until the conditions willadmit 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 redglow came in the corner, enough to show the dim outlines of themen round the table. There was no music and no religiousatmosphere of any sort. The company conversed in whispers.

"Very," Mailey answered. "It seems to me that we are wide opento anything which may come. It's all wrong. They don't realizethe danger."

"Well, from my point of view, it is like sitting at the edgeof a pond which may have harmless frogs in it, or may have man-eating crocodiles. You can't tell what may come."

"I know your views, Mr. Mailey," said he. "Don't think that Itreat them lightly. Some things which I have seen make meappreciate your comparison of the frog and the crocodile. In thisvery room I have been conscious of the presence of creatureswhich could, if moved to anger, make our experiments seem ratherhazardous. I believe with you that evil people here might bringan evil reflection into our circle."

"I am glad, sir, that you are moving in our direction," saidMailey, for like everyone else he regarded Richet as one of theworld's great men.

"Moving, perhaps, and yet I cannot claim to be altogether withyou yet. The latent powers of the human incarnate spirit may beso wonderful that they may extend to regions which seem atpresent to be quite beyond their scope. As an old materialist, Ifight every inch of the ground, though I admit that I have lostseveral lines of trenches. My illustrious friend Challenger stillholds his front intact, as I understand."

"Hush!" cried Maupuis in an eager voice. There was deadsilence. Then there came a sound of uneasy movement with astrange flapping vibration.

There was silence and then once again came the sound ofmovement and an impatient flap.

The flash of the luminant mixture filled the room, while theshutter of the camera fell. In that sudden glare of light thevisitors had a momentary glimpse of a marvellous sight. Themedium lay with his head upon his hands in apparentinsensibility. Upon his rounded shoulders there was perched ahuge bird of prey—a large falcon or an eagle. For oneinstant the strange picture was stamped upon their retinas evenas it was upon the photographic plate. Then the darkness closeddown again, save for the two red lamps, like the eyes of somebaleful demon lurking in the corner.

"But harmless," added Professor Richet. "the bird has beenwith us several times. He moves his wings, as you have heard, butotherwise is inert. We may have another and a more dangerousvisitor."

The flash of the light had, of course, dispelled allectoplasm. It was necessary to begin again The company may havesat for a quarter of an hour when Richet touched Mailey'sarm.

"There is another more ordinary analogy. Have you been in awarm room with a wet dog?"

The animal smell became more pronounced. It was overpowering.Then suddenly Malone became conscious of something moving roundthe table. In the dim red light he was aware of a mis-shapenfigure, crouching, ill-formed, with some resemblance to man. Hesilhouetted it against the dull radiance. It was bulky, broad,with a bullet-head, a short neck, heavy, clumsy shoulders. Itslouched slowly round the circle. Then it stopped, and a cry ofsurprise, not unmixed with fear, came from one of thesitters.

"Do not be alarmed," said Dr. Maupuis' quiet voice. "It is thePithecanthropus. He is harmless." Had it been a cat which hadstrayed into the room the scientist could not have discussed itmore calmly.

"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 turnedthe end of the table and stood behind the three friends. Itsbreath came in quick puffs at the back of their necks. SuddenlyLord Roxton gave a loud exclamation of disgust.

An instant later Malone was aware of a shaggy head extendedbetween Lord Roxton and himself. With his left hand he could feellong, coarse hair. It turned towards him, and it needed all hisself-control to hold his hand still when a long soft tonguecaressed it. Then it was gone.

"We have been asked not to photograph it. Possibly the lightwould infuriate it. The command through the medium was definite.We can only say that it is either an apelike man or a man-likeape. We have seen it more clearly than to-night. The face isSimian, but the brow is straight; the arms long, the hands huge,the body covered with hair."

"Tom Linden gave us something better than that," whisperedMailey. He spoke low but Richet caught the words.

"All Nature is the field of our study, Mr. Mailey. It is notfor us to choose. Shall we classify the flowers but neglect thefungi?"

"The X-rays were dangerous. How many martyrs lost their arms,joint by joint, before those dangers were realized? And yet itwas necessary. So it is with us. We do not know yet what it isthat we are doing. But if we can indeed show the world that thisPithecanthropus can come to us from the Invisible, and departagain as it came, then the knowledge is so tremendous that evenif he tore us to pieces with those formidable claws it would nonethe less be our duty to go forward with our experiments."

"Science can be heroic," said Mailey. "Who can deny it? Andyet I have heard these very scientific men tell us that weimperil our reason when we try to get in touch with spiritualforces. Gladly would we sacrifice our reason, or our lives, if wecould help mankind. Should we not do as much for spiritualadvance as they for material?"

The lights had been turned up and there was a pause forrelaxation before the great experiment of the evening wasattempted. The men broke into little groups, chatting in hushedtones over their recent experience. Looking round at thecomfortable room with its up-to-date appliances, the strange birdand the stealthy monster seemed like dreams. And yet they hadbeen very real as was shown presently by the photographer, whohad been allowed to leave and now rushed excitedly from theadjacent dark room waving the plate which he had just developedand fixed. He held it up against the light, and there, sureenough, was the bald head of the medium sunk between his hands,and crouching closely over his shoulders the outline of thatominous figure. Dr. Maupuis rubbed his little fat hands withglee. Like all pioneers he had endured much persecution from theParisian Press, and every fresh phenomenon was another weapon forhis own defence.

"Nous marchons! Hein! Nous marchons!" he kept onrepeating, while Richet, lost in thought, answeredmechanically:

The little Galician was sitting nibbling a biscuit with aglass of red wine before him. Malone went round to him and foundthat he had been in America and could talk a little English.

"In moderation, no. Two sittings a week. Behold my allowance.The doctor will allow no more."

"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 thewoods and strange animals would come round me. It did me such asurprise when I found that the other children could not seethem."

"Parfaitment," answered the medium, brushing away thecrumbs. The doctor lit a spirit-lamp under one of the zincbuckets.

"We are about to co-operate in an experiment, gentlemen, whichshould, once and for all, convince the world as to the existenceof these ectoplasmic forms. Their nature may be disputed, buttheir objectivity will be beyond doubt from now onwards unless myplans miscarry. I would first explain these two buckets to you.This one, which I am warming, contains paraffin, which is now inprocess of liquefaction. This other contains water. Those whohave not been present before must understand that Panbek'sphenomena occur usually in the same order, and that at this stageof 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 myseat, and I switch on the red light, Number Three, which allowsof greater visibility."

The circle was now quite visible. The medium's head had fallenforward and his deep snoring showed that he was already intrance. Every face was turned towards him, for the wonderfulprocess of materialization was going on before their very eyes.At first it was a swirl of light, steam-like vapour which circledround his head. Then there was a waving, as of white diaphanousdrapery, behind him. It thickened. It coalesced. It hardened inoutline and took definite shape. There was a head. There wereshoulders. Arms grew out from them. Yes, there could not be adoubt of it—there was a man, an old man, standing behindthe chair. He moved his head slowly from side lo side. He seemedto be peering in indecision towards the company. One couldimagine that he was asking himself, "Where am I, and what am Ihere for?"

"He does not speak, but he hears and has intelligence," saidDr. Maupuis, glancing over his shoulder at the apparition. "Weare here, sir, in the hope that you will aid us in a veryimportant experiment. May we count upon your co-operation?"

"We thank you. When you have attained your full power youwill, no doubt, move away from the medium." The figure againbowed, but remained motionless. It seemed to Malone that it wasgrowing denser every moment. He caught glimpses of the face. Itwas certainly an old man, heavy-faced, long-nosed, with acuriously projecting lower lip. Suddenly with a brusque movementit stood clear from Panbeck and stepped out into the room.

"Now, sir," said Maupuis in his precise fashion. "You willperceive the zinc bucket upon the left. I would beg you to havethe kindness to approach it and to plunge your right hand intoit."

The figure moved across. He seemed interested in the buckets,for he examined them with some attention. Then he dipped one ofhis 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 samehand into the cold water of the other bucket."

"Now, sir, you would bring our experiment to complete successif you would lay your hand upon the table, and while it isresting there you would yourself dematerialize and return intothe medium."

The figure bowed its comprehension and assent. Then it slowlyadvanced towards the table, stooped over it, extended its hand—and vanished. The heavy breathing of the medium ceased andhe moved uneasily as if about to wake. Maupuis turned on thewhite light, and threw up his hands with a loud cry of wonder andjoy which was echoed by the company.

On the shining wooden surface of the table there lay adelicate 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 bitof the wax from the wrist and handed it to an assistant, whohurried from the room.

"It is final!" he cried. "What can they say now? Gentlemen, Iappeal to you. You have seen what occurred. Clan any of you giveany rational explanation of that paraffin mould, save that it wasthe result of dematerialization of the hand within it?"

"I can see no other solution," Richet answered. "But you haveto do with very obstinate and very prejudiced people. If theycannot deny it, they will probably ignore it."

"The Press is here and the Press represents the public," saidMaupuis. "For the Press Engleesh, Monsieur Malone," he went on inhis broken way. "Is it that you can see any answer?"

"For us who had the privilege of being present it was indeedconvincing," said he, "and yet you will certainly be met withobjections. They will not realize how fragile this thing is. Theywill say that the medium brought it on his person and laid itupon the table."

Maupuis clapped his hands triumphantly. His assistant had justbrought him a slip of paper from the next room.

"Your objection is already answered," he cried, waving thepaper in the air. "I had foreseen it and I had put somecholesterine among the paraffin in the zinc pail. You may haveobserved that I broke off a corner of the mould. It was forpurpose of chemical analysis. This has now been done. It is hereand cholesterine has been detected."

"Excellent!" said the French journalist. "You have closed thelast hole. But what next?"

"What we have done once we can do again," Maupuis answered. "Iwill prepare a number of these moulds. In some cases I will havefists and hands. Then I will have plaster casts made from them. Iwill run the plaster inside the mould. It is delicate, but it canbe done. I will have dozens of them so treated, and I will sendthem broadcast to every capital in the world that people may seewith their own eyes. Will that not at last convince them of thereality of our conclusions?"

"Do not hope for too much, my poor friend," said Richet, withhis hand upon the shoulder of the enthusiast. "You have not yetrealized the enormousvis inertiae of the world. But asyou have said,'Vous marchez—vous marcheztoujours'."

"And our march is regulated," said Mailey. "There is a gradualrelease to accommodate it to the receptivity of mankind."

"Always transcendental, Monsieur Mailey! Always seeing morethan meets the eye and changing science into philosophy! I fearyou are incorrigible. Is your position reasonable?"

"Professor Richet," said Mailey, very earnestly, "I would begyou to answer the same question. I have a deep respect for yourtalents and complete sympathy with your caution, but have you notcome to the dividing of the ways? You are now in the positionthat you admit—you must admit—that an intelligentapparition in human form, built up from the substance which youhave yourself named ectoplasm, can walk the room and carry outinstructions while the medium lay senseless under our eyes, andyet you hesitate to assert that spirit has an independentexistence. Is that reasonable?"

Richet smiled and shook his head. Without answering he turnedand bid farewell to Dr. Maupuis, and to offer him hiscongratulations. A few minutes later the company had broken upand our friends were in a taxi speeding towards their hotel.

Malone was deeply impressed with what he had seen, and he satup half the night drawing up a full account of it for theCentral News, with the names of those who had endorsedthe result —honourable names which no one in the worldcould 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 Londondailies one after the other. Columns about football. Columnsabout golf. A full page as to the value of shares. A long andearnest correspondence inThe Times about the habits ofthe lapwing. Not one word in any of them as to the wonders whichhe had seen and reported. Mailey laughed at his dejectedface.

XIII. — IN WHICH PROFESSORCHALLENGER GOES FORTH TO BATTLE

PROFESSOR CHALLENGER was in a bad humour, andwhen that was so his household were made aware of it. Neitherwere the effects of his wrath confined to those around him, formost of those terrible letters which appeared from time to timein the Press, flaying and scarifying some unhappy opponent, werethunderbolt flashes from an offended Jove who sat in sombremajesty in his study-throne on the heights of a Victoria flat.Servants would hardly dare to enter the room where, glooming andglowering, the maned and bearded head looked up from his papersas a lion from a bone. Only Enid could dare him at such a time,and even she felt occasionally that sinking of the heart whichthe bravest of tamers may experience as he unbars the gate of thecage. She was not safe from the acridity of his tongue but atleast she need not fear physical violence, which was well withinthe possibilities for others.

Sometimes these berserk fits of the famous Professor arosefrom material causes. "Hepatic, sir, hepatic!" he would explainin extenuation after some aggravated assault. But on thisparticular occasion he had a very definite cause for discontent.It was Spiritualism!

He never seemed to get away from the accursed superstition—a thing which ran counter to the whole work and philosophyof his lifetime. He attempted to pooh-pooh it, to laugh at it, toignore it with contempt, but the confounded thing would insistupon obtruding itself once more. On Monday he would write itfinally off his books, and before Saturday he would be up to hisneck in it again. And the thing was so absurd! It seemed to himthat his mind was being drawn from the great pressing materialproblems of the Universe in order to waste itself upon Grimm'sfairy tales or the ghosts of a sensational novelist.

Then things grew worse. First Malone, who had in his simplefashion been an index figure representing the normal clear-headedhuman being, had in some way been bedevilled by these people andhad committed himself to their pernicious views. Then Enid, hiswee-lamb, his one real link with humanity, had also beencorrupted. She had agreed with Malone's conclusions. She had evenhunted up a good deal of evidence of her own. In vain he hadhimself investigated a case and proved beyond a shadow of a doubtthat the medium was a designing villain who brought messages froma widow's dead husband in order to get the woman into his power.It was a clear case and Enid admitted it. But neither she norMalone would allow any general application. "There are rogues inevery line of life," they would say. "We must judge everymovement by the best and not by the worst."

All this was bad enough, but worse still was in store. He hadbeen publicly humiliated by the Spiritualists—and that by aman who admitted that he had had no education and would in anyother subject in the world have been seated like a child at theProfessor's feet. And yet in public debate—but the storymust be told.

Be it known, then, that Challenger, greatly despising allopposition and with no knowledge of the real strength of the caseto be answered, had, in a fatal moment, actually asserted that hewould descend from Olympus and would meet in debate anyrepresentative whom the other party should select. "I am wellaware," he wrote, "that by such condescension I, like any otherman of science of equal standing, run the risk of giving adignity to these absurd and grotesque aberrations of the humanbrain which they could otherwise not pretend to claim, but wemust do our duty to the public, and we must occasionally turnfrom our serious work and spare a moment in order to sweep awaythose ephemeral cobwebs which might collect and become offensiveif they were not dispersed by the broom of Science." Thus, in amost self-confident fashion, did Goliath go forth to meet histiny antagonist, an ex-printer's assistant and now the editor ofwhat Challenger would describe as an obscure print devoted tomatters of the spirit.

The particulars of the debate are public property, and it isnot necessary to tell in any great detail that painful event. Itwill be remembered that the great man of Science went down to theQueen's Hall accompanied by many rationalist sympathizers whodesired to see the final destruction of the visionaries. A largenumber of these poor deluded creatures also attended, hopingagainst hope that their champion might not be entirely immolatedupon the altar of outraged Science. Between them the two factionsfilled the hall, and glared at each other with as much enmity asdid the Blues and the Greens a thousand years before in theHippodrome of Constantinople. There on the left of the platformwere the solid ranks of those hard and unbending rationalists wholook upon the Victorian agnostics as credulous, and refresh theirfaith by the periodical perusal of theLiterary Gazetteand theFreethinker.

There, too, was Dr. Joseph Baumer, the famous lecturer uponthe absurdities of religion, together with Mr. Edward Mould, whohas insisted so eloquently upon man's claim to ultimate putridityof the body and extinction of the soul. On the other sideMailey's yellow beard flamed like an oriflamme. His wife sat onone side of him and Mervin, the journalist, on the other, whiledense ranks of earnest men and women from the Queen SquareSpiritual Alliance, from the Psychic College, from the SteadBureau, and from the outlying churches, assembled in order toencourage their champion in his hopeless task. The genial facesof Bolsover, the grocer, with his Hammersmith friends, Terbane,the railway medium, the Reverend Charles Mason, with his asceticfeatures, Tom Linden, now happily released from bondage, Mrs.Linden, the Crewe circle, Dr. Atkinson, Lord Roxton, Malone, andmany other familiar faces were to be picked out amid that densewall of humanity. Between the two parties, solemn and stolid andfat, sat Judge Gaverson of the King's Bench, who had consented topreside. It was an interesting and suggestive fact that in thiscritical debate at which the very core or vital centre of realreligion was the issue, the organized churches were entirelyaloof and neutral. Drowsy and semi-conscious, they could notdiscern that the live intellect of the nation was really holdingan inquisition upon their bodies to determine whether they weredoomed to the extinction towards which they were rapidlydrifting, or whether a resuscitation in other forms was among thepossibilities of the future.

In front, on one side, with his broad-browed disciples behindhim, sat Professor Challenger, portentous and threatening, hisAssyrian beard projected in his most aggressive fashion, a half-smile upon his lips, and his eyelids drooping insolently over hisintolerant grey eyes. On the corresponding position on the otherside was perched a drab and unpretentious person over whosehumble head Challenger's hat would have descended to theshoulders. He was pale and apprehensive, glancing acrossoccasionally in apologetic and deprecating fashion at his leonineopponent. Yet those who knew James Smith best were the leastalarmed, for they were aware that behind his commonplace anddemocratic appearance there lay a knowledge of his subject,practical and theoretical, such as few living men possessed. Thewise men of the Psychical Research Society are but children inpsychic knowledge when compared with such practisingSpiritualists as James Smith—men whose whole lives arespent in various forms of communion with the unseen. Such menoften lose touch with the world in which they dwell and areuseless for its everyday purposes, but the editorship of a livepaper and the administration of a wide-spread, scatteredcommunity had kept Smith's feet solid upon earth, while hisexcellent natural faculties, uncorrupted by useless education,had enabled him to concentrate upon the one field of knowledgewhich offers in itself a sufficient scope for the greatest humanintellect. Little as Challenger could appreciate it, the contestwas really one between a brilliant discursive amateur and aconcentrated highly-specialized professional.

It was admitted on all sides that Challenger's opening half-hour was a magnificent display of oratory and argument. His deeporgan voice— such a voice as only a man with a fifty-inchchest can produce—rose and fell in a perfect cadence whichenchanted his audience. He was born to sway an assembly—anobvious leader of mankind. In turn he was descriptive, humorousand convincing. He pictured the natural growth of animism amongsavages cowering under the naked sky, unable to account for thebeat of the rain or the roar of the thunder, and seeing abenevolent or malicious intelligence behind those operations ofNature which Science had now classified and explained.

Hence on false premises was built up that belief in spirits orinvisible beings outside ourselves, which by some curious atavismwas re-emerging in modern days among the less educated strata ofmankind. It was the duty of Science to resist retrogressivetendencies of the sort, and it was a sense of that duty which hadreluctantly drawn him from the privacy of his study to thepublicity of this platform. He rapidly sketched the movement asdepicted by its maligners. It was a most unsavoury story as hetold it, a story of cracking toe joints, of phosphorescent paint,of muslin ghosts, of a nauseous sordid commission trade betwixtdead men's bones on one side, and widow's tears upon the other.These people were the hyenas of the human race who battened uponthe graves. (Cheers from the Rationalists and ironical laughterfrom the Spiritualists.) They were not all rogues. ("Thank you,Professor!" from a stentorian opponent) But the others were fools(laughter) . Was it exaggeration to call man a fool who believedthat his grandmother could rap out absurd messages with the legof a dining-room table? Had any savages descended to so grotesquea superstition? These people had taken dignity from death and hadbrought their own vulgarity into the serene oblivion of the tomb.It was a hateful business. He was sorry to have to speak sostrongly, but only the knife or the cautery could deal with socancerous a growth. Surely man need not trouble himself withgrotesque speculations as to the nature of life beyond the grave.We had enough to do in this world. Life was a beautiful thing.The man who appreciated its real duties and beauties would havesufficient to employ him without dabbling in pseudo scienceswhich had their roots in frauds, exposed already a hundred timesand yet finding fresh crowds of foolish devotees whose insanecredulity and irrational prejudice made them impervious to allargument.

Such is a most bald and crude summary of this powerful openingargument. The materialists roared their applause; theSpiritualists looked angry and uneasy, while their spokesmanrose, pale but resolute, to answer the ponderous onslaught.

His voice and appearance had none of those qualities whichmade Challenger magnetic, but he was clearly audible and made hispoints in a precise fashion like a workman who is familiar withhis tools. He was so polite and so apologetic at first that hegave the impression of having been cowed. He felt that it wasalmost presumptuous upon one who had so little advantage ofeducation to measure mental swords for an instant with sorenowned an antagonist, one whom he had long revered. It seemedto him, however, that in the long list of the Professor'saccomplishments—accomplishments which had made him ahousehold word throughout the world—there was one missing,and unhappily it was just this one upon which he had been temptedto speak. He had listened to that speech with admiration so faras its eloquence was concerned, but with surprise, and he mightalmost say with contempt, when he analysed the assertions whichwere contained in it. It was clear that the Professor hadprepared his case by reading all the anti-Spiritualist literaturewhich he could lay his hands upon—a most tainted source ofinformation—while neglecting the works of those who spokefrom experience and conviction.

All this talk of cracking joints and other fraudulent trickswas mid-Victorian in its ignorance, and as to the grandmothertalking through the leg of a table he, the speaker, could notrecognize it as a fair description of Spiritualistic phenomena.Such comparisons reminded one of the jokes about the dancingfrogs which impeded the recognition of Volta's early electricalexperiments. They were unworthy of Professor Challenger. He mustsurely be aware that the fraudulent medium was the worst enemy ofSpiritualism, that he was denounced by name in the psychicjournals whenever he was discovered, and that such exposures wereusually made by the Spiritualists themselves who had spoken of"human hyenas" as indignantly as his opponent had done. One didnot condemn banks because forgers occasionally used them fornefarious purposes. It was wasting the time of so chosen anaudience to descend to such a level of argument. Had ProfessorChallenger denied the religious implications of Spiritualismwhile admitting the phenomena, it might have been harder toanswer him, but in denying everything he had placed himself in anabsolutely impossible position. No doubt Professor Challenger hadread the recent work of Professor Richet, the famousphysiologist. That work had extended over thirty years. Richethad verified all the phenomena.

Perhaps Professor Challenger would inform the audience whatpersonal experience he had himself had which gave him the rightto talk of Richet, or Lombroso, or Crookes, as if they weresuperstitious savages. Possibly his opponent had conductedexperiments in private of which the world knew nothing. In thatcase he should give them to the world. Until he did so it wasunscientific and really indecent to deride men, hardly inferiorin scientific reputation to himself, who actually had done suchexperiments and laid them before the public.

As to the self-sufficiency of this world, a successfulProfessor with a eupeptic body might take such a view, but if onefound oneself with cancer of the stomach in a London garret, onemight question the doctrine that there was no need to yearn forany state of being save that in which we found ourselves.

It was a workmanlike effort illustrated with facts, dates andfigures. Though it rose to no height of eloquence it containedmuch which needed an answer. And the sad fact emerged thatChallenger was not in a position to answer. He had read up hisown case but had neglected that of his adversary, accepting tooeasily the facile and specious presumptions of incompetentwriters who handled a matter which they had not themselvesinvestigated. Instead of answering, Challenger lost his temper.The lion began to roar. He tossed his dark mane and his eyesglowed, while his deep voice reverberated through the hall. Whowere these people who took refuge behind a few honoured butmisguided names? What right had they to expect serious men ofscience to suspend their labours in order to waste time inexamining their wild surmises? Some things were self-evident anddid not require proof. The onus of proof lay with those who madethe assertions. If this gentleman, whose name is unfamiliar,claims that he can raise spirits, let him call one up now beforea sane and unprejudiced audience. If he says that he receivesmessages, let him give us the news in advance of the generalagencies. ("It has often been done!" from the Spiritualists.) Soyou say, but I deny it. I am too accustomed to your wildassertions to take them seriously. (Uproar, and Judge Gaversonupon his feet.) If he claims that he has higher inspiration, lethim solve the Peckham Rye murder. If he is in touch with angelicbeings, let him give us a philosophy which is higher than mortalmind can evolve. This false show of science, this camouflage ofignorance, this babble about ectoplasm and other mythicalproducts of the psychic imagination was mere obscurantism, thebastard offspring of superstition and darkness. Wherever thematter was probed one came upon corruption and mentalputrescence. Every medium was a deliberate impostor. ("You are aliar!" in a woman's voice from the neighbourhood of the Lindens.)The voices of the dead had uttered nothing but childish twaddle.The asylums were full of the supporters of the cult and would befuller still if everyone had his due.

It was a violent but not an effective speech. Evidently thegreat man was rattled. He realized that there was a case to bemet and that he had not provided himself with the materialwherewith to meet it. Therefore he had taken refuge in angrywords and sweeping assertions which can only be safely made whenthere is no antagonist present to take advantage of them. TheSpiritualists seemed more amused than angry. The materialistsfidgeted uneasily in their seats. Then James Smith rose for hislast innings. He wore a mischievous smile. There was quiet menacein his whole bearing.

He must ask, he said, for a more scientific attitude from hisillustrious opponent. It was an extraordinary fact that manyscientific men, when their passions and prejudices were excited,showed a ludicrous disregard for all their own tenets. Of thesetenets there was none more rigid than that a subject should beexamined before it was condemned. We have seen of late years, insuch matters as wireless or heavier-than-air machines, that themost unlikely things may come to pass. It is most dangerous tosay a priori that a thing is impossible. Yet this was the errorinto which Professor Challenger had fallen. He had used the famewhich he had rightly won in subjects which he had mastered inorder to cast discredit upon a subject which he had not mastered.The fact that a man was a great physiologist and physicist didnot in itself make him an authority upon psychic science.

It was perfectly clear that Professor Challenger had not readthe standard works upon the subject on which he posed as anauthority. Could he tell the audience what the name of SchrenckNotzing's medium was? He paused for a reply. Could he then tellthe name of Dr. Crawford's medium? Not? Could he tell them whohad been the subject of Professor Zollner's experiments atLeipzig? What, still silent? But these were the essential pointsof the discussion. He had hesitated to be personal, but theProfessor's robust language called for corresponding franknessupon his part. Was the Professor aware that this ectoplasm whichhe derided had been examined lately by twenty German professors—the names were here for reference—and that all hadtestified to its existence? How could Professor Challenger denythat which these gentlemen asserted? Would he contend that theyalso were criminals or fools? The fact was that the Professor hadcome to this hall entirely ignorant of the facts and was nowlearning them for the first time. He clearly had no perceptionthat Psychic Science had any laws whatever, or he would not haveformulated such childish requests as that an ectoplasmic figureshould manifest in full light upon this platform when everystudent was aware that ectoplasm was soluble in light. As to thePeckham Rye murder it had never been claimed that the angel worldwas an annexe to Scotland Yard. It was mere throwing of dust inthe eyes of the public for a man like ProfessorChallenger—

It was at this moment that the explosion occurred. Challengerhad wriggled in his chair. Challenger had tugged at his beard.Challenger had glared at the speaker. Now he suddenly sprang tothe side of the chairman's table with the bound of a woundedlion. That gentleman had been lying back half asleep with his fathands clutched across his ample paunch, but at this suddenapparition he gave a convulsive start which nearly carried himinto the orchestra.

"I refuse to sit down," roared Challenger. "Sir, I appeal toyou as chairman! Am I here to be insulted? These proceedings areintolerable. I will stand it no longer. If my private honour istouched I am justified in taking the matter into my ownhands."

Like many men who override the opinions of others, Challengerwas exceedingly sensitive when anyone took a liberty with hisown. Each successive incisive sentence of his opponent had beenlike a barbedbandarillo in the flanks of a foamingbull. Now, in speechless fury, he was shaking his huge hairy fistover the chairman's head in the direction of his adversary, whosederisive smile stimulated him to more furious plunges with whichhe butted the fat president along the platform. The assembly hadin an instant become a pandemonium. Half the rationalists werescandalized, while the other half shouted "Shame! Shame!" as asign of sympathy with their champion. The Spiritualists hadbroken into derisive shouts, while some rushed forward to protecttheir champion from physical assault.

"We must get the old dear out," said Lord Roxton to Malone."He'll be had for manslaughter if we don't. What I mean, he's notresponsible—he'll sock someone and be lagged for it."

The platform had become a seething mob, while the auditoriumwas little better. Through the crush Malone and Roxton elbowedtheir way until they reached Challenger's side, and partly byjudicious propulsion, partly by artful persuasion, they got him,still bellowing his grievances, out of the building. There was aperfunctory vote to the chairman, and the meeting broke up inriot and confusion. "The whole episode," remarkedTheTimes next morning, "was a deplorable one, and forciblyillustrates the danger of public debates where the subjects aresuch as to inflame the prejudices of either speakers or audience.Such terms as 'Microcephalous idiot!' or 'Simian survival!' whenapplied by a world-renowned Professor to an opponent, illustratethe lengths to which such disputants may permit themselves togo."

Thus by a long interpolation we have got back to the fact thatProfessor Challenger was in the worst of humours as he sat withthe above-mentioned copy ofThe Times in his hand and aheavy scowl upon his brow. And yet it was that very moment thatthe injudicious Malone had chosen in order to ask him the mostintimate question which one man can address to another.

Yet perhaps it is hardly fair to our friend's diplomacy to saythat he had "chosen" the moment. He had really called in order tosee for himself that the man for whom, in spite of hiseccentricities, he had a deep reverence and affection, had notsuffered from the events of the night before. On that point hewas speedily reassured.

"Intolerable!" roared the Professor, in a tone so unchangedthat he might have been at it all night. "You were thereyourself, Malone. In spite of your inexplicable and misguidedsympathy for the fatuous views of these people, you must admitthat the whole conduct of the proceedings was intolerable, andthat my righteous protest was more than justified. It is possiblethat when I threw the chairman's table at the President of thePsychic College I passed the bounds of decorum, but theprovocation had been excessive. You will remember that this Smithor Brown person—his name is most immaterial—dared toaccuse me of ignorance and of throwing dust in the eyes of theaudience."

"Quite so," said Malone, soothingly. "Never mind, Professor.You got in one or two pretty hard knocks yourself."

"Yes, yes, I fancy that some of my thrusts went home. Iimagine that they will not be forgotten. When I said that theasylums would be full if every man of them had his due I couldsee them wince. They all yelped, I remember, like a kennelful ofpuppies. It was their preposterous claim that I should read theirhare-brained literature which caused me to display some littleheat. But I hope, my boy, that you have called round this morningin order to tell me that what I said last night has had someeffect upon your own mind, and that you have reconsidered theseviews which are, I confess, a considerable tax upon ourfriendship."

"I had something else in my mind when I came here," said he."You must be aware that your daughter Enid and I have been throwntogether a good deal of late. To me, sir, she has become the onewoman in the world, and I shall never be happy until she is mywife. I am not rich, but a good sub-editorship has been offeredto me and I could well afford to marry. You have known me forsome time and I hope you have nothing against me. I trust,therefore, that I may count upon your approval in what I am aboutto do."

"My perceptions," said he, "are not so dull that I should havefailed to observe the relations which have been establishedbetween my daughter and yourself. This question however, hasbecome entangled with the other which we were discussing. Youhave both, I fear, imbibed this poisonous fallacy which I am moreand more inclined to devote my life to extirpating. If only onthe ground of eugenics, I could not give my sanction to a unionwhich was built up on such a foundation, I must ask you,therefore, for a definite assurance that your views have becomemore sane. I shall ask the same from her."

And so Malone suddenly found himself also enrolled among thenoble army of martyrs. It was a hard dilemma, but he faced itlike the man that he was.

"I am sure, sir, that you would not think the better of me ifI allowed my views as to truth, whether they be right or wrong,to be swayed by material considerations. I cannot change myopinions even to win Enid. I am sure that she would take the sameview."

"Then my mind is made up also," roared Challenger, with asudden glare. "You will leave this house, sir, and you willreturn when you have regained your sanity."

"One moment!" said Malone. "I beg, sir, that you will not beprecipitate. I value your friendship too much to risk the loss ofit if it can, in any way, be avoided. Possibly if I had yourguidance I would better understand these things that puzzle me.If I should be able to arrange it would you mind being presentpersonally at one of these demonstrations so that your owntrained powers of observation may throw a light upon the thingsthat have puzzled me."

Challenger was enormously open to flattery. He plumed andpreened himself now like some great bird.

"If, my dear Malone, I can help you to get this taint—what shall we call it?—microbusspiritualensis —out of your system, I am at yourservice. I shall be happy to devote a little of my spare time toexposing those specious fallacies to which you have fallen soeasy a victim. I would not say that you are entirely devoid ofbrains, but that your good nature is liable to be imposed upon. Iwarn you that I shall be an exacting inquirer and bring to theinvestigation those laboratory methods of which it is generallyadmitted that I am a master."

"Then you will prepare the occasion and I shall be there. Butmeanwhile you will clearly understand that I insist upon apromise that this connection with my daughter shall go nofurther."

"I will decide when the time comes," Malone answereddiplomatically, and so escaped from a dangerous situation withmore credit than at one time seemed probable.

It chanced that, as he emerged upon the landing, Enid who hadbeen engaged in her morning's shopping, appeared in the lift.Malone's easy Irish conscience allowed him to think that the sixmonths need not start on the instant, so he persuaded Enid todescend in the lift with him. It was one of those lifts which arehandled by whoever uses them, and on this occasion it so happenedthat, in some way best known to Malone, it stuck between thelanding stages, and in spite of several impatient rings itremained stuck for a good quarter of an hour. When the machineryresumed its functions, and when Enid was able at last to reachher home and Malone the street, the lovers had preparedthemselves to wait for six months with every hope of a successfulend to their experiment.

XIV. — IN WHICH CHALLENGERMEETS A STRANGE COLLEAGUE

PROFESSOR CHALLENGER was not a man who madefriends easily. In order to be his friend you had also to be hisdependant. He did not admit of equals. But as a patron he wassuperb. With his Jovian air, his colossal condescension, hisamused smile, his general suggestion of the god descending to themortal, he could be quite overpowering in his amiability. But heneeded certain qualities in return. Stupidity disgusted him.Physical ugliness alienated him. Independence repulsed him. Hecoveted the man whom all the world would admire, but who in turnwould admire the superman above him. Such a man was Dr. RossScotton, and for this reason he hat been Challenger's favouritepupil.

And now he was sick unto death. Dr. Atkinson of St. Mary's whohad already played some minor part in this record, was attendinghim, and his reports were increasingly depressing. The illnesswas that dread disease disseminated sclerosis, and Challenger wasaware that Atkinson was no alarmist when he said that a cure wasa most remote and unlikely possibility. It seemed a terribleinstance of the unreasonable nature of things that a young man ofscience, capable before he reached his prime of two such works asThe Embryology of the Symibathetic Nervous System orThe Fallacy of the Obsonic Index, should be dissolvedinto his chemical elements with no personal or spiritual residuewhatever. And yet the Professor shrugged his huge shoulders,shook his massive head, and accepted the inevitable. Every freshmessage was worse than the last, and, finally, there was anominous silence. Challenger went down once to his young friend'slodging in Gower Street. It was a racking experience, and he didnot repeat it. The muscular cramps which are characteristic ofthe complaint were tying the sufferer into knots, and he wasbiting his lips to shut down the screams which might haverelieved his agony at the expense of his manhood. He seized hismentor by the hand as a drowning man seizes a plank.

"Is it really as you have said? Is there no hope beyond thesix months of torture which I see lying before me? Can you withall your wisdom and knowledge see no spark of light or life inthe dark shadow of eternal dissolution?"

"Face it, my boy, face it!" said Challenger. "Better to lookfact in the face than to console oneself with fancies."

Then the lips parted and the long-pent scream burst forth.Challenger rose and rushed from the room.

But now an amazing development occurred. It began by theappearance of Miss Delicia Freeman.

One morning there came a knock at the door of the Victoriaflat. The austere and taciturn Austin looking out at the level ofhis eyes perceived nothing at all. On glancing downwards,however, he was aware of a small lady, whose delicate face andbright bird-like eyes were turned upwards to his own.

"Oh, yes, he can," the small lady answered serenely. There wasnot a newspaper office, a statesman's sanctum, or a politicalchancellory which had ever presented a barrier strong enough tohold her back where she believed that there was good work to bedone.

"Oh, but really I must, you know," said Miss Freeman, and madea sudden dive past the butler. With unerring instinct she madefor the door of the sacred study, knocked, and forthwithentered.

The lion head looked up from behind a desk littered withpapers. The lion eyes glared.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the lion roared. Thesmall lady was, however, entirely unabashed. She smiled sweetlyat the glowering face.

"I am so glad to make your acquaintance," she said. "My nameis Delicia Freeman."

"Austin!" shouted the Professor. The butler's impassive faceappeared round the angle of the door. "What is this, Austin. Howdid this person get here?"

"No, no! You must not be angry—you really must not,"said the lady sweetly. "I was told that you were a perfectlyterrible person, but really you are rather a dear."

"Who are you? What do you want? Are you aware that I am one ofthe most busy men in London?"

Miss Freeman fished about in her bag once more. She was alwaysfishing in that bag, extracting sometimes a leaflet on Armenia,sometimes a pamphlet on Greece, sometimes a note on ZenanaMissions, and sometimes a psychic manifesto. On this occasion itwas a folded bit of writing-paper which emerged.

"From Dr. Ross Scotton," she said. It was hastily folded androughly scribbled—so roughly as to be hardly legible.Challenger bent his heavy brows over it.

Please, dear friend and guide, listen to whatthis lady says. I know it is against all your views. And yet Ihad to do it. You said yourself that I had no hope. I have testedit and it works. I know it seems wild and crazy. But any hope isbetter than no hope. If you were in my place you would have donethe same. Will you not cast out prejudice and see for yourself?Dr. Felkin comes at three.

Challenger read it twice over and sighed. The brain wasclearly involved in the lesion: "He says I am to listen to you.What is it? Cut it as short as you can."

"Good God, am I never to get away from this nonsense!" hecried. "Can they not let this poor devil lie quiet on hisdeathbed but they must play their tricks upon him?"

"You want me to aid and abet in some infernal quackery. Thenext thing, I should see my name on this rascal's testimonials. Iknow the breed. If I did come I should probably take him by thecollar and throw him down the stair."

"He would say with Aristides: 'Strike, but hear me'. You willhear him first, however, I am sure. Your pupil is a real chip ofyourself. He seems quite ashamed of getting well in such anunorthodox way. It was I who called Dr. Felkin in against hiswish."

"I am prepared to take any responsibility, so long as I know Iam right. I spoke to Dr. Atkinson. He knows a little of psychicmatters. He is far less prejudiced than most of you scientificgentlemen. He took the view that when a man was dying, in anycase it could matter little what you did. So Dr. Felkincame."

"That is what Dr. Ross Scotton wants you to see." She lookedat a watch which she dragged from the depths of the bag. "In anhour he will be there. I'll tell your friend you are coming. I amsure you would not disappoint him. Oh!" She dived into the bagagain. "Here is a recent note upon the Bessarabian question. Itis much more serious than people think. You will just have timeto read it before you come. So good-bye, dear Professor, andau revoir!"

But she had succeeded in her mission, which was a way she had.There w as something compelling in the absolutely unselfishenthusiasm of this small person who would, at a moment's notice,take on anyone from a Mormon Elder to an Albanian brigand, lovingthe culprit and mourning the sin. Challenger came under thespell, and shortly after three he stumped his way up the narrowstair and blocked the door of the humble bedroom where hisfavourite pupil lay stricken. Ross Scotton lay stretched upon thebed in a red dressing-gown, and his teacher saw, with a start ofsurprised joy, that his face had filled out and that the light oflife and hope had come back into his eyes.

"Yes, I'm beating it!" he cried. "Ever since Felkin held hisfirst consultation with Atkinson I have felt the life-forcestealing back into me. Oh, chief, it is a fearful thing to lieawake at night and feel these cursed microbes nibbling away atthe very roots of your life! I could almost hear them at it. Andthe cramps when my body—like a badly articulated skeleton—would all get twisted into one rigid tangle! But now,except some dyspepsia and urticaria of the palms, I am free frompain. And all on account of this dear fellow here who has helpedme."

He motioned with his hand as if alluding to someone present.Challenger looked round with a glare, expecting to find some smugcharlatan behind him. But no doctor was there. A frail youngwoman, who seemed to be a nurse, quiet, unobtrusive, and with awealth of brown hair, was dozing in a corner. Miss Delicia,smiling demurely, stood in the window.

"I am glad you are better, my dear boy," said Challenger. "Butdo not tamper with your reason. Such a complaint has its naturalsystole and diastole."

Challenger looked up at the cornice and round at the skirting.His pupil was clearly addressing some doctor in the room and yetnone was visible. Surely his aberration had not reached the pointwhen he thought that actual floating apparitions were directinghis cure.

"Indeed, it needs some clearing," said a deep and virile voiceat his elbow. He bounded round. It was the frail young woman whowas talking.

"Let me introduce you to Dr. Felkin," said Miss Delicia, witha mischievous laugh.

The young woman rose and fumbled at the side of her dress.Then she made an impatient gesture with her hand.

"Time was, my dear colleague, when a snuff-box was as muchpart of my equipment as my phlebotomy case. I lived before thedays of Laennec, and we carried no stethoscope, but we had ourlittle chirurgical battery, none the less. But the snuff-box wasa peace-offering and I was about to offer it to you, but, alas!it has had its day."

Challenger stood with staring eyes and dilated nostrils whilethis speech was delivered. Then he turned to the bed.

"Do you mean to say that this is your doctor—that youtake the advice of this person?"

"Sir, I will not bandy words with you. I perceive very clearlythat you are one of those who have been so immersed in materialknowledge that you have had no time to devote to thepossibilities of the spirit."

"My dear chief!" cried a voice from the bed. "I beg you tobear in mind how much Dr. Felkin has already done for me. You sawhow I was a month ago, and you see how I am now. You would notoffend my best friend."

"I certainly think, Professor, that you owe dear Dr. Felkin anapology," said Miss Delicia.

"A private lunatic asylum!" snorted Challenger. Then, playingup to his part, he assumed the ponderous elephantine irony whichwas one of his most effective weapons in dealing withrecalcitrant students.

"Perhaps, young lady—or shall I say elderly and mostvenerable Professor?—you will permit a mere raw earthlystudent, who has no more knowledge than this world can give, tosit humbly in a corner and possibly to learn a little from yourmethods and your teaching." This speech was delivered with hisshoulders up to his ears, his eyelids over his eyes, and hispalms extended in front—an alarming statue of sarcasm. Dr.Felkin, however, was striding with heavy and impatient stepsabout the room, and took little notice.

"Quite so! Quite so!" she said carelessly. "Get into thecorner and stay there. Above all, stop talking, as this casecalls for all my faculties." He turned with a masterful airtowards the patient. "Well, well, you are coming along. In twomonths you will be in the class-room."

"I'll answer for that," said Miss Delicia. "I say, dearDoctor, do tell us who you were when you were alive."

"Tut I tut! The unchanging woman. They gossiped in my time andthey gossip still. No! no! We will have a look at our youngfriend here. Pulse! The intermittent beat has gone. That issomething gained. Temperature— obviously normal. Bloodpressure—still higher than I like. Digestion—much tobe desired. What you moderns call a hunger-strike would not beamiss. Well, the general conditions are tolerable. Let us see thelocal centre of the mischief. Pull your shirt down, sir! Lie onyour face. Excellent!" She passed her fingers with great forceand precision down the upper part of the spine, and then dug inher knuckles with a sudden force which made the sufferer yelp."That is better! There is—as I have explained—aslight want of alignment in the cervical vertebrae which has, asI perceive it, the effect of lessening the foramina through whichthe nerve roots emerge. This has caused compression, and as thesenerves are really the conductors of vital force, it has upset thewhole equilibrium of the parts supplied. My eyes are the same asyour clumsy X-rays, and I clearly perceive that the position isalmost restored, and the fatal constriction removed. I hope,sir," to Challenger, "that I make the pathology of thisinteresting case intelligible to you."

"I will clear up any little difficulties which may linger inyour mind. But, meantime, my dear lad, you are a credit to me,and I rejoice in your progress. You will present my complimentsto my colleague of earth, Dr. Atkinson, and tell him that I cansuggest nothing more. The medium is a little weary, poor girl, soI will not remain longer to-day."

"Indeed, there is little to say. I was a very undistinguishedpractitioner. I sat under the great Abernethy in my youth, andperhaps imbibed something of his methods. When I passed over inearly middle age I continued my studies, and was permitted, if Icould find some suitable means of expression, to do something tohelp humanity. You understand, of course, that it is only byserving and self-abnegation that we advance in the higher world.This is my service, and I can only thank kind Fate that I wasable to find in this girl a being whose vibrations so correspondwith my own that I can easily assume control of her body."

"She is waiting beside me and will presently re-enter her ownframe. As to you, sir," turning to Challenger, "you are a man ofcharacter and learning, but you are clearly embedded in thatmaterialism which is the special curse of your age. Let me assureyou that the medical profession, which is supreme upon earth forthe disinterested work of its members, has yielded too much tothe dogmatism of such men as you, and has unduly neglected thatspiritual element in man which is far more important than yourherbs and your minerals. There is a life-force, sir, and it is inthe control of this life force that the medicine of the futurelies. If you shut your mind to it, it can only mean that theconfidence of the public will turn to those who are ready toadopt every means of cure, whether they have the approval of yourauthorities or not."

Never could young Ross Scotton forget that scene. TheProfessor, the master, the supreme chief, he who had to beaddressed with bated breath sat with half-opened mouth andstaring eyes, leaning forward in his chair, while in front of himthe slight young woman shaking her mop of brown hair and waggingan admonitory forefinger, spoke to him as a father speaks to arefractory child. So intense was her power that Challenger, forthe instant, was constrained to accept the situation. He gaspedand grunted, but no retort came to his lips. The girl turned awayand sat down on a chair.

"But not yet gone," replied the girl with a smile. "Yes, Imust go, for I have much to do. This is not my only medium ofexpression, and I am due in Edinburgh in a few minutes. But be ofgood heart, young man. I will set my assistant with two extrabatteries to increase your vitality so far as your system willpermit. As to you, sir," to Challenger, "I would implore you tobeware of the egotism of brain and the self-concentration ofintellect. Store what is old, but be ever receptive to what isnew, and judge it not as you may wish it, but as God has designedit."

She gave a deep sigh and sank back in her chair. There was aminute of dead silence while she lay with her head upon herbreast. Then, with another sigh and a shiver, she opened a pairof very bewildered blue eyes.

"Indeed, yes!" cried the patient. "He was great. He says Ishall be in the class-room in two months."

"Just the special massage as before. But he is going to put ontwo new spirit batteries if I can stand it."

"My word, he won't be long now!" Suddenly the girl's eyes liton Challenger and she stopped in confusion.

"This is Nurse Ursula," said Miss Delicia. "Nurse, let mepresent you to the famous Professor Challenger." Challenger wasgreat in his manner towards women, especially if the particularwoman happened to be a young and pretty girl. He advanced now asSolomon may have advanced to the Queen of Sheba, took her hand,and patted her hair with patriarchal assurance.

"My dear, you are far too young and charming for such deceit.Have done with it for ever. Be content to be a bewitching nurseand resign all claim to the higher functions of doctor. Where,may I ask, did you pick up all this jargon about cervicalvertebrae and posterior foramina?"

Nurse Ursula looked helplessly round as one who finds herselfsuddenly in the clutches of a gorilla.

"She does not understand a word you say!" cried the man on thebed. "Oh, chief, you must make an effort to face the realsituation! I know what a readjustment it means. In my small way Ihave had to undergo it myself. But, believe me, you seeeverything through a prism instead of through plate-glass untilyou understand the spiritual factor."

Challenger continued his paternal attentions, though thefrightened lady had begun to shrink from him.

"Come now," said he, "who was the clever doctor with whom youacted as nurse—the man who taught you all these fine words?You must feel that it is hopeless to deceive me. You will be muchhappier, dear child, when you have made a clean breast of it all,and when we can laugh together over the lecture which youinflicted upon me."

An unexpected interruption came to check Challenger'sexploration of the young woman's conscience or motives. Theinvalid was sitting up, a vivid red patch against his whitepillows, and he was speaking with an energy which was in itselfan indication of his coming cure.

"Professor Challenger!" he cried, "you are insulting my bestfriend. Under this roof at least she shall be safe from thesneers of scientific prejudice. I beg you to leave the room ifyou cannot address Nurse Ursula in a more respectful manner."

"You are far too hasty, dear Dr. Ross Scotton!" she cried."Professor Challenger has had no time to understand this. Youwere just as sceptical yourself at first. How can you blamehim?"

"Yes, yes, that is true," said the young doctor. "It seemed tome to open the door to all the quackery in the Universe—indeed it does, but the fact remains."

"' One thing I know that whereas I was blind now I see',"quoted Miss Delicia. "Ah, Professor, you may raise your eyebrowsand shrug your shoulders, but we've dropped something into yourbig mind this afternoon which will grow and grow until no man cansee the end of it." She dived into the bag. "There is a littleslip here 'Brain versus Soul'. I do hope, dear Professor, thatyou will read it and then pass it on."

XV. — IN WHICH TRAPS ARELAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

MALONE was bound in honour not to speak of loveto Enid Challenger, but looks can speak, and so theircommunications had not broken down completely. In all other wayshe adhered closely to the agreement, though the situation was adifficult one. It was the more difficult since he was a constantvisitor to the Professor, and now that the irritation of thedebate was over, a very welcome one. The one object of Malone'slife w as to get the great man's sympathetic consideration ofthose psychic subjects which had gained such a hold upon himself.This he pursued with assiduity, but also with great caution, forhe knew that the lava was thin, and that a fiery explosion wasalways possible. Once or twice it came and caused Malone to dropthe subject for a week or two, until the ground seemed a littlemore firm.

Malone developed a remarkable cunning in his approaches. Onefavourite device was to consult Challenger upon some scientificpoint—on the zoological importance of the Straits of Banda,for example, or the Insects of the Malay Archipelago, and leadhim on until Challenger in due course would explain that ourknowledge on the point was due to Alfred Russel Wallace. "Oh,really! To Wallace the Spiritualist!" Malone would say in aninnocent voice, on which Challenger would glare and change thetopic.

Sometimes it was Lodge that Malone would use as a trap. "Isuppose you think highly of him."

Challenger would shut up like a clam. Then Malone would wait afew days and remark casually: "Have you ever met Lombroso!"

"Ah, a man of Lombroso's penetrating brain would make shortwork of the fallacies of these charlatans."

"Well, even the greatest mind has its inexplicable weakness."Thus, with infinite patience and cunning did Malone drop hislittle drops of reason in the hope of slowly wearing away thecasing of prejudice, but no very visible effects could be seen.Some stronger measure must be adopted, and Malone determined upondirect demonstration. But how, when, and where? Those were theall-important points upon which he determined to consult AlgernonMailey. One spring afternoon found him back in that drawing-roomwhere he had once rolled upon the carpet in the embrace of SilasLinden. He found the Reverend Charles Mason, and Smith, the heroof the Queen's Hall debate, in deep consultation with Mailey upona subject which may seem much more important to our descendantsthan those topics which now bulk large in the eyes of the public.It was no less than whether the psychic movement in Britain wasdestined to take a Unitarian or a Trinitarian course. Smith hadalways been in favour of the former, as had the old leaders ofthe movement and the present organized Spiritualist Churches. Onthe other hand, Charles Mason was a loyal son of the AnglicanChurch, and was the spokesman of a host of others, including suchweighty names as Lodge and Barrett among the laymen, orWilberforce, Haweis and Chambers among the clergy, who clung fastto the old teachings while admitting the fact of spiritcommunication. Mailey stood between the two parties, and, likethe zealous referee in a boxing-match who separates the twocombatants, he always took a chance of getting a knock from each.Malone was only too glad to listen, for now that he realized thatthe future of the world might be bound up in this movement, everyphase of it was of intense interest to him. Mason was holdingforth in his earnest but good-humoured way as he entered.

"The people are not ready for a great change. It is notnecessary. We have only to add our living knowledge and directcommunion of the saints to the splendid liturgy and traditions ofthe Church, and you will have a driving force which willrevitalize all religion. You can't pull a thing up from the rootslike that. Even the early Christians found that they could not,and so they made all sorts of concessions to the religions aroundthem."

"But it was never the same from the time that villainConstantine laid his hands on it."

"Oh, come!" said Mailey. "You must not write down the firstChristian emperor as a villain."

But Smith was a forthright, uncompromising, bull-doggyantagonist. "What other name will you give to a man who murderedhalf his own family?"

"Well, his personal character is not the question. We weretalking of the organization of the Christian Church."

Mason smiled his jolly smile. "So long as you grant me theexistence of the New Testament I don't care what you do. If youwere to prove that our Lord was a myth, as that German Drewstried to do, it would not in the least affect me so long as Icould point to that body of sublime teaching. It must have comefrom somewhere, and I adopt it and say, 'That is my creed'."

"Oh, well, there is not so much between us on that point,"said Smith. "If there is any better teaching I have not seen it.It is good enough to go on with, anyhow. But we want to cut outthe frills and superfluities. Where did they all come from? Theywere compromises with many religions, so that our friend C. couldget uniformity in his world-wide Empire. He made a patchworkquilt of it. He took an Egyptian ritual—vestments, mitre,crozier, tonsure, marriage ring—all Egyptian. The Easterceremonies are pagan and refer to the vernal equinox.Confirmation is mithraism. So is baptism, only it was bloodinstead of water. As to the sacrificial meal..."

Mason put his fingers in his ears. "This is some old lectureof yours," he laughed. "Hire a hall, but don't obtrude it in aprivate house. But, seriously, Smith, all this is beside thequestion. If it is true it will not affect my position at all,which is that we have a great body of doctrine which is workingwell, and which is regarded with veneration by many people, yourhumble servant included, and that it would be wrong and foolishto scrap it. Surely you must agree."

"No, I don't," Smith answered, setting his obstinate jaw. "Youare thinking too much of the feelings of your blessed church-goers. But you have also to think of the nine people out of tenwho never enter into a church. They have been choked off by whatthey, including your humble servant, consider to be unreasonableand fantastic. How will you gain them while you continue to offerthem the same things, even though you mix spirit-teaching withit? If, however, you approach these agnostic or atheistic ones,and say to them: 'I quite agree that all this is unreal and istainted by a long history of violence and reaction. But here wehave something pure and new. Come and examine it!' In that way Icould coax them back into a belief in God and in all thefundamentals of religion without their having to do violence totheir reason by accepting your theology."

Mailey had been tugging at his tawny beard while he listenedto these conflicting counsels. Knowing the two men he was awarethat there was not really much between them, when one got pastmere words, for Smith revered the Christ as a God-like man, andMason as a man-like God, and the upshot was much the same. At thesame time he knew that their more extreme followers on eitherside were in very truth widely separated, so that compromisebecame impossible.

"What I can't understand," said Malone, "is why you don't askyour spirit friends these questions and abide by theirdecisions."

"It is not so simple as you think," Mailey answered. "We allcarry on our earthly prejudices after death, and we all findourselves in an atmosphere which more or less represents them.Thus each would echo his old views at first. Then in time thespirit broadens out and it ends in a universal creed whichincludes only the brotherhood of man and the fatherhood of God.But that takes time. I have heard most furious bigots talkingthrough the veil."

"So have I, for that matter," said Malone, "and in this veryroom. But what about the materialists? They at least cannotremain unchanged."

"I believe their mind influences their state and that they lieinert for ages sometimes, under their own obsession that nothingcan occur. Then at last they wake, realize their own loss oftime, and finally, in many cases, get to the head of theprocession, since they are often men of fine character andinfluenced by lofty motives however mistaken in their views."

"And they offer the very best recruits for our movement," saidSmith. "There comes such a reaction when they find by theevidence of their own senses that there really is intelligentforce outside themselves, that it gives them an enthusiasm thatmakes them ideal missionaries. You fellows who have a religionand then add to it cannot even imagine what it means to the manwho has a complete vacuum and suddenly; finds something to fillit. When I meet some poor earnest chap feeling out into thedarkness I just yearn to put it into his hand."

At this stage, tea and Mrs. Mailey appeared together. But theconversation did not flag. It is one of the characteristics ofthose who explore psychic possibilities that the subject is somany-sided and the interest so intense that when they meettogether they plunge into the most fascinating exchange of viewsand experiences. It was with some difficulty that Malone got theconversation round to that which had been the particular objectof his visit. He could have found no group of men more fit toadvise him, and all were equally keen that so great a man asChallenger should have the best available.

Where should it be? On that they were unanimous. The largeseance room of the Psychic College was the most select, the mostcomfortable, in every way the best appointed in London. Whenshould it be? The sooner the better. Every spiritualist and everymedium would surely put any engagement aside in order to help onsuch an occasion.

"Who should the medium be? Ah! There was the rub. Of course,the Bolsover circle would be ideal. It was private and unpaid,but Bolsover was a man of quick temper and Challenger was sure tobe very insulting and annoying. The meeting might end in riot andfiasco. Such a chance should not be taken. Was it worth while totake him over to Paris? But who would take the responsibility ofletting loose such a bull in Dr. Maupuis' china-shop?

"He would probably seize pithecanthropus by the throat andrisk every life in the room," said Mailey. "No, no, it wouldnever do."

"There is no doubt that Banderby is the strongest physicalmedium in England," said Smith. "But we all know what hispersonal character is. You could not rely upon him."

"But surely," said Malone, "that is a strong argument againstour cause. How can a thing be good if it leads to such aresult?"

"Yet Poe was a drunkard, and Coleridge an addict, and Byron arake, and Verlaine a degenerate. You have to separate the manfrom the thing. The genius has to pay a ransom for his genius inthe instability of his temperament. A great medium is even moresensitive than a genius. Many are beautiful in their lives. Someare not. The excuse for them is great. They practise a mostexhausting profession and stimulants are needed. Then they losecontrol. But their physical mediumship carries on all thesame."

"Which reminds me of a story about Banderby," said Mailey."Perhaps you have not seen him, Malone. He is a funny figure atany time—a little, round, bouncing man who has not seen hisown toes for years. When drunk he is funnier still. A few weeksago I got an urgent message that he was in the bar of a certainhotel, and too far gone to get home unassisted. A friend and Iset forth to rescue him. We got him home after some unsavouryadventures, and what would the man do but insist upon holding aseance. We tried to restrain him, but the trumpet was on a side-table, and he suddenly switched off the light. In an instant thephenomena began. Never were they more powerful. But they wereinterrupted by Princeps, his control, who seized the trumpet andbegan belabouring him with it. 'You rascal! You drunken rascal!How dare you!' The trumpet was all dinted with the blows.Banderby ran bellowing out of the room, and we took ourdeparture."

"Well, it wasn't the medium that time, at any rate," saidMason. "But about Professor Challenger—it would never do torisk the chance."

"Tom has never been quite the same since his imprisonment.These fools not only persecute our precious mediums, but theyruin their powers. It is like putting a razor into a damp placeand then expecting it to have a fine edge."

"Well, I would not go so far as that. But they are not so goodas they were. He sees a disguised policeman in every sitter andit distracts him. Still, he is dependable so far as he goes. Yes,on the whole we had better have Tom."

"They will form a horrible block of vibrations! We must havesome of our own sympathetic people to counteract it. There isDelicia Freeman. She would come. I could come myself. You wouldcome, Mason?"

"No, no! I have my paper to look after, three services, twoburials, one marriage, and five meetings all next week."

"Well, we can easily get one or two more. Eight is Linden'sfavourite number. So now, Malone, you have only to get the greatman's consent and the date."

"And the spirit of confirmation," said Mason, seriously. "Wemust take our partners into consultation."

"Of course we must, padre. That is the right note to strike.Well, that's settled, Malone, and we can only await theevent."

As it chanced, a very different event was awaiting Malone thatevening, and he came upon one of those chasms which unexpectedlyopen across the path of life. When, in his ordinary routine, hereached the office of theGazette, he was informed bythecommissionaire that Mr. Beaumont desired to see him.Malone's immediate superior was the old Scotch sub-editor, Mr.McArdle, and it was rare indeed for the supreme editor to cast aglimpse down from that peak whence he surveyed the kingdoms ofthe world, or to show any cognizance of his humble fellow-workersupon the slopes beneath him. The great man, clean-shaven,prosperous and capable, sat in his palatial sanctum amid a richassortment of old oak furniture and sealing-wax-red leather. Hecontinued his letter when Malone entered, and only raised hisshrewd, grey eyes after some minutes' interval.

"Ah, Mr. Malone, good evening! I have wanted to see you forsome little time. Won't you sit down? It is in reference to thesearticles on psychic matters which you have been writing. Youopened them in a tone of healthy scepticism, tempered by humour,which was very acceptable both to me and to our public. I regret,however, to observe that your view changed as you proceeded, andthat you have now assumed a position in which you really seem tocondone some of these practices. That, I need not say, is not thepolicy of theGazette, and we should have discontinuedthe articles had it not been that we had announced a series by animpartial investigator. We have to continue but the tone mustchange."

"You must get the funny side of it again. That is what ourpublic loves. Poke fun at it all. Call up the maiden aunt andmake her talk in an amusing fashion. You grasp my meaning?"

"I am afraid, sir, it has ceased to seem funny in my eyes. Onthe contrary, I take it more and more seriously."

"So, unfortunately, do our subscribers." He had a small pileof letters upon the desk beside him and he took one up. "Look atthis: 'I had always regarded your paper as a God-fearingpublication, and I would remind you that such practices as yourcorrespondent seems to condone are expressly forbidden both inLeviticus and Deuteronomy. I should share your sin if I continuedto be a subscriber'."

"So he may be, but the penny of a bigoted ass is as good asany other penny. Here is another letter: 'Surely in this age offree-thought and enlightenment you are not helping a movementwhich tries to lead us back to the exploded idea of angelic anddiabolic intelligences outside ourselves. If so, I must ask youto cancel my subscription'."

"It would be amusing, sir, to shut these various objectors upin a room and let them settle it among themselves."

"That may be, Mr. Malone, but what I have to consider is thecirculation of theGazette."

"Don't you think, sir, that possibly you underrate theintelligence of the public, and that behind these extremists ofvarious sorts there is a vast body of people who have beenimpressed by the utterances of so many great and honourablewitnesses? Is it not our duty to keep these people abreast of thereal facts without making fun of them?"

"The Spiritualists must fight their own battle. This is not apropaganda newspaper, and we make no pretence to lead the publicon religious beliefs."

"No, no, I only meant as to the actual facts. Look howsystematically they are kept in the dark. When, for example, didone ever read an intelligent article upon ectoplasm in any Londonpaper? Who would imagine that this all-important substance hasbeen examined and described and endorsed by men of science withinnumerable photographs to prove their words?"

"Well, well," said Beaumont, impatiently. "I am afraid I amtoo busy to argue the question. The point of this interview isthat I have had a letter from Mr. Cornelius to say that we mustat once take another line."

Mr. Cornelius was the owner of theGazette, havingbecome so, not from any personal merit, but because his fatherleft him some millions, part of which he expended upon thispurchase. He seldom was seen in the office himself, butoccasionally a paragraph in the paper recorded that his yacht hadtouched at Mentone and that he had been seen at the Monte Carlotables, or that he was expected in Leicestershire for the season.He was a man of no force of brain or character, thoughoccasionally he swayed public affairs by a manifesto printed inlarger type upon his own front page. Without being dissolute, hewas a free liver, living in a constant luxury which placed himalways on the edge of vice and occasionally over the border.Malone's hot blood flushed to his head as he thought of thistrifler, this insect, coming between mankind and a message ofinstruction and consolation descending from above. And yet thoseclumsy, childish fingers could actually turn the tap and cut offthe divine stream, however much it might break through in otherquarters.

"So that is final, Mr. Malone," said Beaumont, with the mannerof one who ends an argument.

"Quite final!" said Malone. "So final that it marks the end ofmy connection with your paper. I have a six months' contract.When it ends, I go!"

Malone, with the flush of battle still upon him, went intoMcArdle's room and told him what had happened. The old Scotchsub-editor was very perturbed.

"Eh, man, it's that Irish blood of yours. A drop o' Scotch isa good thing, either in your veins or at the bottom o' a glass.Go back, man, and say you have reconseedered!"

"Not I! The idea of this man Cornelius, with his pot-belly andred face, and—well, you know all about his private life—the idea of such a man dictating what folk are to believe,and asking me to make fun of the holiest thing on thisearth!"

"Well, better men than I have been ruined over this cause. ButI'll get another job."

"Not if Cornelius can stop you. If you get the name of aninsubordinate dog there is no place for you in Fleet Street."

"It's a damned shame!" cried Malone. "The way this thing hasbeen treated is a disgrace to journalism. It's not Britain alone.America is worse. We seem to have the lowest, most soulless folkthat ever lived on the Press—good-hearted fellows too, butmaterial to a man. And these are the leaders of the people! It'sawful!"

"Weel, weel, lad, we take the world as we find it. We didn'tmake it and we're no reesponsible. Give it time! Give it time!We're a' in such a hurry. Gang hame, now, think it over, rememberyour career, that young leddy of yours, and then come back andeat the old pie that all of us have to eat if we are to keep ourplaces in the world."

XVI. — IN WHICH CHALLENGERHAS THE EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFETIME

So now the nets were set and the pit was dug andthe hunters were all ready for the great quarry, but the questionwas whether the creature would allow himself to be driven in theright direction. Had Challenger been told that the meeting wasreally held in the hope of putting convincing evidence before himas to the truth of spirit intercourse with the aim of hiseventual conversion, it would have roused mingled anger andderision in his breast. But the clever Malone, aided and abettedby Enid, still put forward the idea that his presence would be aprotection against fraud, and that he would be able to point outto them how and why they had been deceived. With this thought inhis mind, Challenger gave a contemptuous and condescendingconsent to the proposal that he should grace with his presence aproceeding which was, in his opinion, more fitted to the stonecabin of a neolithic savage than to the serious attention of onewho represented the accumulated culture and wisdom of the humanrace.

Enid accompanied her father, and he also brought with him acurious companion who was strange both to Malone and to the restof the company. This was a large, raw-boned Scottish youth, witha freckled face, a huge figure, and a taciturnity which nothingcould penetrate. No question could discover where his interestsin psychic research might lie, and the only positive thingobtained from him was that his name was Nicholl. Malone andMailey went together to the rendezvous at Holland Park, wherethey found awaiting them Delicia Freeman, the Rev. Charles Mason,Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvy of the College, Mr. Bolsover of Hammersmith,and Lord Roxton, who had become assiduous in his psychic studies,and was rapidly progressing in knowledge. There were nine in all,a mixed, inharmonious assembly, from which no experiencedinvestigator could expect great results. On entering the seanceroom Linden was found seated in the armchair, his wife besidehim, and was introduced collectively to the company, most of whomwere already his friends. Challenger took up the matter at oncewith the air of a man who will stand no nonsense.

"It is suggested that you and your friend, Mr. Nicholl shalldo so. There is a bedroom next door."

Poor Linden was marched off between them in a manner whichreminded him unpleasantly of his prison experiences. He had beennervous before, but this ordeal and the overpowering presence ofChallenger made him still more. He shook his head mournfully atMailey when he reappeared.

"I doubt we will get nothing to-day. Maybe it would be wise topostpone the sitting," said he.

Mailey came round and patted him on the shoulder, while Mrs.Linden took his hand.

"It's all right, Tom," said Mailey. "Remember that you have abodyguard of friends round you who won't see you ill-used." ThenMailey spoke to Challenger in a sterner way than was his wont. "Ibeg you to remember, sir, that a medium is as delicate aninstrument as any to be found in your laboratories. Do not abuseit. I presume that you found nothing compromising upon hisperson?"

"No, sir, I did not. And as a result he assures us that wewill get nothing to-day."

"He says so because your manner has disturbed him. You musttreat him more gently."

Challenger's expression did not promise any amendment. Hiseyes fell upon Mrs. Linden.

"I understand that this person is the medium's wife. Sheshould also be searched."

"That is a matter of course," said the Scotsman Ogilvy. "Mywife and your daughter will take her out. But I beg you,Professor Challenger, to be as harmonious as you can, and toremember that we are all as interested in the results as you are,so that the whole company will suffer if you should disturb theconditions."

Mr. Bolsover, the grocer, rose with as much dignity as if hewere presiding at his favourite temple.

"You are here not as our friend but as our enemy. If you wasto prove fraud it would be a personal triumph for you—see?Therefore I, for one, says as you should be searched."

"Do you mean to insinuate, sir, that I am capable ofcheating?" trumpeted Challenger.

"Well, Professor, we are all accused of it in turn," saidMailey smiling. "We all feel as indignant as you are at first,but after a time you get used to it. I've been called a liar, alunatic—goodness knows what. What does it matter?"

"Well, sir," said Ogilvy, who was a particularly pertinaciousScot. "Of course, it is open to you to walk out of the room andleave us. But if you sit, you must sit under what we consider tobe scientific conditions. It is not scientific that a man who isknown to be bitterly hostile to the movement should sit with usin the dark with no check as to what he may have in hispockets."

"Come, come!" cried Malone. "Surely we can trust to the honourof Professor Challenger."

"That's all very well," said Bolsover. "I did not observe thatProfessor Challenger trusted so very much to the honour of Mr.and Mrs. Linden."

"We have cause to be careful," said Ogilvy. "I can assure youthat there are frauds practised on mediums just as there arefrauds practised by mediums. I could give you plenty of examples.No, sir, you will have to be searched."

"It won't take a minute," said Lord Roxton. "What I mean,young Malone here and I could give you a once over in notime."

And so Challenger, like a red-eyed bull with dilatingnostrils, was led from the room. A few minutes later, allpreliminaries being completed, they were seated in the circle andthe seance had begun.

But already the conditions had been destroyed. Thosemeticulous researchers who insist upon tying up a medium untilthe poor creature resembles a fowl trussed for roasting, or whoglare their suspicions at him before the lights are lowered, donot realize that they are like people who add moisture togunpowder and then expect to explode it. They ruin their ownresults, and then when those results do not occur imagine thattheir own astuteness, rather than their own lack ofunderstanding, has been the cause.

Hence it is that at humble gatherings all over the land, in anatmosphere of sympathy and of reverence, there are suchhappenings as the cold man of "Science" is never privileged tosee.

All the sitters felt churned up by the preliminaryaltercation, but how much more did it mean to the sensitivecentre of it all! To him the room was filled with conflictingrushes and eddies of psychic power, whirling this way or that,and as difficult for him to navigate as the rapids below Niagara.He groaned in his despair. Everything was mixed and confused. Hewas beginning as usual with his clairvoyance, but names buzzed inhis etheric ears without sequence or order. The word "John"seemed to predominate, so he said. Did "John" mean anything toanyone? A cavernous laugh from Challenger was the only reply.Then he had the surname of Chapman. Yes, Mailey had lost a friendnamed Chapman. But, it was years ago and there seemed no reasonfor his presence, nor could he furnish his Christian name."Budworth"—no; no one would own to a friend named Budworth.Definite messages came across, but they seemed to have noreference to the present company. Everything was going amiss, andMalone's spirits sank to zero. Challenger sniffed so loudly thatOgilvy remonstrated.

"You make matters worse, sir, when you show your feelings,"said he. "I can assure you that in ten years of constantexperience I have never known the medium so far out, and Iattribute it entirely to your own conduct."

"I am afraid it is no use, Tom," said Mrs. Linden. "How areyou feeling now, dear? Would you wish to stop?" But Linden underall his gentle exterior, was a fighter. He had in another formthose same qualities which had brought his brother within an aceof the Lonsdale Belt.

"No, I think, maybe, it is only the mental part that isconfused. If I am in trance I'll get past that. The physicals maybe better. Anyhow I'll try."

The lights were turned lower until they were a mere crimsonglimmer. The curtain of the cabinet was drawn. Outside it on theone side, dimly outlined to his audience, Tom Linden, breathingstertorously in his trance, lay back in a wooden armchair. Hiswife kept watch and ward at the other side of the cabinet.

Quarter of an hour passed. Then another quarter of an hour.The company was patient, but Challenger had begun to fidget inhis seat. Everything seemed to have gone cold and dead. Not onlywas nothing happening, but somehow all expectation of anythinghappening seemed to have passed away.

The medium stirred and groaned; he was waking up. Challengergave an ostentatious yawn.

Mrs. Linden was passing her hand over the medium's head andbrow. His eyes had opened.

"It is a great strain upon him under these adverseconditions," remarked Ogilvy, looking angrily at Challenger.

"The conditions are bad," said he. "The vibrations are allwrong. But I'll try inside the cabinet. It concentrates theforce."

The armchair was lifted inside the cloth tent and the mediumfollowed, drawing the curtain behind him.

"No doubt," said Challenger. "At the same time in theinterests of truth, I must point out that the disappearance ofthe medium is most regrettable."

"For goodness sake, don't start wrangling again," cried Maileywith impatience. "Let us get some results, and then it will betime enough to discuss their value."

Again there was a weary wait. Then came some hollow groaningsfrom inside the cabinet. The Spiritualists sat upexpectantly.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the curtains weretorn open with sudden violence and a rattling of all the rings.In the dark aperture there was outlined a vague white figure. Itadvanced slowly and with hesitation into the centre of the room.In the red-tinted gloom all definite outline was lost, and itappeared simply as a moving white patch in the darkness. With thedeliberation which suggested fear it came, step by step, until itwas opposite the professor.

There was a shout, a scream, a crash. "I've got him!" roaredsomeone. "Turn up the lights!" yelled another. "Be careful! Youmay kill the medium!" cried a third. The circle was broken.Challenger rushed to the switch and put on all the lights. Theplace was so flooded with radiance that it was some secondsbefore the bewildered and half-blinded spectators could see thedetails.

When they had recovered their sight and their balance, thespectacle was a deplorable one for the majority of the company.Tom Linden, looking white, dazed, and ill, was seated upon theground. Over him stood the huge young Scotsman who had borne himto earth; while Mrs. Linden, kneeling beside her husband, wasglaring up at his assailant. There was a silence as the companysurveyed the scene. It was broken by Professor Challenger.

"Well, gentlemen, I presume that there is no more to be said.Your medium has been exposed as he deserved to be. You can seenow the nature of your ghosts. I must thank Mr Nicholl, who, Imay remark, is the famous football player of that name, for theprompt way in which he has carried out his instructions."

"You did it very effectively. You have done public service byhelping to expose a heartless cheat. I need not say that aprosecution will follow."

But Mailey now intervened and with such authority thatChallenger was forced to listen.

"Your mistake is not unnatural, sir, though the course whichyou adopted in your ignorance is one which might well have beenfatal to the medium."

"My ignorance indeed! If you speak like that I warn you that Iwill look upon you not as dupes, but as accomplices."

"One moment, Professor Challenger. I would ask you one directquestion, and I ask for an equally direct reply. Was not thefigure which we all saw before this painful episode a whitefigure?"

"You see now that the medium is entirely dressed in black.Where is the white garment?"

"It is immaterial to me where it is. No doubt his wife andhimself are prepared for all eventualities. They have their ownmeans of secreting the sheet, or whatever ii may have been. Thesedetails can be explained in the police court."

"I know nothing of the room. I can only use my common sense.The man is exposed masquerading as a spirit. Into what corner orcrevice he has thrust his disguise is a matter of smallimportance."

"On the contrary, it is a vital matter. What you have seen hasnot been an imposture, but has been a very real phenomenon."

"Yes, sir, a very real phenomenon. You have seen atransfiguration which is the half-way state of materialization.You will kindly realize that spirit guides, who conduct suchaffairs, care nothing for your doubts and suspicions. They setthemselves to get certain results, and if they are prevented bythe infirmities of the circle from getting them one way they getthem in another, without consulting your prejudice orconvenience. In this case being unable, owing to the evilconditions which you have yourself created, to build up anectoplasmic form they wrapped the unconscious medium in anectoplasmic covering, and sent him forth from the cabinet. He isas innocent of imposture as you are."

"I swear to God," said Linden, "that from the time I enteredthe cabinet until I found myself upon the floor I knew nothing."He had staggered to his feet and was shaking all over in hisagitation, so that he could not hold the glass of water which hiswife had brought him.

"Your excuses," he said, "only open up fresh abysses ofcredulity. My own duty is obvious, and it will be done to theuttermost. Whatever you have to say will, no doubt, receive suchconsideration as it deserves from the magistrate." Then ProfessorChallenger turned to go as one who has triumphantly accomplishedthat for which he came. "Come, Enid!" said he.

And now occurred a development so sudden, so unexpected, sodramatic, that no one present will ever cease to have it in vividmemory.

No answer was returned to Challenger's call. Everyone else hadrisen to their feet. Only Enid remained in her chair. She satwith her head on one shoulder, her eyes closed, her hair partlyloosened—a model for a sculptor.

Challenger rushed forward. "What have you done? Your infernalhankey-pankey has frightened her. She has fainted."

"No, no, her eyes are turned up. She is in trance. Yourdaughter, sir, is a powerful medium."

"For God's sake leave her! You may regret it all your life ifyou don't. It is not safe to break abruptly into the mediumistictrance."

Challenger stood in bewilderment. For once his presence ofmind had deserted him. Was it possible that his child stood onthe edge of some mysterious precipice and that he might push herover?

"Have no fear. All will be well. Sit down! Sit down, all ofyou. Ah! she is about to speak."

The girl had stirred. She had sat straight in her chair. Herlips trembled. One hand was outstretched:

"For him!" she cried, pointing to Challenger. "He must nothurt my Medi. It is a message. For him."

"She says that she has been once before. That she came throughthis girl. It was after she was cremated. She knock and he hearher knocking, but not understand."

His great eyebrows were bunched over his suspicious,questioning eyes, and he glared like a beast at bay from one tothe other of the faces round him. There was a trick—a viletrick. They had suborned his own daughter. It was damnable. Hewould expose them, every one. No, he had no questions to ask. Hecould see through it all. She had been won over. He could nothave believed it of her, and yet it must be so. She was doing itfor Malone's sake. A woman would do anything for a man she loved.Yes, it was damnable. Far from being softened he was morevindictive than ever. His furious face, his broken words,expressed his convictions.

"To him. The man who wanted to hurt my Medi. He must not hurtmy Medi. A man here—two men—wish to give him amessage."

"First man's name is..." The girl's head slanted and her earwas upturned, as if listening. "Yes, yes, I have it! It is Al-Al-Aldridge."

Challenger sat down suddenly. He passed his hand over hisbrow. He was deadly pale. His face was clammy with sweat.

"We shall wait outside," said Mailey. "Come, friends, let theProfessor have his message."

They moved towards the door leaving the man seated in front ofhis daughter. An unwonted nervousness seemed suddenly to seizehim. "Malone, stay with me!"

"Ask them then—ask them—how did they die?" Hisvoice was broken and his great frame was quivering with hisemotion.

Challenger sank back in his chair with an immense sigh ofrelief. "My God!" he cried, wiping his brow. Then:

They had waited on the landing and now streamed into the room.Challenger had risen to meet them. His first words were to TomLinden. He spoke like a shaken man whose pride for the instantwas broken.

"As to you, sir, I do not presume to judge you. A thing hasoccurred to me which is so strange, and also so certain, since myown trained senses have attested it, that I am not prepared todeny any explanation which has been offered of your previousconduct. I beg to withdraw any injurious expressions I may haveused."

Tom Linden was a true Christian in his character. Hisforgiveness was instant and sincere.

"I cannot doubt that my daughter has some strange power whichbears out much which you, Mr. Mailey, have told me. I wasjustified in my scientific scepticism, but you have to-dayoffered me some incontrovertible evidence."

"We all go through the same experience, Professor. We doubt,and then in turn we are doubted."

"I can hardly conceive that my word will be doubted upon sucha point," said Challenger, with dignity. "I can truly say that Ihave had information to-night which no living person upon thisearth was in a position to give. So much is beyond allquestion."

"All right, dear. We will talk of that later. Come home withme now. I have much to think over. Perhaps you will come backwith us, Malone. I feel that I owe you some explanation."

When Professor Challenger reached his flat, he gave Austinorders that he was on no account to be disturbed, and he led theway into his library, where he sat in his big armchair withMalone upon his left and his daughter upon his right. He hadstretched out his great paw and enclosed Enid's small hand.

"My dear," he said, after a long silence, "I cannot doubt thatyou are possessed of a strange power, for it has been shown to meto-night with a fullness and a clearness which is final. Sinceyou have it I cannot deny that others may have it also, and thegeneral idea of mediumship has entered within my conceptions ofwhat is possible. I will not discuss the question, for mythoughts are still confused upon the subject, and I will need tothrash the thing out with you, young Malone, and with yourfriends, before I can get a more definite idea. I will only saythat my mind has received a shock, and that a new avenue ofknowledge seems to have opened up before me."

"Yes, I have no doubt that a headline in your paper,'Conversion of Professor Challenger' would be a triumph. I warnyou that I have not got so far."

"We certainly would do nothing premature and your opinions mayremain entirely private."

"I have never lacked the moral courage to proclaim my opinionswhen they are formed, but the time has not yet come. However, Ihave received two messages to-night, and I can only ascribe tothem an extra-corporeal origin. I take it for granted, Enid, thatyou were indeed insensible."

"Quite so. You have always been incapable of deceit. Firstthere came a message from your mother. She assured me that shehad indeed produced those sounds which I heard and of which Ihave told you. It is clear now that you were the medium and thatyou were not in sleep but in trance. It is incredible,inconceivable, grotesquely wonderful—but it would seem tobe true."

"Crookes used almost those very words," said Malone. He wrotethat it was all 'perfectly impossible and absolutely true'."

"None will ever be asked for," said Malone. "These people arenot made that way."

"It is the second case which I would explain." The Professorfidgeted uneasily in his chair. "It is a matter of great privacy—one to which I have never alluded, and which no one onearth could have known. Since you heard so much you may as wellhear all.

"It happened when I was a young physician, and it is not toomuch to say that it cast a cloud over my life—a cloud whichhas only been raised to-night. Others may try to explain what hasoccurred by telepathy, by subconscious mind action, by what theywill, but I cannot doubt—it is impossible todoubt—that a message has come to me from the dead.

"There was a new drug under discussion at that time. It isuseless to enter into details which you would be incapable ofappreciating. Suffice it that it was of thedaturafamily which supplies deadly poisons as well as powerfulmedicines. I had received one of the earliest specimens, and Idesired my name to be associated with the first exploration ofits properties. I gave it to two men, Ware and Aldridge. I gaveit in what I thought was a safe dose. They were patients, youunderstand, in my ward in a public hospital. Both were found deadin the morning.

"I had given it secretly. None knew of it. There was noscandal for they were both very ill, and their death seemednatural. But in my own heart I had fears. I believed that I hadkilled them. It has always been a dark background to my life. Youheard yourselves to-night that it was from the disease, and notfrom the drug that they died."

"Poor Dad!" whispered Enid patting the great hirsute hand."Poor Dad! What you must have suffered!"

Challenger was too proud a man to stand pity, even from hisown daughter. He pulled away his hand.

"I worked for science," he said. "Science must take risks. Ido not know that I am to blame. And yet—and yet—myheart is very light to-night."

XVII. — WHERE THE MISTSCLEAR AWAY

MALONE had lost his billet and had found his wayin Fleet Street blocked by the rumour of his independence. Hisplace upon the staff had been taken by a young and drunken Jew,who had at once won his spurs by a series of highly humorousarticles upon psychic matters, peppered with assurances that heapproached the subject with a perfectly open and impartial mind.His final device of offering five thousand pounds if the spiritsof the dead would place the three first horses in the comingDerby, and his demonstration that ectoplasm was in truth thefroth of bottle porter artfully concealed by the medium, arenewspaper stunts, which are within the recollection of thereader.

But the path which closed on one side had opened on the other.Challenger, lost in his daring dreams and ingenious experiments,had long needed an active, clear-headed man to manage hisbusiness interests, and to control his world-wide patents. Therewere many devices, the fruits of his life's work, which broughtin income, but had to be carefully watched and guarded. Hisautomatic alarm for ships in shallow waters, his device fordeflecting a torpedo, his new and economical method of separatingnitrogen from the air, his radical improvements in wirelesstransmission and his novel treatment of pitch blend, were allmoneymakers. Enraged by the attitude of Cornelius, the Professorplaced the management of all these in the hands of hisprospective son-in-law, who diligently guarded his interests.

Challenger had himself altered. His colleagues, and thoseabout him, observed the change without clearly perceiving thecause. He was gentler, humbler, and more spiritual man. Deep inhis soul was the conviction that he, the champion of scientificmethod and of truth, had, in fact, for many years beenunscientific in his methods, and a formidable obstruction to theadvance of the human soul through the jungle of the unknown. Itwas this self-condemnation which had wrought the change in hischaracter. Also, with characteristic energy, he had plunged intothe wonderful literature of the subject, and as, without theprejudice which had formerly darkened his brain, he read theilluminating testimony of Hare, de Morgan, Crookes, Lombroso,Barrett, Lodge, and so many other great men, he marvelled that hecould ever for one instant have imagined that such a consensus ofopinion could be founded upon error. His violent and whole-hearted nature made him take up the psychic cause with the samevehemence, and even occasionally the same intolerance with whichhe had once denounced it, and the old lion bared his teeth androared back at those who had once been his associates.

His remarkable article in the Spectator began, "The obtuseincredulity and stubborn unreason of the prelates who refused tolook through the telescope of Galileo and to observe the moons ofJupiter, has been far transcended in our own days by those noisycontroversialists, who rashly express extreme opinions upon thosepsychic matters which they have never had either the time, or theinclination to examine"; while in a final sentence he expressedhis conviction that his opponents "did not in truth represent thethought of the twentieth century, but might rather be regarded asmental fossils dug from some early Pliocene horizon ". Criticsraised their hands in horror, as is their wont, against therobust language of the article, though violence of attack has forso many years been condoned in the case of those who are inopposition. So we may leave Challenger, his black mane slowlyturning to grey, but his great brain growing ever stronger andmore virile as it faces such problems as the future had in store—a future which had ceased to be bounded by the narrowhorizon of death, and which now stretches away into the infinitepossibilities and developments of continued survival ofpersonality, character and work.

The marriage had taken place. It was a quiet function, but noprophet could ever have foretold the guests whom Enid's fatherhad assembled in the Whitehall Rooms. They were a happy crowd,all welded together by the opposition of the world, and united inone common knowledge. There was the Rev. Charles Mason, who hadofficiated at the ceremony, and if ever a saint's blessingconsecrated a union, so it had been that morning. Now in hisblack garb with his cheery toothsome smile, he was moving aboutamong the crowd carrying peace and kindliness with him. Theyellow-bearded Mailey, the old warrior, scarred with many combatsand eager for more, stood beside his wife, the gentle squire whobore his weapons and nerved his arm. There was Dr. Maupuis fromParis, trying to make the waiter understand that he wantedcoffee, and being presented with tooth-picks, while the gauntLord Roxton viewed his efforts with cynical amusement. There,too, was the good Bolsover with several of the Hammersmithcircle, and Tom Linden with his wife, and Smith, the fightingbulldog from the north, and Dr. Atkinson, and Marvin the psychiceditor with his kind wife, and the two Ogilvies, and little MissDelicia with her bag and her tracts, and Dr. Ross Scotton, nowsuccessfully cured, and Dr. Felkin who had cured him so far ashis earthly representative, Nurse Ursula, could fill his place.All these and many more were visible to our two-inch spectrum ofcolour, and audible to our four octaves of sound. How manyothers, outside those narrow limitations, may have added theirpresence and their blessing—who shall say?

One last scene before we close the record. It was in asitting-room of the Imperial Hotel at Folkestone. At the windowsat Mr. and Mrs. Edward Malone gazing westwards down Channel atan angry evening sky. Great purple tentacles, threateningforerunners from what lay unseen and unknown beyond the horizon,were writhing up towards the zenith. Below, the little Dieppeboat was panting eagerly homewards. Far out the great ships werekeeping mid-channel as scenting danger to come. The vague threatof that menacing sky acted subconsciously upon the minds of bothof them.

"Tell me, Enid," said Malone, "of all our wonderful psychicexperiences, which is now most vivid in your mind?"

"It is curious that you should ask, Ned, for I was thinking ofit at that moment. I suppose it was the association of ideas withthat terrible sky. It was of Miromar I was thinking, the strangemystery man with his words of doom."

"Once and once only. It was on a Sunday morning in Hyde Park.He was speaking to a little group of men. I mixed with the crowdand listened. It was the same warning."

"No, indeed. But you don't take it seriously, Ned, do you?Look at the solid old earth of England. Look at our great hoteland the people on the Lees, and the stodgy morning papers and allthe settled order of a civilized land. Do you really think thatanything could come to destroy it all?"

"No, no, it is the rebirth of the world—of the trueworld, the world as God meant it to he."

"It is a tremendous message. But what is amiss? Why should sodreadful a Judgment fall?"

"It is the materialism, the wooden formalities of thechurches, the alienation of all spiritual impulses, the denial ofthe Unseen, the ridicule of this new revelation—these arethe causes according to him."

"But never with the same advantages—never with theeducation and knowledge and so-called civilization, which shouldhave led it to higher things. Look how everything has been turnedto evil. We got the knowledge of airships. We bomb cities withthem. We learn how to steam under the sea. We murder seamen withour new knowledge. We gain command over chemicals. We turn theminto explosives or poison gases. It goes from worse to worse. Atthe present moment every nation upon earth is plotting secretlyhow it can best poison the others. Did God create the planet forthis end, and is it likely that He will allow it to go on frombad to worse?"

"Well, I have myself been brooding over the matter, and all mythoughts seem to justify his conclusions. I read a spirit messagewhich Charles Mason wrote. It was: 'The most dangerous conditionfor a man or a nation is when his intellectual side is moredeveloped than his spiritual'. Is that not exactly the conditionof the world to-day?"

"Ah, there I can only take Miromar's word for it. He speaks ofa breaking of all the phials. There is war, famine, pestilence,earthquake, flood, tidal waves—all ending in peace andglory unutterable."

The great purple streamers were right across the sky. A dullcrimson glare, a lurid angry glow, was spreading in the west.Enid shuddered as she watched it.

"One thing we have learned," said he. "It is that two souls,where real love exists, go on and on without a break through allthe spheres. Why, then, should you and I fear death, or anythingwhich life or death can bring?"

APPENDICES

NOTE ON CHAPTER II.
CLAIRVOYANCE IN SPIRITUALIST CHURCHES

THIS phenomenon, as exhibited in Spiritualisticchurches or temples, as the Spiritualists usually call them,varies very much in quality. So uncertain is it that manycongregations have given it up entirely, as it has become rathera source of scandal than of edification. On the other hand thereare occasions, the conditions being good, the audiencesympathetic and the medium in good form, when the results arenothing short of amazing. I was present on one occasion when Mr.Tom Tyrell, of Blackburn, speaking in a sudden call at Doncaster—a town with which he was unfamiliar— got not onlythe descriptions but even the names of a number of people whichwere recognized by the different individuals to whom he pointed.I have known Mr. Vout Peters also to give forty descriptions in aforeign city (Liege) where he had never been before, with onlyone failure, which was afterwards explained. Such results are farabove coincidence. What their trueraison d'Ãªtre may behas yet to be determined. It has seemed to me sometimes that thevapour which becomes visible as a solid in ectoplasm, may in itsmore volatile condition fill the hall, and that a spirit comingwithin it may show up as an invisible shooting star comes intoview when it crosses the atmosphere of the earth. No doubt theillustration is only an analogy but it may suggest a line ofthought.

I remember being present on two occasions in Boston,Massachusetts, when clergymen gave clairvoyance from the steps ofthe altar, and with complete success. It struck me as anadmirable reproduction of those apostolic conditions when theytaught "not only by words but also by power ". All this has tocome back into the Christian religion before it will berevitalized and restored to its pristine power. It cannot,however, be done in a day. We want less faith and moreknowledge.

NOTE ON CHAPTER IX.
EARTHBOUND SPIRITS

THIS chapter may be regarded as sensational, butas a fact there is no incident in it for which chapter and versemay not be given. The incident of Nell Gwynne, mentioned by LordRoxton, was told me by Colond Cornwallis West as having occurredin a country house of his own. Visitors had met the wraith in thepassages and had afterwards, when they saw the portrait of NellGwynne which hung in a sitting-room, exclaimed, "Why, there isthe woman I met ".

The adventure of the terrible occupant of the deserted houseis taken with very little change from the experience of Lord St.Audries in a haunted house near Torquay. This gallant soldiertold the story himself inThe Weekly Dispatch (Dec.,1921) , and it is admirably retold in Mrs. Violet Tweedale'sPhantoms of the Dawn. As to the conversation carried onbetween the clergyman and the earthbound spirit, the sameauthoress has described a similar one when recording theadventures of Lord and Lady Wynford in Glamis Castle (GhostsI Have Seen, p. 175) .

Whence such a spirit draws its stock of material energy is anunsolved problem. It is probably from some mediumistic individualin the neighbourhood. In the extremely interesting case quoted bythe Rev. Chas. Mason in the narrative and very carefully observedby the Psychic Research Society of Reykjavik in Iceland, theformidable earthbound creature proclaimed how it got itsvitality. The man was in life a fisherman of rough and violentcharacter who had committed suicide. He attached himself to themedium, followed him to the seances of the Society, and causedindescribable confusion and alarm, until he was exorcised by somesuch means as described in the story. A long account appeared inthe Proceedings of the American Society of Psychic Research andalso in the organ of the Psychic College, Psychic Research forJanuary, 1925. Iceland, it may be remarked, is very advanced inpsychic science, and in proportion to its population oropportunities is probably ahead of any other country. The Bishopof Reykjavik is President of the psychic Society, which is surelya lesson to our own prelates whose disassociation from the studyof such matters is little less than a scandal. The matter relatesto the nature of the soul and to its fate in the Beyond, yetthere are, I believe, fewer students of the matter among ourspiritual guides than among any other profession.

NOTE ON CHAPTER X.
RESCUE CIRCLES

THE scenes in this chapter are drawn veryclosely either from personal experience or from the reports ofcareful and trustworthy experimenters. Among the latter are Mr.Tozer of Melbourne, and Mr. McFarlane of Southsea, both of whomhave run methodical circles for the purpose of giving help toearthbound spirits. Detailed accounts of experiences which I havepersonally had in the former circles are to be found in ChaptersIV and VI of myWanderings of a Spiritualist. I may addthat in my own domestic circle, under my wife's mediumship, wehave been privileged to bring hope and knowledge to some of theseunhappy beings.

Full reports of a number of these dramatic conversations areto be found in the last hundred pages of the late Admiral UsborneMoore'sGlimpses of the Next State. It should be saidthat the Admiral was not personally present at these sittings,but that they were carried out by people in whom he had everyconfidence, and that they were confirmed by sworn affidavits ofthe sitters. "The high character of Mr. Leander Fisher ", saysthe Admiral, "is sufficient voucher for their authenticity." Thesame may be said of Mr. E.G. Randall, who has published manysuch cases. He is one of the leading lawyers of Buffalo, whileMr. Fisher is a Professor of Music in that city.

The natural objection is that, granting the honesty of theinvestigators, the whole experience may be in some way subjectiveand have no relation to real facts. Dealing with this the Admiralsays: "I made inquiries as to whether any of the spirits, thusbrought to understand that they had entered a new state ofconsciousness, had been satisfactorily identified. The reply wasthat many had been discovered, but after several had beenverified it was considered useless to go on searching for therelatives and places of abode in earth life of the remainder.Such inquiries involved much time and labour, and always endedwith the same result". In one of the cases cited (op.cit., p.524) there is the prototype of the fashionable womanwho died in her sleep, as depicted in the text. In all theseinstances the returning spirit did not realize that its earthlife was over.

The case of the clergyman and of the sailor from the Monmouthboth occurred in my presence at the circle of Mr. Tozer.

The dramatic case where the spirit of a man (it was the caseof several men in the original) manifested at the very time ofthe accident which caused their death, and where the names wereafterwards verified in the newspaper report, is given by Mr. E.G. Randall. Another example given by that gentleman may be addedfor the consideration of those who have not realized how cogentis the evidence, and how necessary for us to reconsider our viewsof death. It is inThe Dead Have Never Died (p. 104).

"I recall an incident that will appeal to the purelymaterialistic. I was one of my father's executors, and after hisdissolution and the settlement of his estate, speaking to me fromthe next plane he told me one night that I had overlooked an itemthat he wanted to mention to me.

"I replied: 'Your mind was ever centred on the accumulation ofmoney. Why take up the time that is so limited with thediscussion of your estate? It has already been divided'."

"'Yes,' he answered, 'I know that, but I worked too hard formy money to have it lost, and there is an asset remaining thatyou have not discovered'.

"He answered: 'Some years before I left I loaned a small sumof money to Susan Stone, who resided in Pennsylvania, and I tookfrom her a promissory note upon which, under the laws of thatState, I was entitled to enter a judgment at once without suit. Iwas somewhat anxious about the loan, so, before its maturity, Itook the note and filed it with the prothonotary at Erie,Pennsylvania, and he entered judgment, which became a lien on herproperty. In my books of account there was no reference to thatnote or judgment. If you will go to the protonotary's office inErie, you will find the judgment on record, and I want you tocollect it. There are many things that you don't know about andthis is one of them'.

"I was much surprised at the information thus received, andnaturally sent for a transcript of that judgment. I found itentered Oct. 21, 1896, and with that evidence of the indebtednessI collected from the judgment debtor 70 dollars with interest. Iquestion if anyone knew of that transaction besides the makers ofthe note and the prothonotary at Erie. Certainly I did not knowabout it. I had no reason to suspect it. The psychic present atthat interview could not have known about the matter, and Icertainly collected the money. My father's voice was clearlyrecognizable on that occasion, as it has been on hundreds ofothers, and I cite this instance for the benefit of those whomeasure everything from a monetary standpoint."

The most striking, however, of all these posthumouscommunications are to be found inThirty Years Among theDead, by Dr. Wickland of Los Angeles. This, like many othervaluable books of the sort, can only be obtained in Great Britainat the Psychic Bookshop in Victoria Street, S.W.

Dr. Wickland and his heroic wife have done work which deservesthe very closest attention from the alienists of the world. If hemakes his point, and the case is a strong one, he not onlyrevolutionizes all our ideas about insanity, but he cuts deepalso into our views of criminology, and may well show that wehave been punishing as criminals people who were more deservingof commiseration than of censure.

Having framed the view that many cases of mania were due toobsession from undeveloped entities, and having found out by someline of inquiry, which is not clear to me, that such entities areexceedingly sensitive to static electricity when it is passedthrough the body which they have invaded, he founded histreatment with remarkable results upon this hypothesis. The thirdfactor in his system was the discovery that such entities weremore easily dislodged if a vacant body was provided for theirtemporary reception. Therein lies the heroism of Mrs. Wickland, avery charming and cultivated lady, who sits in hypnotic trancebeside the subject ready to receive the invader when he is drivenforth. It is through the lips of this lady that the identity andcharacter of the undeveloped spirit are determined.

The subject having been strapped to the electric chair—the strapping is very necessary as many are violentmaniacs—the power is turned on. It does not affect thepatient, since it is static in its nature, but it causes acutediscomfort to the parasitical spirit, who rapidly takes refuge inthe unconscious form of Mrs. Wickland. Then follow the amazingconversations which are chronicled in this volume. The spirit iscross-questioned by the doctor, is admonished, instructed, andfinally dismissed either in the care of some ministering spiritwho superintends the proceedings, or relegated to the charge ofsome sterner attendant who will hold him in check should he beunrepentant.

To the scientist who is unfamiliar with psychic work such abald statement sounds wild, and I do not myself claim that Dr.Wickland has finally made out his case, but I do say that ourexperiences at rescue circles bear out the general idea, and thathe has admittedly cured many cases which others have foundintractable. Occasionally there is very cogent confirmation. Thusin the case of one female spirit who bitterly bewailed that shehad not taken enough carbolic acid the week before, the name andaddress being correctly given (op. cit., p. 39) .

It is not apparently everyone who is open to this invasion,but only those who are in some peculiar way psychic sensitives.The discovery, when fully made out, will be one of the root factsof the psychology and jurisprudence of the future.

NOTE ON CHAPTER XII.
DR. MAUPUIS'S EXPERIMENTS

The Dr. Maupuis of the narrative is, as everystudent of psychic research will realize, the late Dr. Geley,whose splendid work on this subject will ensure his permanentfame. His was a brain of the first order, coupled with a moralcourage which enabled him to face with equanimity the cynicismand levity of his critics. With rare judgment he never wentfurther than the facts carried him, and yet never flinched fromthe furthest point which his reason and the evidence wouldjustify. By the munificence of Mr. Jean Meyer he had been placedat the head of the Institut MÃ©tapsychique, admirably equipped forscientific work, and he got the full value out of that equipment.When a British Jean Meyer makes his appearance he will get noreturn for his money if he does not choose a progressive brain todrive his machine. The great endowment left to the StanfordUniversity of California has been practically wasted, becausethose in charge of it were not Geleys or Richets.

The account of Pithecanthropus is taken from theBulletinde l'Institut MÃ©tapsychique. A well-known lady has describedto me how the creature pressed between her and her neighbour, andhow she placed her hand upon his shaggy skin. An account of thisseance is to be found in Geley'sL'Ã‰ctoplasmie et laClairvoyance (Felix Alcau) , p.345. On page 296 is aphotograph of the strange bird of prey upon the medium's head. Itwould take the credulity of a MacCabe to imagine that all this isimposture.

These various animal types may assume very bizarre forms. Inan unpublished manuscript by Colonel Ochorowitz, which I havebeen privileged to see, some new developments are described whichare not only formidable but also unlike any creature with whichwe are acquainted.

Since animal forms of this nature have materialized under themediumship both of Kluski and of Guzik, their formation wouldseem to depend rather upon one of the sitters than upon either ofthe mediums unless we can disconnect them entirely from thecircle. It is usually an axiom among Spiritualists that thespirit visitors to a circle represent in some way the mental andspiritual tendency of the circle. Thus, in nearly forty years ofexperience, I have never heard an obscene or blasphemous word ata seance because such seances have been run in a reverent andreligious fashion. The question therefore may arise whethersittings which are held for purely scientific and experimentalpurposes, without the least recognition of their extremereligious significance, may not evoke less desirablemanifestations of psychic force. The high character, however, ofmen like Richet and Geley ensure that the general tendency shallbe good.

It might be argued that a subject with such possibilities hadbetter be left alone. The answer seems to be that thesemanifestations are, fortunately, very rare, whereas the dailycomfort of spirit intercourse illumines thousands of lives. We donot abandon exploration because the land explored contains somenoxious creatures. To abandon the subject would be to hand itover to such forces of evil as chose to explore it whiledepriving ourselves of that knowledge which would aid us inunderstanding and counteracting their results.

Movatterモバイル変換

The Land of Mist

by

Arthur Conan Doyle

Serialised in:
The Strand Magazine (UK), Jul 1925-May 1926
Home (UK), Nov 1925-Jul 1926
The Canadian Magazine, Aug 1926-Jul 1927

First UK book edition: Hutchinson & Co., London, 1926

First US book edition: George H. Doran Co., New York, 1926

This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2019

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

I. — IN WHICH OUR SPECIALCOMMISSIONERS MAKE A START

II.— WHICH DESCRIBES ANEVENING IN STRANGE COMPANY

III. — IN WHICH PROFESSORCHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION

IV. — WHICH DESCRIBES SOMESTRANGE DOINGS IN HAMMERSMITH

V. — WHERE OURCOMMISSIONERS HAVE A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE

VI. — IN WHICH THE READERIS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL

VII. — IN WHICH THENOTORIOUS CRIMINAL GETS WHAT THE BRITISH LAW CONSIDERS TO BE HISDESERTS.

VIII. — IN WHICH THREEINVESTIGATORS COME UPON A DARK SOUL

IX. — WHICH INTRODUCESSOME VERY PHYSICAL PHENOMENA

X. — DE PROFUNDIS

XI.— WHERE SILAS LINDENCOMES INTO HIS OWN

XII. — THERE ARE HEIGHTSAND THERE ARE DEPTHS

XIII. — IN WHICH PROFESSORCHALLENGER GOES FORTH TO BATTLE

XIV. — IN WHICH CHALLENGERMEETS A STRANGE COLLEAGUE

XV. — IN WHICH TRAPS ARELAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

XVI. — IN WHICH CHALLENGERHAS THE EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFETIME

XVII. — WHERE THE MISTSCLEAR AWAY

APPENDICES

NOTE ON CHAPTER II.
CLAIRVOYANCE IN SPIRITUALIST CHURCHES

NOTE ON CHAPTER IX.
EARTHBOUND SPIRITS

NOTE ON CHAPTER X.
RESCUE CIRCLES

NOTE ON CHAPTER XII.
DR. MAUPUIS'S EXPERIMENTS

THE END

Movatterモバイル変換

The Land of Mist

by

Arthur Conan Doyle

Serialised in:The Strand Magazine (UK), Jul 1925-May 1926Home (UK), Nov 1925-Jul 1926The Canadian Magazine, Aug 1926-Jul 1927 First UK book edition: Hutchinson & Co., London, 1926 First US book edition: George H. Doran Co., New York, 1926 This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2019

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

I. — IN WHICH OUR SPECIALCOMMISSIONERS MAKE A START

II.— WHICH DESCRIBES ANEVENING IN STRANGE COMPANY

III. — IN WHICH PROFESSORCHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION

IV. — WHICH DESCRIBES SOMESTRANGE DOINGS IN HAMMERSMITH

V. — WHERE OURCOMMISSIONERS HAVE A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE

VI. — IN WHICH THE READERIS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL

VII. — IN WHICH THENOTORIOUS CRIMINAL GETS WHAT THE BRITISH LAW CONSIDERS TO BE HISDESERTS.

VIII. — IN WHICH THREEINVESTIGATORS COME UPON A DARK SOUL

IX. — WHICH INTRODUCESSOME VERY PHYSICAL PHENOMENA

X. — DE PROFUNDIS

XI.— WHERE SILAS LINDENCOMES INTO HIS OWN

XII. — THERE ARE HEIGHTSAND THERE ARE DEPTHS

XIII. — IN WHICH PROFESSORCHALLENGER GOES FORTH TO BATTLE

XIV. — IN WHICH CHALLENGERMEETS A STRANGE COLLEAGUE

XV. — IN WHICH TRAPS ARELAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

XVI. — IN WHICH CHALLENGERHAS THE EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFETIME

XVII. — WHERE THE MISTSCLEAR AWAY

APPENDICES

NOTE ON CHAPTER II.CLAIRVOYANCE IN SPIRITUALIST CHURCHES

NOTE ON CHAPTER IX.EARTHBOUND SPIRITS

NOTE ON CHAPTER X.RESCUE CIRCLES

NOTE ON CHAPTER XII.DR. MAUPUIS'S EXPERIMENTS

THE END

Serialised in:
The Strand Magazine (UK), Jul 1925-May 1926
Home (UK), Nov 1925-Jul 1926
The Canadian Magazine, Aug 1926-Jul 1927

First UK book edition: Hutchinson & Co., London, 1926

First US book edition: George H. Doran Co., New York, 1926

This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2019

NOTE ON CHAPTER II.
CLAIRVOYANCE IN SPIRITUALIST CHURCHES

NOTE ON CHAPTER IX.
EARTHBOUND SPIRITS

NOTE ON CHAPTER X.
RESCUE CIRCLES

NOTE ON CHAPTER XII.
DR. MAUPUIS'S EXPERIMENTS