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COPYRIGHT, 1926,
BY A. CONAN DOYLE

THE LAND OF MIST
—Q—
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO THE
REVEREND GEORGE VALE OWEN
AS A TOKEN OF
SYMPATHY, ADMIRATION, AND FRIENDSHIP

CHAPTER I

IN WHICH OUR SPECIAL COMMISSIONERS MAKE A START

THE great Professor Challenger has been—very improperly andimperfectly—used in fiction. A daring author placed him in impossibleand romantic situations in order to see how he would react to them. Hereacted to the extent of a libel action, an abortive appeal forsuppression, a riot in Sloane Street, two personal assaults, and theloss of his position as lecturer upon Physiology at the London School ofSub-Tropical Hygiene. Otherwise, the matter passed more peaceably thanmight have been expected.

But he was losing something of his fire. Those huge shoulders were alittle bowed. The spade-shaped Assyrian beard showed tangles of greyamid the black, his eyes were a trifle less aggressive, his smile lessself-complacent, his voice as monstrous as ever but less ready to roardown all opposition. Yet he was dangerous, as all around him werepainfully aware. The volcano was not extinct, and constant rumblingsthreatened some new explosion. Life had much yet to teach him, but hewas a little less intolerant in learning.

There was a definite date for the change which{12} had been wrought in him.It was the death of his wife. That little bird of a woman had made hernest in the big man’s heart. He had all the tenderness and chivalrywhich the strong can have for the weak. By yielding everything she hadwon everything, as a sweet-natured, tactful woman can. And when she diedsuddenly from virulent pneumonia following influenza, the man staggeredand went down. He came up again, smiling ruefully like the strickenboxer, and ready to carry on for many a round with Fate. But he was notthe same man, and if it had not been for the help and comradeship of hisdaughter Enid, he might never have rallied from the blow. She it waswho, with clever craft, lured him into every subject which would excitehis combative nature and infuriate his mind, until he lived once more inthe present and not the past. It was only when she saw him turbulent incontroversy, violent to pressmen, and generally offensive to thosearound him, that she felt he was really in a fair way to recovery.

Enid Challenger was a remarkable girl and should have a paragraph toherself. With the raven-black hair of her father, and the blue eyes andfresh colour of her mother, she was striking, if not beautiful, inappearance. She was quiet, but she was very strong. From her infancy shehad either to take her own part against her father, or else to consentto be crushed and to become a mere automaton worked by his strongfingers. She was strong enough to hold her own in a gentle, elasticfashion, which bent to his moods and reasserted itself when they werepast. 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 such fashionthat her name was beginning{13} to be known in Fleet Street. In findingthis opening she had been greatly helped by an old friend of herfather—and possibly of the reader—Mr. Edward Malone of theDailyGazette.

Malone was still the same athletic Irishman who had once won hisinternational cap at Rugby, but life had toned him down also, and madehim a more subdued and thoughtful man. He had put away a good deal whenat last his football-boots had been packed away for good. His musclesmay have wilted and his joints stiffened, but his mind was deeper andmore active. The boy was dead and the man was born. In person he hadaltered little, but his moustache was heavier, his back a littlerounded, and some lines of thought were tracing themselves upon hisbrow. Post-war conditions and new world problems had left their mark.For the rest he had made his name in journalism and even to a smalldegree in literature. He was still a bachelor, though there were somewho thought that his hold on that condition was precarious, and thatMiss Enid Challenger’s little white fingers could disengage it.Certainly they were very good chums.

It was a Sunday evening in October, and the lights were just beginningto twinkle out through the fog which had shrouded London from earlymorning. Professor Challenger’s flat at Victoria West Gardens was uponthe third floor, and the mist lay thick upon the windows, while the lowhum of the attenuated Sunday traffic rose up from an invisible highwaybeneath, which was outlined only by scattered patches of dull radiance.Professor Challenger sat with his thick, bandy legs outstretched to thefire, and his hands thrust deeply into his trouser pockets. His dresshad a little of the eccentricity of genius, for he wore a{14}loose-collared shirt, a large knotted maroon-coloured silk tie, and ablack velvet smoking-jacket, which, with his flowing beard, gave him theappearance of an elderly and Bohemian artist. On one side of him readyfor an excursion, with bowl hat, short-skirted dress of black, and allthe other fashionable devices with which women contrive to deform thebeauties of nature, there sat his daughter, while Malone, hat in hand,waited by the window.

They were writing joint articles upon the religious denominations ofLondon, and on each Sunday evening they sallied out together to samplesome new one and get copy for the next week’s issue of theGazette.

“Sit down, sir! Sit down!” boomed Challenger, tugging at his beard aswas his habit if his temper was rising. “There is nothing annoys me morethan having anyone standing behind me. A relic of atavism and the fearof a dagger, but still persistent. That’s right. For heaven’s sake putyour hat down! You have a perpetual air of catching a train.”

“That’s the journalistic life,” said Malone. “If we don’t catch theperpetual train we get left. Even Enid is beginning to understand that.But still, as you say, there is time enough.”

“We have done seven. There was Westminster Abbey for the Church in itsmost picturesque form, and Saint Agatha for the High Church, and TudorPlace for the Low. Then there was the Westminster Cathedral forCatholics, Endell Street for Pres{15}byterians, and Gloucester Square forUnitarians. But to-night we are trying to introduce some variety. We aredoing the Spiritualists.”

“Next week the lunatic asylums, I presume,” said he. “You don’t mean totell me, Malone, that these ghost people have got churches of theirown.”

“I’ve been looking into that,” said Malone. “I always look up cold factsand figures before I tackle a job. They have over four hundredregistered churches in Great Britain.”

“There seems to me to be absolutely no limit to the inanity andcredulity of the human race.Homo sapiens! Homo idioticus! Whom dothey pray to—the ghosts?”

“Well, that’s what we want to find out. We should get some copy out ofthem. I need not say that I share your view entirely, but I’ve seensomething of Atkinson of St. Mary’s Hospital lately. He is a risingsurgeon, you know.”

“That’s the man. He is level-headed and is looked on as an authority onpsychic research, as they call the new science which deals with thesematters.”

“Well, that is what they call it. He seems to take these peopleseriously. I consult him when I want a reference, for he has theliterature at his fingers’ end. ‘Pioneers of the Human Race’—that washis description.”

“Pioneering them to Bedlam,” growled Challenger. “And literature! Whatliterature have they?{16}”

“Well, that was another surprise. Atkinson has five hundred volumes, butcomplains that his psychic library is very imperfect. You see, there isFrench, German, Italian, as well as our own.”

“Well, thank God all the folly is not confined to poor old England.Pestilential nonsense!”

“Read it up! I, with all my interests and no time for one-half of them!Enid, you are too absurd.”

“Sorry, Father. You spoke with such assurance, I thought you knewsomething about it.”

Challenger’s huge head swung round and his lion’s glare rested upon hisdaughter.

“Do you conceive that a logical brain, a brain of the first order, needsto read and to study before it can detect a manifest absurdity? Am I tostudy mathematics in order to confute the man who tells me that two andtwo are five? Must I study physics once more and take down myPrincipia because some rogue or fool insists that a table can rise inthe air against the law of gravity? Does it take five hundred volumes toinform us of a thing which is proved in every police-court when animpostor is exposed? Enid, I am ashamed of you!”

“Well, Dad, you need not roar at me any more. I give in. In fact, I havethe same feeling that you have.”

“None the less,” said Malone, “some good men support them. I don’t seethat you can laugh at Lodge and Crookes and the others.”

“Don’t be absurd, Malone. Every great mind has its weaker side. It is asort of reaction against all the good sense. You come suddenly upon avein of positive nonsense. That is what is the matter with these{17}fellows. No, Enid, I haven’t read their reasons, and I don’t mean to,either; some things are beyond the pale. If we re-open all the oldquestions, how can we ever get ahead with the new ones? This matter issettled by common sense, the law of England, and by the universal assentof every sane European.”

“However,” he continued, “I can admit that there are occasional excusesfor misunderstandings upon the point.” He sank his voice, and his greatgrey eyes looked sadly up into vacancy. “I have known cases where thecoldest intellect—even my own intellect—might, for a moment, have beenshaken.”

Challenger hesitated. He seemed to be struggling with himself. He wishedto speak, and yet speech was painful. Then, with an abrupt, impatientgesture, he plunged into his story:

“I never told you, Enid. It was too—too intimate. Perhaps too absurd. Iwas ashamed to have been so shaken. But it shows how even the bestbalanced may be caught unawares.”

“It was after my wife’s death. You knew her, Malone. You can guess whatit meant to me. It was the night after the cremation ... horrible,Malone, horrible! I saw the dear little body slide down, down—and thenthe glare of flame and the door clanged to.” His great body shook and hepassed his big, hairy hand over his eyes.

“I don’t know why I tell you this; the talk seemed to lead up to it. Itmay be a warning to you. That night—the night after the cremation—Isat up in the hall. She was there,” he nodded at Enid. “She had{18} fallenasleep in a chair, poor girl. You know the house at Rotherfield, Malone.It was in the big hall. I sat by the fireplace, the room all draped inshadow, and my mind draped in shadow also. I should have sent her tobed, but she 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 moon shining throughthe stained-glass window. I sat and I brooded. Then suddenly there camea noise.”

“It was low at first—just a ticking. Then it grew louder and moredistinct—it was a clear rat-tat-tat. Now comes the queer coincidence,the sort of thing out of which legends grow when credulous folk have theshaping of them. You must know that my wife had a peculiar way ofknocking at a door. It was really a little tune which she played withher fingers. I got into the same way so that we could each know when theother knocked. Well, it seemed to me—of course my mind was strained andabnormal—that the taps shaped themselves into the well-known rhythm ofher knock. I couldn’t localise it. You can think how eagerly I tried. Itwas above me, somewhere on the woodwork. I lost sense of time. I daresayit was repeated a dozen times at least.”

“Well, we sat, but nothing happened. Not a sound more. Of course it wasa delusion. Some insect in the wood; the ivy on the outer wall. My ownbrain furnished the rhythm. Thus do we make fools and children ofourselves. But it gave me an insight. I{19} saw how even a clever man couldbe deceived by his own emotions.”

“Absurd, Malone! Absurd, I say! I tell you I saw her in the flames. Whatwas there left?”

“When the dear body dissolved into its elements—when its gases wentinto the air and its residue of solids sank into a grey dust—it was theend. There was no more. She had played her part, played it beautifully,nobly. It was done. Death ends all, Malone. This soul-talk is theAnimism of savages. It is a superstition, a myth. As a physiologist Iwill undertake to produce crime or virtue by vascular control orcerebral stimulation. I will turn a Jekyll into a Hyde by a surgicaloperation. Another can do it by a psychological suggestion. Alcohol willdo it. Drugs will do it. Absurd, Malone, absurd! As the tree falls, sodoes it lie. There is no next morning ... night—eternal night ... andlong rest for the weary worker.”

“Perhaps so. There is something virile and manly in facing the worst. Iwould not contradict. My reason is with you.”

“But my instincts are against!” cried Enid. “No, no, never can I believeit.” She threw her arms round the great bull neck. “Don’t tell me,daddy, that you with all your complex brain and wonderful self are athing with no more life hereafter than a broken clock!”

“Four buckets of water and a bagful of salts,” said{20} Challenger as hesmilingly detached his daughter’s grip. “That’s your daddy, my lass, andyou may as well reconcile your mind to it. Well, it’s twenty to eight.Come back, if you can, Malone, and let me hear your adventures among theinsane.{21}”

CHAPTER II

WHICH DESCRIBES AN EVENING IN STRANGE COMPANY

THE love-affair of Enid Challenger and Edward Malone is not of theslightest interest to the reader, for the simple reason that it is notof the slightest interest to the writer. The unseen, unnoticed lure ofthe unborn babe is common to all youthful humanity. We deal in thischronicle with matters which are less common and of higher interest. Itis only mentioned 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—itis that the prim affectations and sly deceits of the past are lessened,and that young men and women can meet in an equality of clean and honestcomradeship.

A taxi took the adventurers down Edgware Road and into the side-streetcalled “Helbeck Terrace.” Halfway down, the dull line of brick houseswas broken by one glowing gap, where an open arch threw a flood of lightinto the street. The cab pulled up and the man opened the door.

“This is the Spiritualist Church, sir,” said he. Then, as he saluted toacknowledge his tip, he added in the wheezy voice of the man of allweathers: “Tommy-rot, I call it, sir.” Having eased his conscience thushe climbed into his seat and a moment later his red rear-lamp was awaning circle in the gloom. Malone laughed.{22}

“Yes, but we are prepared to give them a show. I don’t suppose Cabby 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 from the top ofthe step, waving his arms to keep them back.

“It’s no good, friends. I am very sorry, but we can’t help it. We’vebeen threatened twice with prosecution for over-crowding.” He turnedfacetious. “Never heard of an Orthodox Church getting into trouble forthat. No, sir, no.”

“I’ve come all the way from ’Ammersmith,” wailed a voice. The light beatupon the eager, anxious face of the speaker, a little woman in blackwith a baby in her arms.

“You’ve come for clairvoyance, Mam,” said the usher, with intelligence.“See here, give me the name and address and I will write you, and Mrs.Debbs will give you a sitting gratis. That’s better than taking yourchance in the crowd when, with all the will in the world, you can’t allget a turn. You’ll have her to yourself. No, sir, there’s no useshovin’.... What’s that?... Press?”

“Did you say Press? The Press boycott us, sir. Look at the weekly listof services in a Saturday’sTimes if you doubt it. You wouldn’t knowthere was such a thing as Spiritualism.... What paper, sir?... ‘TheDaily Gazette.’ Well, well, we are getting on. And the lady, too?...Special article—my word! Stick to me, sir, and I’ll see what I can do.Shut the doors, Joe. No use, friends.{23} When the building fund gets on abit 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-alley whichbrought them to a small door with a red lamp shining above it.

“I’ll have to put you on the platform—there’s no standing room in thebody of the hall.”

“You’ll have a fine view, miss, and maybe get a readin’ for yourself ifyou’re lucky. It often happens that those nearest the medium get thebest chance. Now, sir, in here!”

Here was a frowsy little room with some hats and top-coats draping thedirty, white-washed walls. A thin, austere woman, with eyes whichgleamed from behind her glasses, was warming her gaunt hands over asmall fire. With his back to the fire in the traditional Britishattitude was a large, fat man with a bloodless face, a ginger moustacheand curious, light-blue eyes—the eyes of a deep-sea mariner. A littlebald-headed man with huge horn-rimmed spectacles, and a very handsomeand athletic youth in a blue lounge-suit, completed the group.

“The others have gone on the platform, Mr. Peeble. There’s only fiveseats left for ourselves.” It was the fat man talking.

“I know, I know,” said the man who had been addressed as Peeble, anervous, stringy, dried-up person as he now appeared in the light. “Butthis is the Press, Mr. Bolsover.Daily Gazette—special article....Malone the name, and Challenger. This is Mr. Bolsover, our President.This is Mrs. Debbs of Liverpool, the famous clairvoyante. Here is Mr.James, and this tall young gentleman is Mr. Hardy Williams, ourenergetic secretary. Mr.{24}Williams is a nailer for the buildin’ fund.Keep your eye on your pockets if Mr. Williams is around.”

“A good, rousing article is our best collection,” said the stoutpresident. “Ever been to a meeting before, sir?”

“Well, well, we must expect a slating. They get it from the humorousangle at first. We’ll have you writing a very comic account. I nevercould see anything very funny in the spirit of one’s dead wife, but it’sa matter of taste and of knowledge also. If they don’t know, how canthey take it seriously? I don’t blame them. We were mostly like thatourselves once. I was one of Bradlaugh’s men, and sat under JosephMacCabe until my old Dad came and pulled me out.”

“It was the first time I found I had powers of my own. I saw him like Isee you now.”

“Knew no more than I did. But they come on amazin’ at the other side ifthe right folk get hold of them.”

“Time’s up!” said Mr. Peeble, snapping his watch. “You are on the rightof the chair, Mrs. Debbs. Will you go first? Then you, Mr. Chairman.Then you two and myself. Get on the left, Mr. Hardy Williams, and leadthe singin’. They want warmin’ up and you can do it. Now then, ifyouplease!{25}”

The platform was already crowded, but the newcomers threaded their wayto the front amid a decorous murmur of welcome. Mr. Peeble shoved andexhorted and two end seats emerged upon which Enid and Malone perchedthemselves. The arrangement suited them well, for they could use theirnotebooks freely behind the shelter of the folk in front.

People who are in earnest are always interesting, whether you agree withthem or not, and it was impossible to doubt that the people wereextremely earnest. The hall was crammed, and as one looked down one sawline after line of upturned faces, curiously alike in type, womenpredominating, but men running them close. That type was notdistinguished nor intellectual, but it was undeniably healthy, honestand sane. Small trades-folk, male and female shop-walkers, better classartisans, lower middle-class women worn with household cares, occasionalyoung folk in search of a sensation—these were the impressions whichthe audience conveyed to the trained observation of Malone.

“My friends,” said he, “we have had once more to exclude a great numberof people who’d desired to be with us to-night. It’s all a question ofthe building-fund, and Mr. Williams on my left will be glad to hear fromany of you. I was in a hotel last week and they had a notice hung up inthe reception bureau. ‘No cheques accepted.’ That’s not the way BrotherWilliams talks. You just try him.{26}”

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 nothere to talk. I’m here to hold this chair down and I mean to do it. It’sa hard thing I ask. I want Spiritualists to keep away on Sunday nights.They take up the room that inquirers should have. You can have themorning service. But it’s better for the cause that there should be roomfor the stranger. You’ve had it. Thank God for it. Give the other man achance.” The president plumped back into his chair.

Mr. Peeble sprang to his feet. He was clearly the general utility manwho emerges in every society and probably becomes its autocrat. With histhin, eager face and darting hands he was more than a live wire—he wasa whole bundle of live wires. Electricity seemed to crackle from hisfinger-tips.

Yes, they were in earnest, these people. And they did not appear to bementally weaker than their fellows. And yet both Enid and Malone felt asensation of great pity as they looked at them. How sad{27} to be deceivedupon so intimate a matter as this, to be duped by impostors who usedtheir most sacred feelings and their beloved dead as counters with whichto cheat them. What did they know of the laws of evidence, of the cold,immutable decrees of scientific law? Poor earnest, honest, deludedpeople!

“Now!” screamed Mr. Peeble. “We shall ask Mr. Munro from Australia togive us the invocation.”

A wild-looking old man with a shaggy beard and slumbering fire in hiseyes rose up and stood for a few seconds with his gaze cast down. Thenhe began a prayer, very simple, very unpremeditated. Malone jotted downthe first sentence: “Oh, Father, we are very ignorant folk and do notwell know how to approach you, but we will pray to you the best we knowhow.” It was all cast in that humble key. Enid and Malone exchanged aswift glance of appreciation.

There was another hymn, less successful than the first, and the chairmanthen announced that Mr. James Jones of North Wales would now deliver atrance address which would embody the views of his well-known control,Alasha the Atlantean.

Mr. James Jones, a brisk and decided little man in a faded check suit,came to the front and, after standing a minute or so as if in deepthought, gave a violent shudder and began to talk. It must be admittedthat save for a certain fixed stare and vacuous glazing of the eye therewas nothing to show that anything save Mr. James Jones of North Waleswas the orator. It has also to be stated that if Mr. Jones shuddered atthe beginning it was the turn of his audience to shudder afterwards.Granting his own claim, he had proved clearly that an Atlantean spiritmight be a portentous bore. He droned on with platitudes and{28}ineptitudes while Malone whispered to Enid that if Alasha was a fairspecimen of the population it was just as well that his native land wassafely engulfed in the Atlantic Ocean. When, with another rathermelodramatic shudder, he emerged from his trance, the chairman sprang tohis feet with an alacrity which showed that he was taking no risks lestthe Atlantean should return.

“We have present with us to-night,” he cried, “Mrs. Debbs, thewell-known clairvoyante of Liverpool. Mrs. Debbs is, as many of youknow, richly endowed with several of those gifts of the spirit of whichSaint Paul speaks, and the discerning of spirits is among them. Thesethings depend upon laws which are beyond our control, but a sympatheticatmosphere is essential, and Mrs. Debbs will ask for your good wishesand your prayers while she endeavours to get into touch with some ofthose shining ones on the other side who may honour us with theirpresence to-night.”

The president sat down and Mrs. Debbs rose amid discreet applause. Verytall, very pale, very thin, with an aquiline face and eyes shiningbrightly from behind her gold-rimmed glasses, she stood facing herexpectant audience. Her head was bent. She seemed to be listening.

“Vibrations!” she cried at last. “I want helpful vibrations. Give me averse on the harmonium, please.”

The instrument droned out “Jesus, Lover of my soul.” The audience sat insilence, expectant and a little awed. The hall was not too well lit anddark shadows lurked in the corners. The medium still bent her head as ifher ears were straining. Then she raised her hand and the music stopped.

“Presently! Presently! All in good time,” said{29} the woman, addressingsome invisible companion. Then to the audience, “I don’t feel that theconditions are very good to-night. I will do my best and so will they.But I must talk to you first.”

And she talked. What she said seemed to the two strangers to be absolutegabble. There was no consecutive sense in it, though now and again aphrase or sentence caught the attention. Malone put his stylo in hispocket. There was no use reporting a lunatic. A Spiritualist next himsaw his bewildered disgust and leaned towards him.

“She’s tuning in. She’s getting her wave length,” he whispered. “It’sall a matter of vibration. Ah, there you are!”

She had stopped in the very middle of a sentence. Her long arm andquivering forefinger shot out. She was pointing at an elderly woman inthe second row.

“You! Yes, you, with the red feather. No, not you. The stout lady infront. Yes, you! There is a spirit building up behind you. It is a man.He is a tall man—six foot maybe. High forehead, eyes grey or blue, along chin, brown moustache, lines on his face. Do you recognise him,friend?”

“Well, see if I can help you. He is holding up a book—brown book with aclasp. It’s a ledger same as they have in offices. I get the words‘Caledonian Insurance.’ Is that any help?”

“Well, I can give you a little more. He died after a long illness. I getchest trouble—asthma.”

The stout woman was still obdurate, but a small,{30} angry, red-facedperson, two places away from her, sprang to her feet.

“It’s my ’usband, ma’am. Tell ’im I don’t want to ’ave any more dealin’swith him.” She sat down with decision.

“Yes, that’s right. He moves to you now. He was nearer the other. Hewants to say he’s sorry. It doesn’t do, you know, to have hard feelingsto the dead. Forgive and forget. It’s all over. I get a message for you.It is: ‘Do it and my blessings go with you!’ Does that mean anything toyou?”

“Very good.” The clairvoyante suddenly darted out her finger towards thecrowd at the door. “It’s for the soldier.”

A soldier in khaki, looking very much amazed, was in the front of theknot of people.

“It’s a soldier. He has a corporal’s stripes. He is a big man withgrizzled hair. He has a yellow tab on his shoulders. I get the initialsJ. H. Do you know him?”

He had not understood that it was a Spiritualistic Church, and the wholeproceedings had been a mystery to him. They were rapidly explained byhis neighbours. “My Gawd!” cried the soldier, and vanished amid ageneral titter. In the pause Malone could hear the constant mutter ofthe medium as she spoke to someone unseen.

“Yes, yes, wait your turn! Speak up, woman! Well, take your place nearhim. How should I know? Well, I will if I can.” She was like a janitorat the theatre marshalling a queue.

Her next attempt was a total failure. A solid man{31} with bushyside-whiskers absolutely refused to have anything to do with an elderlygentleman who claimed kinship. The medium worked with admirablepatience, coming back again and again with some fresh detail, but noprogress could be made.

“Think it over. It may come to you later. We must just leave it 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 and naturally theyknow each other’s affairs. If they don’t know they can enquire.”

“Yes, but they could easily coach her up. It is all clever quackery andbluff. Itmust be, for just think what is implied if it is not.”

Her next attempt was more fortunate. A lugubrious man at the back of thehall readily recognised the description and claims of his deceased wife.

“Well, she calls Wat now. ‘Tell Wat to give{32} my love to the children.’That’s how I get it. She is worrying about the children.”

“Well, they don’t change. Furniture. Something about furniture. She saysyou gave it away. Is that right?”

The audience tittered. It was strange how the most solemn and the comicwere eternally blended—strange and yet very natural and human.

“She has a message: ‘The man will pay up and all will be well. Be a goodman, Wat, and we will be happier here than ever we were on earth.’”

The man put his hand over his eyes. As the seeress stood irresolute thetall young secretary half rose and whispered something in her ear. Thewoman shot a swift glance over her left shoulder in the direction of thevisitors.

She gave two more descriptions to the audience, both of them rathervague, and both recognised with some reservations. It was a curious factthat her details were such as she could not possibly see at thedistance. Thus, dealing with a form which she claimed had built up atthe far end of the hall, she could none the less give the colour of theeyes and small points of the face. Malone noted the point as one whichhe could use for destructive criticism. He was just jotting it down whenthe woman’s voice sounded louder and, looking up, he found that she hadturned her head and her spectacles were flashing in his direction.

“It is not often I give a reading from the platform,” said she, her facerotating between him and the audience, “but we have friends hereto-night, and{33} it may interest them to come in contact with the spiritpeople. There is a presence building up behind the gentleman with amoustache—the gentleman who sits next to the young lady. Yes, sir,behind you. He is a man of middle size, rather inclined to shortness. Heis old, over sixty, with white hair, curved nose and a white, smallbeard of the variety that is called goatee. He is no relation, I gather,but a friend. Does that suggest anyone to you, sir?”

Malone shook his head with some contempt. “It would fit nearly any oldman,” he whispered to Enid.

“We will try to get a little closer. He has deep lines on his face. Ishould say he was an irritable man in his lifetime. He was quick andnervous in his ways. Does that help you?”

“Well, he seems very anxious so we must do what we can for him. He holdsup a book. It is a learned book. He opens it and I see diagrams in it.Perhaps he wrote it—or perhaps he taught from it. Yes, he nods. Hetaught from it. He was a teacher.”

“I don’t know that I can help him any more. Ah! there is one thing. Hehas a mole over his right eyebrow.”

“Ah, you’ve got it. There’s a message: Greetings to old——’ It’s along name and begins with a C. I can’t get it. Does it mean anything?{34}”

In an instant she had turned and was describing something or someoneelse. But she had left a badly-shaken man upon the platform behind her.

It was at this point that the orderly service had a remarkableinterruption which surprised the audience as much as it did the twovisitors. This was the sudden appearance beside the chairman of a tall,pale-faced, bearded man dressed like a superior artisan, who held up hishand with a quietly impressive gesture as one who was accustomed toexert authority. He then half turned and said a word to Mr. Bolsover.

“This is Mr. Miromar of Dalston,” said the Chairman. “Mr. Miromar has amessage to deliver. We are always glad to hear from Mr. Miromar.”

The reporters could only get a half-view of the newcomer’s face, butboth of them were struck by his noble bearing and by the massive outlineof his head which promised very unusual intellectual power. His voicewhen he spoke rang clearly and pleasantly through the hall.

“I have been ordered to give the message wherever I think that there areears to hear it. There are some here who are ready for it, and that iswhy I have come. They wish that the human race should graduallyunderstand the situation so that there shall be the less shock or panic.I am one of several who are chosen to carry the news.”

“A lunatic, I’m afraid!” whispered Malone, scribbling hard upon hisknee. There was a general inclination to smile among the audience. Andyet there was something in the man’s manner and voice which made themhang on every word.

“Things have now reached a climax. The very idea of progress has beenmade material. It is prog{35}ress to go swiftly, to send swift messages, tobuild new machinery. All this is a diversion of real ambition. There isonly one real progress—spiritual progress. Mankind gives it a liptribute but presses on upon its false road of material science.

“The Central Intelligence recognised that amid all the apathy there wasalso much honest doubt which had outgrown old creeds and had a right tofresh evidence. Therefore fresh evidence was sent—evidence which madethe life after death as clear as the sun in the heavens. It was laughedat by scientists, condemned by the churches, became the butt of thenewspapers and was discarded with contempt. That was the last andgreatest blunder of humanity.”

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

“The thing was now hopeless. It had got beyond all control. Thereforesomething sterner was needed since Heaven’s gift had been disregarded.The blow fell. Ten million men were laid dead upon the ground. Twice asmany were mutilated. That was God’s first warning to mankind. But it wasvain. The same dull materialism prevailed as before. Years of grace weregiven, and save the stirrings of the spirit seen in such churches asthese, no change was anywhere to be seen. The nations heaped up freshloads of sin and sin must ever be atoned for. Russia became a cesspool.Germany was unrepentant of her terrible materialism which had been theprime cause of the war. Spain and Italy were sunk in alternate atheismand superstition. France had no religious ideal. Britain was confusedand distracted, full of wooden sects which had nothing of life in them.{36}America had abused her glorious opportunities and instead of being theloving younger brother to a stricken Europe she held up all economicreconstruction by her money claims; she dishonoured the signature of herown president, and she refused to join that League of Peace which wasthe one hope of the future. All have sinned, but some more than others,and their punishment will be in exact proportion.

“And that punishment comes soon. These are the exact words I have beenasked to give you. I read them lest I should in any way garble them.”

“‘What we want is, not that folk should be frightened, but that theyshould begin to change themselves—to develop themselves on morespiritual lines. We are not trying to make people nervous, but toprepare while there is yet time. The world cannot go on as it has done.It would destroy itself if it did. Above all we must sweep away the darkcloud of theology which has come between mankind and God.’”

“That is what 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 Timeis at hand.’”

He had paused and seemed about to turn. The spell was broken. Theaudience rustled and leaned back in its seats. Then a voice came fromthe back.

With quick, light steps he threaded his way among{37} the chairs on theplatform and stood near the door. When Malone next looked round he wasgone.

“He is one of these Second-coming fanatics,” he whispered to Enid.“There are a lot of them—Christadelphians, Russellites, Bible Studentsand what-not. But he was impressive.”

“We have, I am sure, been very interested in what our friend has toldus,” said the chairman. “Mr. Miromar is in hearty sympathy with ourmovement even though he cannot be said actually to belong to it. I amsure he is always welcome upon our platforms. As to his prophecy, itseems to me the world has had enough trouble without our anticipatingany more. If it is as our friend says, we can’t do much to mend thematter. We can only go about our daily jobs, do them as well as we can,and await the event in full confidence of help from above. If it’s theDay of Judgment to-morrow,” he added, smiling, “I mean to look after myprovision store at Hammersmith to-day. We shall now continue with theservice.”

There was a vigorous appeal for money and a great deal about thebuilding-fund from the young secretary. “It’s a shame to think thatthere are more left in the street than in the building on a Sundaynight. We all give our services. No one takes a penny. Mrs. Debbs ishere for her bare expenses. But we want another thousand pounds beforewe can start. There is one brother here who mortgaged his house to helpus. That’s the spirit that wins. Now let us see what you can do for usto-night.”

A dozen soup-plates circulated, and a hymn was sung to the accompanimentof much chinking of coin. Enid and Malone conversed in undertones.{38}

“Poor old Summerlee. He thought survival was an absurdity. And here heis—or here he seems to be.”

The soup-plates returned—it was mostly brown soup, unhappily, and theywere deposited on the table where the eager eye of the secretaryappraised their value. Then the little shaggy man from Australia gave abenediction in the same simple fashion as the opening prayer. It neededno Apostolic succession or laying-on of hands to make one feel that hiswords were from a human heart and might well go straight to a Divineone. Then the audience rose and sang their final farewell hymn—a hymnwith a haunting tune and a sad, sweet refrain of “God keep you safelytill we meet once more.” Enid was surprised to feel the tears runningdown her cheeks. These earnest, simple folk with their direct methodshad wrought upon her more than all the gorgeous service and rollingmusic of the cathedral.

Mr. Bolsover, the stout president, was in the waiting-room and so wasMrs. Debbs.

“Well, I expect you are going to let us have it,” he laughed. “We areused to it, Mr. Malone. We don’t mind. But you will see the turn someday. These articles may rise up in judgment.”

“No, young lady, I am never tired in doing the work of the spiritpeople. They see to that.”

“May I ask,” Malone ventured, “whether you ever knew ProfessorSummerlee?”

“No, sir, no. They always think I know them. I know none of them. Theycome and I describe them.”

“Clairaudient. I hear it. I hear them all the time. The poor things allwant to come through and they pluck at me and pull me and pester me onthe platform. ‘Me next—me—me!’ That’s what I hear. I do my best, but Ican’t handle them all.”

“Can you tell me anything of that prophetic person?” asked Malone of thechairman. Mr. Bolsover shrugged his shoulders with a deprecating smile.

“He is an Independent. We see him now and again as a sort of cometpassing across us. By the way, it comes back to me that he prophesiedthe war. I’m a practical man myself. Sufficient for the day is the evilthereof. We get plenty in ready cash without any bills for the future.Well, good night! Treat us as well as you can.”

“Good night,” said Mrs. Debbs. “By the way, young lady, you are a mediumyourself. Good night!”

And so they found themselves in the street once more inhaling longdraughts of the night air. It was sweet after that crowded hall. Aminute later they were in the rush of the Edgware Road and Malone hadhailed a cab to carry them back to Victoria Gardens.[A]

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION

ENID had stepped into the cab and Malone was following when his name wascalled and a man came running down the street. He was tall, middle-aged,handsome and well-dressed, with the clean-shaven, self-confident face ofthe successful surgeon.

“Why, it’s Atkinson. Enid, let me introduce you. This is Mr. Atkinson ofSt. Mary’s about whom I spoke to your father. Can we give you a lift? Weare going towards Victoria.”

“Capital!” The surgeon followed them into the cab. “I was amazed to seeyou at a Spiritualist meeting.”

“We were only there professionally. Miss Challenger and I are both onthe Press.”

“Oh, really! TheDaily Gazette, I suppose, as before. Well, you willhave one more subscriber, for I shall want to see what you made ofto-night’s show.”

“I really don’t know. I shall have to read my notes carefully to-morrowand think it over, and compare impressions with my colleague here. Shehas the intuition, you see, which goes for so much in religiousmatters.{41}”

“Yes, indeed, I have been several times and it always leaves the samemixed impression upon my own mind. Some of it is ludicrous, and some ofit might be dishonest, and yet again some of it is clearly wonderful.”

“Because I am deeply interested. You see, I am a student of psychicmatters and have been for some years. I am not a convinced one but I amsympathetic, and I have sufficient sense of proportion to realise thatwhile I seem to be sitting in judgment upon the subject it may in truthbe the subject which is sitting in judgment upon me.”

“It is enormous. You will realise that as you get to close grips withit. It is half a dozen great subjects in one. And it is all in the handsof these good humble folk who, in the face of every discouragement andpersonal loss, have carried it on for more than seventy years. It isreally very like the rise of Christianity. It was run by slaves andunderlings until it gradually extended upwards. There were three hundredyears between Cæsar’s slave and Cæsar getting the light.”

“You mean our friend from Atlantis. What a terrible bore the fellow was!I confess I don’t know what to make of performances like that.Self-deception, I think, and the temporary emergence of some freshstrand of personality which dramatises itself in this way. The onlything I am quite sure of is that it{42} is not really an inhabitant ofAtlantis who arrives from his long voyage with this awful cargo ofplatitudes. Well, here we are!”

“I have to deliver this young lady safe and sound to her father,” saidMalone. “Look here, Atkinson, don’t leave us. The Professor would reallylike to see you.”

“You’ve been hearing stories,” said Enid. “Really it is not so bad asthat. Some people annoy him, but I am sure you are not one of them.Won’t you chance it?”

“With that encouragement, certainly.” And the three walked down thebright outer corridor to the lift.

Challenger, clad now in a brilliant blue dressing-gown, was eagerlyawaiting them. He eyed Atkinson as a fighting bulldog eyes some caninestranger. 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. Yourresection of the cord last year made some stir, I understand. But haveyou been down among the lunatics also?”

“Good Heavens, what else could I call them? I remember now that my youngfriend here” (Challenger had a way of alluding to Malone as if he were apromising boy of ten) “told me you were studying the subject.” He roaredwith offensive laughter. “‘The proper study of mankind is spooks,’ eh,Mr. Atkinson?”

“Dad really knows nothing about it, so don’t be{43} offended with him,”said Enid. “But I assure you, Dad, you would have been interested.” Sheproceeded to give a sketch of their adventures, though interrupted by arunning commentary of groans, grunts and derisive jeers. It was onlywhen the Summerlee episode was reached that Challenger’s indignation andcontempt could no longer be restrained. The old volcano blew his headoff and a torrent of red-hot invective descended upon his listeners.

“The blasphemous rascals!” he shouted. “To think that they can’t letpoor old Summerlee rest in his grave. We had our differences in his timeand I will admit that I was compelled to take a moderate view of hisintelligence, but if he came back from the grave he would certainly havesomething worth hearing to say to us. It is an absurdity—a wicked,indecent absurdity upon the face of it. I object to any friend of minebeing made a puppet for the laughter of an audience of fools. Theydidn’t laugh! They must have laughed when they heard an educated man, aman whom I have met upon equal terms, talking such nonsense. I say itwas nonsense. Don’t contradict me, Malone. I won’t have it! Hismessage might have been the postscript of a schoolgirl’s letter. Isn’tthat nonsense, coming from such a source? Are you not in agreement, Mr.Atkinson? No! I had hoped better things from you.”

“Good Heavens, where are your brains? Have not the names of Summerleeand Malone been associated with my own in some peculiarly feeble fictionwhich attained some notoriety? Is it not also known that you twoinnocents were doing the Churches week by week? Was it not patent thatsooner or later you would come to a Spiritualist gathering? Here was a{44}chance for a convert! They set a bait and poor old gudgeon Malone camealong and swallowed it. Here he is with the hook still stuck in hissilly mouth. Oh, yes, Malone, plain speaking is needed and you shallhave it.” The Professor’s black mane was bristling and his eyes glaringfrom one member of the company to another.

“Well, we want every view expressed,” said Atkinson. “You seem veryqualified, sir, to express the negative one. At the same time I wouldrepeat in my own person the words of Thackeray. He said to someobjector: ‘What you say is natural, but if you had seen what I have seenyou might alter your opinion.’ Perhaps some time you will be able tolook into the matter, for your high position in the scientific worldwould give your opinion great weight.”

“If I have a high place in the scientific world as you say, it isbecause I have concentrated upon what is useful and discarded what isnebulous or absurd. My brain, sir, does not pare the edges. It cutsright through. It has cut right through this and has found fraud andfolly.”

“Both are there at times,” said Atkinson, “and yet ... and yet! Ah,well, Malone, I’m some way from home and it is late. You will excuse me,Professor. I am honoured to have met you.”

Malone was leaving also and the two friends had a few minutes’ chatbefore they went their separate ways, Atkinson to Wimpole Street andMalone to South Norwood, where he was now living.

“Grand old fellow!” said Malone, chuckling. “You must never get offendedwith him. He means no harm. He is splendid.”

“Of course he is. But if anything could make me a real out-and-outSpiritualist it is that sort of in{45}tolerance. It is very common, thoughit is generally cast rather in the tone of the quiet sneer than of thenoisy roar. I like the latter best. By the way, Malone, if you care togo deeper into this subject I may be able to help you. You’ve heard ofLinden?”

“Linden, the professional medium. Yes, I’ve been told he is the greatestblackguard unhung.”

“Ah, well, they usually talk of them like that. You must judge foryourself. He put his knee-cap out last winter and I put it in again, andthat has made a friendly bond between us. It’s not always easy to gethim, and of course a small fee, a guinea I think, is usual, but if youwanted a sitting I could work it.”

“I daresay they all take the line of least resistance. I can only saythat I have never detected him in fraud. You must judge for yourself.”

“I will,” said Malone. “I am getting hot on this trail. And there iscopy in it, too. When things are more easy I’ll write to you, Atkinson,and we can go more deeply into the matter.{46}”

CHAPTER IV

WHICH DESCRIBES SOME STRANGE DOINGS IN HAMMERSMITH

THE article by the Joint Commissioners (such was their glorious title)aroused interest and contention. It had been accompanied by adepreciating leaderette from the sub-editor which was meant to calm thesusceptibilities of his orthodox readers, as who should say; “Thesethings have to be noticed and seem to be true, but of course you and Irecognise how pestilential it all is.” Malone found himself at onceplunged into a huge correspondence, for and against, which in itself wasenough to show how vitally the question was in the minds of men. All theprevious articles had only elicited a growl here or there from ahide-bound Catholic or from an iron-clad Evangelical, but now hispost-bag was full. Most of them were ridiculing the idea that psychicforces existed and many were from writers who, whatever they might knowof psychic forces, had obviously not yet learned to spell. TheSpiritualists were in many cases not more pleased than the others, forMalone had—even while his account was true—exercised a journalist’sprivilege of laying an accent on the more humorous sides of it.

One morning in the succeeding week Mr. Malone was aware of a largepresence in the small room wherein he did his work at the office. Apage-boy, who preceded the stout visitor, had laid a card on the{47} cornerof the table which bore the legend ‘James Bolsover, Provision Merchant,High Street, Hammersmith.’ It was none other than the genial presidentof last Sunday’s congregation. He wagged a paper accusingly at Malone,but his good-humoured face was wreathed in smiles.

“Well, yes, Mr. Malone, I think you and the young woman have done yourbest for us. But, of course, you know nothing and it all seems queer toyou. Come to think of it, it would be a deal queerer if all the clevermen who leave this earth could not among them find some way of getting aword back to us.”

“Well, there are a lot of stupid people leave the world. They don’tchange. And then, you know, one never knows what sort of message isneeded. We had a clergyman in to see Mrs. Debbs yesterday. He wasbroken-hearted because he had lost his daughter. Mrs. Debbs got severalmessages through that she was happy and that only his grief hurt her.‘That’s no use,’ said he. ‘Anyone could say that. That’s not my girl.’And then suddenly she said: ‘But I wish to goodness you would not wear aRoman collar with a coloured shirt.’ That sounded a trivial message, butthe man began to cry. ‘That’s her,’ he sobbed. ‘She was always chippingme about my collars.’ It’s the little things that count in thislife—just the homely, intimate things, Mr. Malone.”

Mr. Bolsover laughed. “You’re a hard proposi{48}tion. So was I once, so Ican’t blame you. But I called here with a purpose. I expect you are abusy man and I know that I am, so I’ll get down to the brass tacks.First, I wanted to say that all our people that have any sense arepleased with the article. Mr. Algernon Mailey wrote me that it would dogood, and if he is pleased we are all pleased.”

“Only that we would help you if you and the young lady wanted to gofurther in the matter. Not for publicity, mind you, but just for yourown good—though we don’t shrink from publicity, either. I have physicalphenomena séances at my own home without a professional medium, and ifyou would like....”

“Then you shall come—both of you. I don’t have many outsiders. Iwouldn’t have one of those psychic research people inside my doors. Whyshould I go out of my way to be insulted by all their suspicions andtheir traps? They seem to think that folk have no feelings. But you havesome ordinary common sense. That’s all we ask.”

“Not in the least. So long as you are fair-minded and don’t disturb theconditions, all is well. Spirits out of the body don’t like disagreeablepeople any more than spirits in the body do. Be gentle and civil, sameas you would to any other company.”

“They are funny sometimes,” said Mr. Bolsover, in reminiscent vein. “Itis as well to keep on the right{49} side of them. They are not allowed tohurt humans, but we all do things we’re not allowed to do, and they arevery human themselves. You remember howThe Times correspondent gothis head cut open with the tambourine in one of the Davenport Brothers’séances. Very wrong, of course, but it happened. No friend ever got hishead cut open. There was another case down Stepney way. A money-lenderwent to a séance. Some victim that he had driven to suicide got into themedium. He got the money-lender by the throat and it was a close thingfor his life. But I’m off, Mr. Malone. We sit once a week and have donefor four years without a break. Eight o’clock Thursdays. Give us a day’snotice and I’ll get Mr. Mailey to meet you. He can answer questionsbetter than I. Next Thursday! Very good.” And Mr. Bolsover lurched outof the room.

Both Malone and Enid Challenger had, perhaps, been more shaken by theirshort experience than they had admitted, but both were sensible peoplewho agreed that every possible natural cause should be exhausted—andvery thoroughly exhausted—before the bounds of what is possible shouldbe enlarged. Both of them had the utmost respect for the ponderousintellect of Challenger and were affected by his strong views, thoughMalone was compelled to admit in the frequent arguments in which he wasplunged that the opinion of a clever man who has had no experience isreally of less value than that of the man in the street who has actuallybeen there.

These arguments, as often as not, were with Mervin, editor of thepsychic paperDawn, which dealt with every phase of the occult, fromthe lore of the Rosicrucians to the strange regions of the students ofthe Great Pyramid, or of those who uphold the Jewish{50} origin of ourblonde Anglo-Saxons. Mervin was a small, eager man with a brain of ahigh order, which might have carried him to the most lucrative heightsof his profession had he not determined to sacrifice worldly prospectsin order to help what seemed to him to be a great truth. As Malone waseager for knowledge and Mervin was equally keen to impart it, thewaiters at the Literary Club found it no easy matter to get them awayfrom the corner-table in the window at which they were wont to lunch.Looking down at the long, grey curve of the Embankment and the nobleriver with its vista of bridges, the pair would linger over theircoffee, smoking cigarettes and discussing various sides of this mostgigantic and absorbing subject, which seemed already to have disclosednew horizons to the mind of Malone.

There was one warning given by Mervin which aroused impatience amountingalmost to anger in Malone’s mind. He had the hereditary Irish objectionto coercion and it seemed to him to be appearing once more in aninsidious and particularly objectionable form.

“You are going to one of Bolsover’s family séances,” said Mervin. “Theyare, of course, well known among our people, though few have beenactually admitted, so you may consider yourself privileged. He hasclearly taken a fancy to you.”

“Well, it wasn’t much of an article, but still among the dreary,purblind nonsense that assails us, it did show some traces of dignityand balance and sense of proportion.”

“Bolsover séances and others like them are, of course, things of nomoment to the real psychic. They{51} are like the rude foundations of abuilding which certainly help to sustain the edifice, but are forgottenwhen once you come to inhabit it. It is the higher superstructure withwhich we have to do. You would think that the physical phenomena werethe whole subject—those and a fringe of ghosts and haunted houses—ifyou were to believe the cheap papers who cater for the sensationalist.Of course, these physical phenomena have a use of their own. They rivetthe attention of the inquirer and encourage him to go further.Personally, having seen them all, I would not go across the road to seethem again. But I would go across many roads to get high messages fromthe beyond.”

“Yes, I quite appreciate the distinction, looking at it from your pointof view. Personally, of course, I am equally agnostic as to the messagesand the phenomena.”

“Quite so. St. Paul was a good psychic. He makes the point so neatlythat even his ignorant translators were unable to disguise the realoccult meanings as they have succeeded in doing in so many cases.”

“I know my New Testament pretty well, but I am not letter-perfect. It isthe passage where he says that the gift of tongues, which was an obvioussensational thing, was for the uninstructed, but that prophecies, thatis real spiritual messages, were for the elect. In other words that anexperienced Spiritualist has no need of phenomena.”

“You will find it in Corinthians, I think. By the way, there must havebeen a pretty high average of intelligence among those old congregationsif Pau{52}l’s letters could have been read aloud to them and thoroughlycomprehended.”

“Well, it is a concrete example of it. However, I am down a side-track.What I wanted to say to you is that you must not take Bolsover’s littlespirit circus too seriously. It is honest as far as it goes, but it goesa mighty short way. It’s a disease, this phenomena hunting. I know someof our people, women mostly, who buzz around séance rooms continually,seeing the same thing over and over, sometimes real, sometimes, I fear,imitation. What the better are they for that as souls or as citizens orany other way? 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 upon that.”

“Solid!” cried Mervin. “Good Lord! But the paper goes to press to-dayand I must get down to the printer. With a circulation of ten thousandor so we do things modestly, you know—not like you plutocrats of thedaily press. I am practically the staff.”

“Yes, yes, I wanted to give you a warning.” Mervin’s thin, eager facebecame intensely serious. “If you have any ingrained religious or otherprejudices which may cause you to turn down this subject after you haveinvestigated it, then don’t investigate at all—for it is dangerous.”

“They don’t mind honest doubt, or honest criticism, but if they arebadly treated they are dangerous.”

“Ah, who are they? I wonder. Guides, controls, psychic entities of somekind. Who the agents of{53} vengeance—or I should say justice—are, isreally not essential. The point is that they exist.”

“Pernicious rot! These are the old theological bogies of the Middle Agescoming up again. I am surprised at a sensible man like you!”

Mervin smiled—he had a whimsical smile—but his eyes, looking out fromunder bushy yellow brows, were as serious as ever.

“You may come to change your opinion. There are some queer sides to thisquestion. As a friend I put you wise to this one.”

Thus encouraged, Mervin went into the matter. He rapidly sketched thecareer and fate of a number of men who had, in his opinion, played anunfair game with these forces, become an obstruction, and suffered forit. He spoke of judges who had given prejudiced decisions against thecause, of journalists who had worked up stunt cases for sensationalpurposes and to throw discredit on the movement; of others who hadinterviewed mediums to make game of them, or who, having started toinvestigate, had drawn back alarmed, and given a negative decision whentheir inner soul knew that the facts were true. It was a formidablelist, for it was long and precise, but Malone was not to be driven.

“If you pick your cases I have no doubt one could make such a list aboutany subject. Mr. Jones said that Raphael was a bungler, and Mr. Jonesdied of angina pectoris. Therefore it is dangerous to criticise Raphael.That seems to be the argument.”

“Take the other side. Look at Morgate. He has{54} always been an enemy, forhe is a convinced materialist. But he prospers—look at hisprofessorship.”

“Ah, Falconer! Do you know anything of Falconer’s private life? No.Well, take it from me he has got his dues. He doesn’t know why. Some daythese gentlemen will begin to compare notes and then it may dawn onthem. But they get it.”

He went on to tell a horrible story of one who had devoted hisconsiderable talents to picking Spiritualism to pieces though reallyconvinced of its truth, because his worldly ends were served thereby.The end was ghastly—too ghastly for Malone.

“Oh, cut it out, Mervin!” he cried impatiently. “I’ll say what I think,no more and no less, and I won’t be scared by you or your spooks intoaltering 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 police afteryou.”

“Yes, if we did it. But it is out of our hands. However, Malone, forwhat it’s worth I have given you the warning and you can now go yourway. Bye-bye! You can always ring me up at the office ofDawn.”

If you want to know if a man is of the true Irish blood there is oneinfallible test. Put him in front of a swing-door with “Push” or “Pull”printed upon it. The Englishman will obey like a sensible man. TheIrishman, with less sense but more individuality, will{55} at once and withvehemence do the opposite. So it was with Malone. Mervin’s well-meantwarning simply raised a rebellious spirit within him, and when he calledfor Enid to take her to the Bolsover séance he had gone back severaldegrees in his dawning sympathy for the subject. Challenger bade themfarewell with many gibes, his beard projecting forward and his eyesclosed with upraised eyebrows, as was his wont when inclined to befacetious.

“You have your powder-bag, my dear Enid. If you see a particularly goodspecimen of ectoplasm in the course of the evening don’t forget yourfather. I have a microscope, chemical reagents and everything ready.Perhaps even a smallpoltergeist might come your way. Any trifle wouldbe welcome.”

The provision merchant’s establishment of Mr. Bolsover proved to be aeuphemism for an old-fashioned grocer’s shop, in the most crowded partof Hammersmith. The neighbouring church was chiming out thethree-quarters as the taxi drove up, and the shop was full of people, soEnid and Malone walked up and down outside. As they were so engagedanother taxi drove up and a large, untidy-looking, ungainly bearded manin a suit of Harris tweed stepped out of it. He glanced at his watch andthen began to pace the pavement. Presently he noted the others and cameup to them.

“May I ask if you are the journalists who are going to attend theséance?... I thought so. Old Bolsover is terribly busy so you were wiseto wait. Bless him, he is one of God’s saints in his way.”

“Yes. I am the gentleman whose credulity is giv{56}ing rise to considerableanxiety upon the part of my friends, as one of the rags remarked theother day.” His laugh was so infectious that the others were bound tolaugh also. Certainly, with his athletic proportions, which had run alittle to seed but were still notable, and with his virile voice andstrong if homely face, he gave no impression of instability.

“We are all labelled with some stigma by our opponents,” said he. “Iwonder what yours will be.”

“We must not sail under false colours, Mr. Mailey,” said Enid. “We arenot yet among the believers.”

“Quite right. You should take your time over it. It is infinitely themost important thing in the world, so it is worth taking time over. Itook many years myself. Folk can be blamed for neglecting it, but no onecan be blamed for being cautious in examination. Now I am all out forit, as you are aware, because Iknow it is true. There is such adifference between believing and knowing. I lecture a good deal. But Inever want to convert my audience. I don’t believe in suddenconversions. They are shallow, superficial things. All I want is to putthe thing before the people as clearly as I can. I just tell them thetruth and 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 the pathsthat I indicate. If they are unwise they miss their chance. I don’t wantto press them or to proselytise. It’s their affair, not mine.”

“Well, that seems a reasonable view,” said Enid, who was attracted bythe frank manner of their new acquaintance. They were standing now inthe full flood of light cast by Bolsover’s big plate-glass window. Shehad a good look at him, his broad forehead,{57} his curious grey eyes,thoughtful and yet eager, his straw-coloured beard which indicated theoutline of an aggressive chin. He was solidity personified—the veryopposite of the fanatic whom she had imagined. His name had been a gooddeal in the papers lately as a protagonist in the long battle, and sheremembered that it had never been mentioned without an answering snortfrom her father.

“I wonder,” she said to Malone, “what would happen if Mr. Mailey werelocked up in a room with Dad!”

Malone laughed. “There used to be a schoolboy question as to what wouldoccur if an irresistible force were to strike an invincible obstacle.”

“Oh, you are the daughter of Professor Challenger,” said Mailey withinterest. “He is a big figure in the scientific world. What a grandworld it would be if it would only realise its own limitations.”

“It is this scientific world which is at the bottom of much of ourmaterialism. It has helped us in comfort—if comfort is any use to us.Otherwise it has usually been a curse to us, for it has called itselfprogress and given us a false impression that we are making progress,whereas we are really drifting very steadily backwards.”

“Really I can’t quite agree with you there, Mr. Mailey,” said Malone,who was getting restive under what seemed to him dogmatic assertion.“Look at wireless. Look at the S.O.S. call at sea. Is that not a benefitto mankind?”

“Oh, it works out all right sometimes. I value my electric reading-lamp,and that is a product of science. It gives us, as I said before, comfortand occasionally safety.{58}”

“Because it obscures the vital thing—the object of life. We were notput into this planet in order that we should go fifty miles an hour in amotor-car, or cross the Atlantic in an airship, or send messages eitherwith or without wires. These are the mere trimmings and fringes of life.But these men of science have so riveted our attention on these fringesthat we forget the central object.”

“It is not how fast you go that matters, it is the object of yourjourney. It is not how you send a message, it is what the value of themessage may be. At every stage this so-called progress may be a curse,and yet as long as we use the word we confuse it with real progress andimagine that we are doing that for which God sent us into the world.”

“To prepare ourselves for the next phase of life. There is mentalpreparation and spiritual preparation, and we are neglecting both. To bein old age better men and women, more unselfish, more broadminded, moregenial and tolerant, that is what we are for. It is a soul factory andit is turning out a bad article. But—— Hullo!” he burst into hisinfectious laugh. “Here I am delivering my lecture in the street. Forceof 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 window and camebustling out, untying his white apron.

“Good evening, all! I won’t have you waiting in the cold. Besidesthere’s the clock, and time’s up.{59} It does not do to keep them waiting.Punctuality for all—that’s my motto and theirs. My lads will shut upthe shop. This way, and mind the sugar-barrel.”

They threaded their way amid boxes of dried fruits and piles of cheese,finally passing between two great casks which hardly left room for thegrocer’s portly form. A narrow door beyond opened into the residentialpart of the establishment. Ascending the narrow stair, Bolsover threwopen a door and the visitors found themselves in a considerable room inwhich a number of people were seated round a large table. There was Mrs.Bolsover herself, large, cheerful and buxom like her husband. Threedaughters were all of the same pleasing type. There was an elderly womanwho seemed to be some relation, and two other colourless females whowere described as neighbours and Spiritualists. The only other man was alittle grey-headed fellow with a pleasant face and quick, twinklingeyes, who sat at a harmonium in the corner.

“Mr. Smiley, our musician,” said Bolsover. “I don’t know what we coulddo without Mr. Smiley. It’s vibrations, you know. Mr. Mailey could tellyou about that. Ladies, you know Mr. Mailey, our very good friend. Andthese are two enquirers—Miss Challenger and Mr. Malone.”

The Bolsover family all smiled genially, but the nondescript elderlyperson rose to her feet and surveyed them with an austere face.

“You’re very welcome here, you two strangers,” she said. “But we wouldsay to you that we want outward reverence. We respect the shining onesand we will not have them insulted.”

“We’ve had our lesson. We haven’t forgotten the Meadows’ affair, Mr.Bolsover.”

“No, no, Mrs. Seldon. That won’t happen again. We were rather upset overthat,” Bolsover added, turning to the visitors. “That man came here asour guest, and when the lights were out he poked the other sitters withhis finger so as to make them think it was a spirit hand. Then he wrotethe whole thing up as an exposure in the public Press, when the onlyfraudulent thing present had been himself.”

Malone was honestly shocked. “I can assure you we are incapable of suchconduct.”

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

“You sit here, Mr. Mailey. Mr. Malone, will you sit between my wife andmy daughter? Where would the young lady like to sit?”

Enid was feeling rather nervous. “I think,” said she, “that I would liketo sit next Mr. Malone.”

“Quite so. Most natural, I am sure.” They all settled into their places.Mr. Bolsover had switched off the electric light, but a candle burned inthe middle of the table. Malone thought what a picture it would havemade for a Rembrandt. Deep shadows draped it in, but the yellow lightflickered upon the circle of faces—the strong, homely, heavy featuresof Bolsover, the solid line of his family circle, the sharp, austerecountenance of Mrs. Seldon, the earnest eyes and yellow beard of Mailey,the worn, tired faces of the two Spiritualist women, and finally thefirm, noble profile of the girl who sat beside him. The whole world hadsuddenly narrowed down to that one little group, so intenselyconcentrated upon its own purpose.{61}

On the table there was scattered a curious collection of objects, whichhad all the same appearance of tools which had long been used. There wasa battered brass speaking-trumpet, very discoloured, a tambourine, amusical-box, and a number of smaller objects. “We never know what theymay want,” said Bolsover, waving his hand over them. “If Wee One callsfor a thing and it isn’t there she lets us know about it—oh, yes,something shocking!”

“Why not, the pretty dear?” said the austere lady. “I expect she hasenough to try it with researchers and what-not. I often wonder shetroubles to come at all.”

“Wee One is our little girl guide,” said Bolsover. “You’ll hear herpresently.”

“Well, she never failed us yet, except when that man Meadows clawed holdof the trumpet and put it outside the circle.”

“Well, we don’t know ourselves. We all help, I think. Maybe I give asmuch as anyone. And mother, she is a help.”

“It is usual but not necessary,” said Mailey in his deep, authoritativevoice. “Crawford showed that pretty clearly in the Gallagher séanceswhen he proved, by weighing chairs, that everyone in the circle lostfrom half to two pounds at a sitting, though the medium, Miss Kathleen,{62}lost as many as ten or twelve. Here the long series of sittings—— Howlong, Mr. Bolsover?”

“The long series has developed everyone to some extent, so that there isa high average output from each, instead of an extraordinary amount fromone.”

“Animal magnetism, ectoplasm—in fact, power. That is the mostcomprehensive word. The Christ used that word. ‘Much power has gone outof me.’ It is ‘dunamis’ in the Greek, but the translators missed thepoint and translated it ‘virtue.’ If a good Greek scholar who was also aprofound occult student were to re-translate the New Testament, weshould get some eye-openers. Dear old Ellis Powell did a little in thatdirection. His death was a loss to the world.”

“Aye, indeed,” said Bolsover in a reverent voice. “But now, before weget to work, Mr. Malone, I want you just to note one or two things. Yousee the white spots on the trumpet and the tambourine? Those areluminous points so that we can see where they are. The table is just ourdining-table, good British oak. You can examine it if you like. Butyou’ll see things that won’t depend upon the table. Now, Mr. Smiley, outgoes the light and we’ll ask you for ‘Rock of Ages.’”

The harmonium droned in the darkness and the circle sang. They sang verytunefully, too, for the girls had fresh voices and true ears. Low andvibrant, the solemn rhythm became most impressive when no sense but thatof hearing was free to act. Their hands, according to instructions, werelaid lightly upon the table, and they were warned not to cross theirlegs. Malone, with his hand touching Enid’s, could feel the littlequiverings which showed that her nerves{63} were highly strung. The homely,jovial voice of Bolsover relieved the tension.

“That should do it,” he said. “I feel as if the conditions were goodto-night. Just a touch of frost in the air, too. I’ll ask you now tojoin with me in prayer.”

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

“Oh, great Father of us all,” said the voice. “You who are beyond ourthoughts and who yet pervade our lives, grant that all evil may be keptfrom us this night and that we may be privileged to get in touch, ifonly for an hour, with those who dwell upon a higher plane than ours.You are our Father as well as theirs. Permit us, for a short space, tomeet in brotherhood, that we may have an added knowledge of that eternallife which awaits us, and so be helped during our years of waiting inthis lower world.” He ended with the “Our Father,” in which all joined.Then they sat in expectant silence. Outside was the dull roar of trafficand the occasional ill-tempered squawk of a passing car. Inside therewas absolute stillness. Enid and Malone felt every sense upon the alertand every nerve on edge as they gazed out into the gloom.

“Nothing doing, Mother,” said Bolsover at last. “It’s the strangecompany. New vibrations. They have to tune them in to get harmony. Giveus another tune, Mr. Smiley.”

Again the harmonium droned. It was still playing when a woman’s voicecried: “Stop! Stop! They are here!”

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

There was a burst of greeting and of welcoming laughter from the circle.They were all speaking at once. “Good evening, Wee One!” “There you are,dear!” “I knew you would come!” “Well done, little girl guide!”

“Gooda evenin’, all!” replied the voice. “Wee One so glad see Daddy andMummy and the rest. Oh, what a big man with beard! Mailey, MisterMailey, I meet him before. He big Mailey, I little femaley. Glad seeyou, Mr. Big Man.”

Enid and Malone listened with amazement, but it was impossible to benervous in face of the perfectly natural way in which the companyaccepted it. The voice was very thin and high—more so than anyartificial falsetto could produce. It was the voice of a female child.That was certain. Also that there was no female child in the room unlessone had been smuggled in after the light went out. That was possible.But the voice seemed to be in the middle of the table. How could a childget there?

“Easy get there, Mr. Gentleman,” said the voice, answering his unspokenthought. “Daddy strong man. Daddy lift Wee One on to table. Now I showwhat Daddy not able to do.”

The little circle of luminous paint rose noiselessly into the air. Nowit was swaying above their heads.

Up it went and they heard the metallic tapping above them. Then the highvoice came from above:{65}

“Clever Daddy! Daddy got fishing-rod and put trumpet up to ceiling. Buthow Daddy make the voice, eh? What you say, pretty English Missy? Hereis present from Wee One.”

“No, no, Mr. Mailey,” said Bolsover. “They were in the vase on theharmonium. Speak to her, Miss Challenger. Keep the vibrations going.”

“Oh, come, dear,” said mother in her rich, coaxing voice. “You wereeight when you came to us first, and that was years ago.”

“Years ago to you. All one time to me. I to do my job as eight-yearchild. When job done then Wee One become Big One all in one day. No timehere, same as you have. I always eight year old.”

“In the ordinary way they grow up exactly as we do here,” said Mailey.“But if they have a special bit of work for which a child is needed,then as a child they remain. It’s a sort of arrested development.”

“That’s me. ‘Rested envelopment,’” said the voice proudly. “I learn goodEnglish when big man here.”

They all laughed. It was the most genial, free-and-easy associationpossible. Malone heard Enid’s voice whispering in his ear.

“Pinch me from time to time, Edward—just to make me sure that I am notin a dream.”

“Oh, yes, indeeda! Wee One sing to you.” She began some simple song, butfaded away in a squeak, while the trumpet clattered on to the table.

“Ah, power run down!” said Mailey. “I think a little more music will setus right. ‘Lead Kindly Light,’ Smiley.”

They sang the beautiful hymn together. As the verse closed an amazingthing happened—amazing, at least, to the novices, though it called forno remark from the circle.

The trumpet still shone upon the table, but two voices, those apparentlyof a man and a woman broke out in the air above them and joined verytunefully in the singing. The hymn died away and all was silence andtense expectancy once more.

It was broken by a deep male voice from the darkness. It was an educatedEnglish voice, well modulated, a voice which spoke in a fashion to whichthe good Bolsover could never attain.

“Good evening, Luke. Good evening!” cried everyone. “It is our teachingguide,” Bolsover explained. “He is a high spirit from the sixth spherewho gives us instruction.”

“I may seem high to you,” said the voice. “But what am I to those who inturn instruct me! It is notmy wisdom. Give me no credit. I do butpass it on.”

“Always like that,” said Bolsover. “No swank. It’s a sign of hisheight.”

“I see you have two enquirers present. Good evening, young lady! Youknow nothing of your own{67} powers or destiny. You will find them out.Good evening, sir, you are on the threshold of great knowledge. Is thereany subject upon which you would wish me to say a few words? I see thatyou are making notes.”

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

“Well, I will say a few words on that. I will not take long, for othersare waiting. The room is crowded with spirit people. I wish you tounderstand that there is one man, and only one, for each woman, and onewoman only for each man. When those two meet they fly together and areone through all the endless chain of existence. Until they meet allunions are mere accidents which have no meaning. Sooner or later eachcouple becomes complete. It may not be here. It may be in the nextsphere where the sexes meet as they do on earth. Or it may be furtherdelayed. But every man and every woman has his or her affinity and willfind it. Of earthly marriages perhaps one in five is permanent. Theothers are accidental. Real marriage is of the soul and spirit. Sexactions are a mere external symbol which mean nothing and are foolish,or even pernicious, when the thing which they should symbolise iswanting. Am I clear?”

“Some have the wrong mate here. Some have no mate, which is morefortunate. But all will sooner or later get the right mate. That iscertain. Do not{68} think that you will necessarily have your presenthusband when you pass over.”

“No. Mrs. Melder, it is love—real love—which unites us here. He goeshis way. You go yours. You are on separate planes, perhaps. Some day youwill each find your own, when your youth has come back as it will overhere.”

“Children are not born here. That is only on the earth plane. It wasthis aspect of marriage to which the great Teacher referred when hesaid: ‘There will be neither marriage nor giving in marriage.’ No! It ispurer, deeper, more wonderful, a unity of souls, a complete merging ofinterests and knowledge without a loss of individuality. The nearest youever get to it is the first high passion, too beautiful for physicalexpression, when two high-souled lovers meet upon your plane. They findlower expression afterwards, but they will always in their hearts knowthat the first delicate, exquisite soul-union was the more lovely. So itis with us. Any questions?”

“It seldom happens. She nearly always knows which is really nearest toher. If she really did so then it would be a proof that neither was thereal affinity, for he is bound to stand high above all. Of course, ifshe....”

“Sing ‘Angels are hoverin’ round’!” cried Bol{69}sover. “Smiley, hit thatold harmonium. The vibrations are at zero.”

Another bout of music, another silence, and then a most dismal voice.Never had Enid heard so sad a voice. It was like clods on a coffin. Atfirst it was a deep mutter. Then it was a prayer—a Latin prayerapparently—for twice the wordDomine sounded and once the wordpeccavimus. There was an indescribable air of depression anddesolation in the room. “For God’s sake, what is it?” cried Malone.

“Some poor chap out of the lower spheres, I think,” said Bolsover.“Orthodox folk say we should avoid them. I say we should hurry up andhelp them.”

“Right, Bolsover!” said Mailey, with hearty approval. “Get on with it,quick!”

“He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the conditions. Where is Luke?He’ll know what to do.”

“Ah! yes, yes, he has come from the outer darkness,” said Luke in asympathetic voice. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand. They comeover here with a fixed idea, and when they find the real thing is quitedifferent from anything they have been taught by the Churches, they arehelpless. Some adapt themselves and they go on. Others don’t, and theyjust wander on unchanging, like this man. He was a cleric, and a verynarrow, bigoted one. This is the{70} growth of his own mental seed sownupon earth—sown in ignorance and reaped in misery.”

“He does not know he is dead. He walks in the mist. It is all an evildream to him. He has been years so. To him it seems an eternity.”

“The higher spirits cannot reach earth-bound folk,” said Mailey. “Theyare in very different zones of vibration. It is we who are near them andcan help them.”

“Mr. Mailey, speak to him. You know how!” The low mutter had broken outagain in the same weary monotone.

“Friend, I would have a word with you,” said Mailey in a firm, loudvoice. The mutter ceased and one felt that the invisible presence wasstraining its attention. “Friend, we are so sorry at your condition. Yousee us and you wonder why we do not see you. You have passed on. You arein the other world. But you do not know it, because it is not as youexpected. You have not been received as you imagined. It is because youimagined wrong. Understand that all is well, and that God is good, andthat all happiness is awaiting you if you will but raise your mind andpray for help, and above all think less of your own condition and moreof those other poor souls who are round you.”

“He has heard you. He wants to thank you. He{71} has some glimmer now ofhis condition. It will grow within him. He wants to know if he may comeagain.”

“Yes! Yes!” cried Bolsover. “We have quite a number who report progressfrom time to time. God bless you, friend. Come as often as you can.” Themutter had ceased and there seemed to be a new feeling of peace in theair. The high voice of Wee One was heard.

“Plenty power still left. Red Cloud here. Show what he can do, if Daddylikes.”

“Red Cloud is our Indian control. He is usually busy when any purelyphysical phenomena have to be done. You there, Red Cloud?”

“Good day, Chief! How the squaw? How the papooses? Strange faces inwigwam to-night.”

Again there was a long hush of expectancy. Then the novices were facedonce more with the miraculous.

There came a dull glow in the darkness. It was apparently a wisp ofluminous vapour. It whisked across from one side to the other and thencircled in the air. By degrees it condensed into a circular disc ofradiance about the size of a bull’s-eye lantern. It cast no reflectionround it and was simply a clean-cut circle in the gloom. Once itapproached Enid’s face and Malone saw it clearly from the side.

“Yes, there is a materialised hand,” said Mailey. “I can see itclearly.”

The light vanished and an instant afterwards Malone felt pressure uponhis own hand. He turned it palm upwards and clearly felt three fingerslaid across it, smooth, warm fingers of adult size. He closed his ownfingers and the hand seemed to melt away in his grasp.

“Yes! Red Cloud is not very good at materialisations. Perhaps we don’tgive him the proper sort of power. But his lights are excellent.”

Several more had broken out. They were of different types, slow-movingclouds and little dancing sparks like glowworms. At the same time bothvisitors were conscious of a cold wind which blew upon their faces. Itwas no delusion, for Enid felt her hair stream across her forehead.

“You feel the rushing wind,” said Mailey. “Some of these lights wouldpass for tongues of fire, would they not? Pentecost does not seem such avery remote or impossible thing, does it?”

The tambourine had risen in the air, and the dot of luminous paintshowed that it was circling round. Presently it descended and touchedtheir heads each in turn. Then with a jingle it quivered down upon thetable.

“It is a convenient little instrument,” Mailey explained. “The only onewhich shows automatically by its noise where it is flying. I don’t knowwhat other I could suggest except a musical-box.{73}”

“Our box here flies round something amazin’,” said Mrs. Bolsover. “Itthinks nothing of winding itself up in the air as it flies. It’s a heavybox, too.”

“Nine pounds,” said Bolsover. “Well, we seem to have got to the end ofthings. I don’t think we shall get much more to-night. It has not been abad sitting—what I should call a fair average sitting. We must wait alittle before we turn on the light. Well, Mr. Malone, what do you thinkof it? Let’s have any objections now before we part. That’s the worst ofyou inquirers, you know. You often bottle things up in your own mind andlet them loose afterwards, when it would have been easy to settle it atthe time. Very nice and polite to our faces, and then we are a gang ofswindlers in the report.”

“I am confused,” he said, “but impressed. Oh, yes, certainly impressed.I’ve read of these things, but it is very different when you see them.What weighs most with me is the obvious sincerity and sanity of all youpeople. No one could doubt that.”

“I try to think the objections which would be raised by others who werenot present. I’ll have to answer them. First, there is the oddity of itall. It is so different to our preconceptions of spirit people.”

“We must fit our theories to the facts,” said Mailey. “Up to now we havefitted the facts to our theories. You must remember that we have beendealing to-night—with all respect to our dear good hosts—with asimple, primitive, earthly type of spirit, who has his very definiteuses, but is not to be taken as an average type. You might as well takethe stevedore whom you{74} see on the quay as being a representativeEnglishman.”

“Ah, yes, he is, of course, very much higher. You heard him and couldjudge. What else, Mr. Malone?”

“Well, the darkness! Everything done in darkness. Why should allmediumship be associated with gloom?”

“You mean all physical mediumship. That is the only branch of thesubject which needs darkness. It is purely chemical, like the darknessof the photographic room. It preserves the delicate physical substancewhich, drawn from the human body, is the basis of these phenomena. Acabinet is used for the purpose of condensing this same vaporoussubstance and helping it to solidify. Am I clear?”

“Yes, but it is a pity all the same. It gives a horrible air of deceitto the whole business.”

“We get it now and again in the light, Mr. Malone,” said Bolsover. “Idon’t know if Wee One is gone yet. Wait a bit! Where are the matches?”He lit the candle which set them all blinking after their long darkness.“Now let us see what we can do.”

There was a round wooden platter or circle of wood lying among themiscellaneous objects littered over the table to serve as playthings forthe strange forces. Bolsover stared at it. They all stared at it. Theyhad risen but no one was within three feet of it.

Malone could hardly believe his eyes. The disc began to move. Itquivered and then rattled upon the table, exactly as the lid of aboiling pot might do.{75}

The circle of wood, in the full light of the candle, rose upon edge andstood there shaking as if trying to keep its balance.

“I am so glad you have seen that,” said Mailey. “There is Telekenesis inits simplest and most decisive form.”

“Nor I,” said Malone. “I have extended my knowledge of what is possible.Mr. Bolsover, you have enlarged my views.”

“As to the power at the back of these things I am still ignorant. As tothe things themselves I have now and henceforward not the slightestdoubt in the world. Iknow that they are true. I wish you all goodnight. It is not likely that Miss Challenger or I will ever forget theevening that we have spent under your roof.”

It was like another world when they came out into the frosty air, andsaw the taxis bearing back the pleasure seekers from theatre or cinemapalace. Mailey stood beside them while they waited for a cab.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he said, smiling. “You look at all thesebustling, complacent people, and you marvel to think how little theyknow of the possibilities of life. Don’t you want to stop them? Don’tyou want to tell them? And yet they would only think you a liar or alunatic. Funny situation, is it not?{76}”

“They will come back to-morrow morning. It is curious how fleeting theseimpressions are. You will persuade yourselves that you have beendreaming. Well, good-bye—and let me know if I can help your studies inthe future.”

The friends—one could hardly yet call them lovers—were absorbed inthought during their drive home. When he reached Victoria Gardens Maloneescorted Enid to the door of the flat, but he did not go in with her.Somehow the jeers of Challenger which usually rather woke sympathywithin him would now get upon his nerves. As it was he heard hisgreeting in the hall.

“Well, Enid. Where’s your spook? Spill him out of the bag on the floorand let us have a look at him.”

His evening’s adventure ended as it had begun, with a bellow of laughterwhich pursued him down the lift.{77}

CHAPTER V

WHERE OUR COMMISSIONERS HAVE A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE

MALONE sat at the side table of the smoking-room of the Literary Club.He had Enid’s impressions of the séance before him—very subtle andobservant they were—and he was endeavouring to merge them in his ownexperience. A group of men were smoking and chatting round the fire.This did not disturb the journalist, who found, as many do, that hisbrain and his pen worked best sometimes when they were stimulated by theknowledge that he was part of a busy world. Presently, however, somebodywho observed his presence brought the talk round to psychic subjects,and then it was more difficult for him to remain aloof. He leaned backin his chair and listened.

Polter, the famous novelist, was there, a brilliant man with a subtlemind, which he used too often to avoid obvious truth and to defend someimpossible position for the sake of the empty dialectic exercise. He washolding forth now to an admiring, but not entirely a subservientaudience.

“Science,” said he, “is gradually sweeping the world clear of all theseold cobwebs of superstition. The world was like some old, dusty attic,and the sun of science is bursting in, flooding it with light, while thedust settles gradually to the floor.”

“By science,” said someone maliciously, “you mean,{78} of course, men likeSir William Crookes, Sir Oliver Lodge, Sir William Barrett, Lombroso,Richet, and so forth.”

“No, sir, I mean nothing so preposterous,” he answered, with a glare.“No name, however eminent, can claim to stand for science so long as heis a member of an insignificant minority of scientific men.”

“He is, then, a crank,” said Pollifex, the artist, who usually playedjackal to Polter.

The objector, one Millworthy, a free-lance of journalism, was not to beso easily silenced.

“Then Galileo was a crank in his day,” said he. “And Harvey was a crankwhen he was laughed at over the circulation of the blood.”

“It’s the circulation of theDaily Gazette which is at stake,” saidMarrible, the humorist of the club. “If they get off their stunt I don’tsuppose they care a tinker’s curse what is truth or what is not.”

“Why such things should be examined at all, except in a police court, Ican’t imagine,” said Polter. “It is a dispersal of energy, amisdirection of human thought into channels which lead nowhere. We haveplenty of obvious, material things to examine. Let us get on with ourjobs.”

Atkinson, the surgeon, was one of the circle, and had sat silentlylistening. Now he spoke.

“I think the learned bodies should find more time for the considerationof psychic matters.”

“You can’t have less than nothing. They ignore them altogether. Sometime ago I had a series of cases of telepathicrapport which I wishedto lay before the Royal Society. My colleague Wilson, the{79} zoologist,also had a paper which he proposed to read. They went in together. Hiswas accepted and mine rejected. The title of his paper was ‘TheReproductive System of the Dung-Beetle.’”

“Quite right, too,” said Polter. “The humble dung-beetle was at least afact. All this psychic stuff is not.”

“No doubt you have good grounds for your views,” chirped the mischievousMillworthy, a mild youth with a velvety manner. “I have little time forsolid reading, so I should like to ask you which of Dr. Crawford’s threebooks you consider the best?”

“Good Heavens, man! Why, he isthe authority. If you want purelaboratory experiments those are the books. You might as well lay downthe law about zoology and confess that you had never heard of Darwin.”

“What is really not science,” said Atkinson, with some heat, “is thelaying down of the law on matters which you have not studied. It is talkof that sort which has brought me to the edge of Spiritualism, when Icompare this dogmatic ignorance with the earnest search for truthconducted by the great Spiritualists. Many of them took twenty years ofwork before they formed their conclusions.”

“But their conclusions are worthless because they are upholding a formedopinion.”

“But each of them fought a long fight before he formed that opinion. Iknow a few of them, and there is not one who did not take a lot ofconvincing.”

“Well, they can have their spooks if it makes them happier, so long asthey let me keep my feet firm on the ground.”

“I would rather be in the mud with sane people than in the air withlunatics,” said Polter. “I know some of these Spiritualist people and Ibelieve that you can divide them equally into fools and rogues.”

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

“Look here, Polter,” he said, turning his chair towards the company, “itis fools and dolts like you which are holding back the world’s progress.You admit that you have read nothing of this, and I’ll swear that youhave seen nothing. Yet you use the position and the name which you havewon in other matters in order 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. You don’t dare tosay so in your articles. Youare a Spiritualist then. That ratherdiscounts your views, does it not?”

“I am not a Spiritualist, but I am an honest inquirer, and that is morethan you have ever been. You call them rogues and fools, but, little asI know, I am sure that some of them are men and women whose boots youare not worthy to clean.”

“Oh, come, Malone!” cried one or two voices, but the insulted Polter wason his feet. “It’s men like you who empty this club,” he cried, as heswept out. “I shall certainly never come here again to be insulted.”

“I felt inclined to help him out with a kick. Why{81} should he rideroughshod over other people’s feelings and beliefs? He has got on andmost of us haven’t, so he thinks it’s a condescension to come among us.”

“Dear old Irishman!” said Atkinson, patting his shoulder. “Rest,perturbed spirit, rest! But I wanted to have a word with you. Indeed, Iwas waiting here because I did not want to interrupt you.”

“I’ve had interruptions enough!” cried Malone. “How could I work withthat damned donkey braying in my ear?”

“Well, I’ve only a word to say. I’ve got a sitting with Linden, thefamous medium of whom I spoke to you, at the Psychic College to-night. Ihave an extra ticket. Would you care to come?”

“I have another ticket. I should have asked Polter if he had not been sooffensive. Linden does not mind sceptics, but objects to scoffers. Whomshould I ask?”

“It’s at seven o’clock to-night. The Psychic College. You know the placedown at Holland Park.”

“Yes, I have the address. Very well, Miss Challenger and I willcertainly be there.”

Behold the pair, then, upon a fresh psychic adventure. They pickedAtkinson up at Wimpole Street, and then traversed that long, roaring,rushing driving belt of the great city which extends through OxfordStreet and Bayswater to Notting Hill and the stately Victorian houses ofHolland Park. It was at one of{82} these that the taxi drew up, a large,imposing building, standing back a little from the road. A smart maidadmitted them, and the subdued light of the tinted hall-lamp fell uponshining linoleum and polished wood-work with the gleam of white marblestatuary in the corner. Enid’s female perceptions told her of awell-run, well-appointed establishment, with a capable direction at thehead. This direction took the shape of a kindly Scottish lady who metthem in the hall and greeted Mr. Atkinson as an old friend. She was, inturn, introduced to the journalists as Mrs. Ogilvy. Malone had alreadyheard how her husband and she had founded and run this remarkableinstitute, which is the centre of psychic experiment in London, at avery great cost, both in labour and in money, to themselves.

“Linden and his wife have gone up,” said Mrs. Ogilvy. “He seems to thinkthat the conditions are favourable. The rest are in the drawing-room.Won’t you join them for a few minutes?”

Quite a number of people had gathered for the séance, some of them oldpsychic students who were mildly interested; others, beginners wholooked about them with rather startled eyes, wondering what was going tohappen next. A tall man was standing near the door who turned anddisclosed the tawny beard and open face of Algernon Mailey. He shookhands with the newcomers.

“Another experience, Mr. Malone? Well, I thought you gave a very fairaccount of the last. You are still a neophyte, but you are well withinthe gates of the temple. Are you alarmed, Miss Challenger?”

“Of course, a materialisation séance is a little different to anyother—more impressive, in a way. You’ll find it very instructive,Malone, as bearing upon psychic photography and other matters. By theway, you should try for a psychic picture. The famous Hope worksupstairs.”

“On the contrary, I should say it was the best established of allphenomena, the one which leaves the most permanent proof. I’ve been adozen times under every possible test condition. The real trouble is,not that it lends itself to fraud, but that it lends itself toexploitation by that villainous journalism which cares only for asensation. Do you know anyone here?”

“The tall, handsome lady is the Duchess of Rossland. Then, there areLord and Lady Montnoir, the middle-aged couple near the fire. Real goodfolk and among the very few of the aristocracy who have shownearnestness and moral courage in this matter. The talkative lady is MissBadley, who lives for séances, a jaded Society woman in search of newsensations—always visible, always audible and always empty. I don’tknow the two men. I heard someone say they were researchers from theUniversity. The stout man with the lady in black is Sir JamesSmith—they lost two boys in the war. The tall, dark person is a weirdman named Barclay, who lives, I understand, in one room and seldom comesout save for a séance.”

“That is a pompous ass named Weatherby. He is one of those who wanderabout on the obscure edges of Masonry, talking with whispers andreverence of mysteries where no mystery is. Spiritualism, with its{84} veryreal and awful mysteries, is, to him, a vulgar thing because it broughtconsolation to common folk, but he loves to read papers on the PalladianCultus, ancient and accepted Scottish rites, and Baphometic figures.Eliphas Levi is his prophet.”

The two Bolsovers had arrived, very hot and frowsy and genial. There isno such leveller of classes as spiritualism, and the charwoman withpsychic force is the superior of the millionaire who lacks it. TheBolsovers and the aristocrats fraternised instantly. The Duchess wasjust asking for admission to the grocer’s circle, when Mrs. Ogilvybustled in.

The séance room was a large, comfortable chamber on the first floor,with a circle of easy chairs, and a curtain-hung divan which served as acabinet. The medium and his wife were waiting there. Mr. Linden was agentle, large-featured man, stoutish in build, deep-chested,clean-shaven, with dreamy, blue eyes and flaxen, curly hair which rosein a pyramid at the apex of his head. He was of middle age. His wife wasrather younger, with the sharp, querulous expression of the tiredhousekeeper, and quick, critical eyes, which softened into somethinglike adoration when she looked at her husband. Her rôle was to explainmatters and to guard his interests while he was unconscious.

“The sitters had better just take their own places,” said the medium.“If you can alternate the sexes it is as well. Don’t cross your knees,it breaks the{85} current. If we have a materialisation, don’t grab at it.If you do, you are liable to injure me.”

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

“Quite right,” he said. “I have seen two cases of dangerous haemorrhagein the medium brought on by that very cause.”

“Because the ectoplasm used is drawn from the medium. It recoils uponhim like a snapped elastic band. Where it comes through the skin you geta bruise. Where it comes from mucous membrane you get bleeding.”

“And when it comes from nothing, you get nothing,” said the researcherwith a grin.

“I will explain the procedure in a few words,” said Mrs. Ogilvy, wheneveryone was seated. “Mr. Linden does not enter the cabinet at all. Hesits outside it, and as he tolerates red light you will be able tosatisfy yourselves that he does not leave his seat. Mrs. Linden sits onthe other side. She is there to regulate and explain. In the first placewe would wish you to examine the cabinet. One of you will also pleaselock the door on the inside and be responsible for the key.”

The cabinet proved to be a mere tent of hangings, detached from the walland standing on a solid platform. The reseachers ferreted about insideit and stamped on the boards. All seemed solid.

“It serves as a reservoir and condensing place for the ectoplasmicvapour from the medium, which would otherwise diffuse over the room.”

“It has been known to serve other purposes also,{86}” remarked one of theresearchers, who overheard the conversation.

“That’s true enough,” said Mailey philosophically. “I am all in favourof caution and supervision.”

“Well, it seems fraud-proof on this occasion, if the medium sitsoutside.” The two researchers were agreed on this.

The medium was seated on one side of the little tent, his wife on theother. The light was out, and a small red lamp near the ceiling was justsufficient to enable outlines to be clearly seen. As the eye becameaccustomed to it some detail could also be observed.

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

Linden, who was not in trance, began to give clairvoyance. It was notvery good. Possibly the mixed influence of so many sitters of varioustypes at close quarters was too disturbing. That was the excuse which hegave himself when several of his descriptions were unrecognised. ButMalone was more shocked by those which were recognised, since it was soclear that the word was put into the medium’s mouth. It was the folly ofthe sitter rather than the fault of the medium, but it was disconcertingall the same.

“Oh, darling, darling, have you then come back!” cried Miss Badley. “Oh,has he a message?”

“Oh, how evidential! It is so exactly what the dear boy would have said!My first lover, you know,” she added, in a simpering voice to thecom{87}pany. “He never fails to come. Mr. Linden has brought him again andagain.”

“There is a young fellow in khaki building upon the left. I see a symbolover his head. It might be a Greek cross.”

“And the Greek cross is probably a propeller,” said Sir James. “He wasin the Air Service, you know.”

“This is not good,” he whispered to Enid. “Wait a bit! You will getsomething better.”

There were several good recognitions, and then someone resemblingSummerlee was described for Malone. This was wisely discounted by him,since Linden might have been in the audience on the former occasion.Mrs. Debbs’ exhibition seemed to him far more convincing than that ofLinden.

“The medium will now try for materialisations,” said Mrs. Linden. “Ifthe figures appear I would ask you not to touch them, save by request.Victor will tell you if you may do so. Victor is the medium’s control.”

The medium had settled down in his chair and he now began to draw long,whistling breaths with deep intakes, puffing the air out between hislips. Finally he steadied down and seemed to sink into a deep coma, hischin upon his breast. Suddenly he spoke, but it seemed that his voicewas better modulated and more cultivated than before.

“I am afraid that the vibrations are not very harmonious. The scepticalelement is present, but not, I think, predominant, so that we may hopefor results. Martin Lightfoot is doing what he can.”

“I think that if you would start the gramophone it would be helpful. Ahymn is always best, though there is no real objection to secular music.Give us what you think best, Mrs. Ogilvy.”

There was the rasping of a needle which had not yet found its grooves.Then “Lead, Kindly Light” was churned out. The audience joined in in asubdued fashion. Mrs. Ogilvy then changed it to “O, God, our help inages past.”

“They often change the records themselves,” said Mrs. Ogilvy, “butto-night there it not enough power.”

“O, yes,” said the voice. “Thereis enough power, Mrs. Ogilvy, but weare anxious to conserve it all for the materialisations. Martin saysthey are building up very well.”

At this moment the curtain in front of the cabinet began to sway. Itbellied out as if a strong wind were behind it. At the same time abreeze was felt by all who were in the circle, together with a sensationof cold.

“It is not a subjective feeling,” Mailey answered. “Mr. Harry Price hastested it with thermometric readings. So did Professor Crawford.”

“My God!” cried a startled voice. It belonged to the pompous dabbler inmysteries, who was suddenly faced with a real mystery. The curtains ofthe cabinet had parted and a human figure had stolen noiselessly out.There was the medium clearly outlined on one{89} side. There was Mrs.Linden, who had sprung to her feet, on the other. And, between them, thelittle black, hesitating figure, which seemed to be terrified at its ownposition. Mrs. Linden soothed and encouraged it.

“It is someone who has never been through before,” she explained to thecompany. “Naturally it seems very strange to her. Just as strange as ifwe broke into their world. That’s right, dear. You are gaining strength,I can see. Well done!”

The figure was moving forward. Everyone sat spell bound, with staringeyes. Miss Badley began to giggle hysterically. Weatherby lay back inhis chair, gasping with horror. Neither Malone nor Enid felt any fear,but were consumed with curiosity. How marvellous to hear the humdrumflow of life in the street outside and to be face to face with such asight as that.

Slowly the figure moved round. Now it was close to Enid and between herand the red light. Stooping, she could get the silhouette sharplyoutlined. It was that of a little, elderly woman, with sharp, clear-cutfeatures.

“Yes, yes, dear, it is your sister Susie,” cried her husband. “I neversaw her in anything but black. Susan, speak to us!”

“They seldom speak the first time they come,” said Mrs. Linden, whoserather blasé, businesslike air was in contrast to the intense emotion ofthe company.{90} “I’m afraid she can’t hold together long. Ah, there! Shehas gone!”

The figure had disappeared. There had been some backward movementtowards the cabinet, but it seemed to the observers that she sank intothe ground before she reached it. At any rate, she was gone.

“Gramophone, please!” said Mrs. Linden. Everyone relaxed and sat backwith a sigh. The gramophone struck up a lively air. Suddenly thecurtains parted, and a second figure appeared.

It was a young girl, with flowing hair down her back. She came forwardswiftly and with perfect assurance to the centre of the circle.

“Good evening, Lucille!” cried the Duchess. “I met you last month, youwill remember, when your medium came to Maltraver Towers.”

“Yes, yes, lady, I remember you. You have a little boy, Tommy, on ourside of life. No, no, not dead, lady! We are far more alive than youare. All the fun and frolic are with us!” She spoke in a high, clearvoice and perfect English.

“Shall I show you what we do over here?” She began a graceful, glidingdance, while she whistled as melodiously as a bird. “Poor Susan couldnot do that. Susan has had no practice. Lucille knows how to use abuilt-up body.”

For the second time in her life Enid had to pinch herself hard tosatisfy herself that she was not dreaming. Was this graceful creature,who had now sat{91} down in the centre of the circle, a realmaterialisation of ectoplasm, used for the moment as a machine forexpression by a soul that had passed, or was it an illusion of thesenses, or was it a fraud? There were the three possibilities. Anillusion was absurd when all had the same impression. Was it fraud? Butthis was certainly not the little old woman. She was inches taller andfair, not dark. And the cabinet was fraud-proof. It had beenmeticulously examined. Then it was true. But if it were true, what avista of possibilities opened out. Was it not far the greatest matterwhich could claim the attention of the world!

Meanwhile, Lucille had been so natural and the situation was so normalthat even the most nervous had relaxed. The girl answered mostcheerfully to every question, and they rained upon her from every side.

“Perhaps I had better answer that,” interposed Mrs. Linden. “It willsave the power. Lucille was bred in South Dakota in the United States,and passed over at the age of fourteen. We have verified some of herstatements.”

“Would God allow it if it were not right? What a wicked man you must beto ask!”

“Lucille has little time. There are others who wish to come. If Lucilleuses too much power, the others have less. Oh, God is very good andkind! You poor people on earth do not know how good and kind He isbecause it is grey down there. But it is grey for your own good. It isto give you your chance to earn all the lovely things which wait foryou. But you can only tell how wonderful He is when you get over here.”

“Seen him! How could you see God? No, no, He is all round us and in usand in everything, but we do not see Him. But I have seen the Christ.Oh, He was glorious, glorious! Now, good-bye—good-bye!” She backedtowards the cabinet and sank into the shadows.

Now came a tremendous experience for Malone. A small, dark, rather broadfigure of a woman appeared slowly from the cabinet. Mrs. Lindenencouraged her and then came across to the journalist.

Malone advanced and peered awestruck into the face of the apparition.There was not a foot between them. Surely that large head, that solid,square outline was familiar! He put his face still nearer—it was almosttouching. He strained his eyes. It seemed to him that the features weresemi-fluid,{93} moulding themselves into a shape, as if some unseen handwas modelling them in putty.

Instantly the figure threw up both her hands in a wild gesture of joy.The motion seemed to destroy her equilibrium and she vanished.

“She had not been through before. She could not speak,” said Mrs.Linden, in her businesslike way. “It was your mother.”

Malone went back, half-stunned, to his seat. It is only when thesethings come to one’s own address that one understands their full force.His mother! Ten years in her grave and yet standing before him. Could heswear it was his mother? No, he could not. Was he morally certain thatit was his mother? Yes, he was morally certain. He was shaken to thecore.

But other wonders diverted his thoughts. A young man had emerged brisklyfrom the cabinet and had advanced to the front of Mailey, where he hadhalted.

“Hullo, Jock! Dear old Jock!” said Mailey. “My nephew,” he explained tothe company. “He always comes when I am with Linden.”

“The power is sinking,” said the lad, in a clear voice. “I can’t stayvery long. I am so glad to see you, Uncle. You know, we can see quiteclearly in this light, even if you can’t.”

“Yes, I know you can. I say, Jock. I wanted to tell you that I told yourmother I had seen you. She said her Church taught her it was wrong.”

“I know. And that I was a demon. Oh, it is rotten, rotten, rotten, androtten things will fall!” His voice broke in a sob.

“No, no, I don’t blame her! She will know better some day. The day iscoming soon when all truth{94} will be manifest and all these corruptChurches will be swept off the earth with their cruel doctrines andtheir caricatures of God.”

“Love, Uncle! Love! That is all that counts. What matter what youbelieve if you are sweet and kind and unselfish as the Christ was ofold?”

“There are many heavens. I am in a very humble one. But it is glorious,all the same.”

Enid had thrust her head forward during this dialogue. Her eyes had gotused to the light and she could see more clearly than before. The manwho stood within a few feet of her was not human. Of that she had nodoubt whatever, and yet the points were very subtle. Something in hisstrange, yellow-white colouring as contrasted with the faces of herneighbours. Something, also, in the curious stiffness of his carriage,as of a man in very rigid stays.

“Now, Jock,” said Mailey, “give an address to the company. Tell them afew words about your life.”

“Teach the folk what death is,” the figure began. “God wants them toknow. That is why He lets us come back. It is nothing. You are no morechanged than if you went into the next room. You can’t believe you aredead. I didn’t. It was only when I saw old Sam that I knew, for I wascertain that he was dead, anyhow. Then I came back to mother. And”—hisvoice broke—“she would not receive me.{95}”

“Teach them the truth! Teach it to them! Oh, it is so much moreimportant than all the things men talk about. If papers for one weekgave as much attention to psychic things as they do to football, itwould be known to all. It is ignorance which stands——”

The observers were conscious of a sort of flash towards the cabinet, butthe youth had disappeared.

“Power run down,” said Mailey. “Poor lad, he held on to the last. Healways did. That was how he died.”

There was a long pause. The gramophone started again. Then there was amovement of the curtains. Something was emerging. Mrs. Linden sprang upand waved the figure back. The medium for the first time stirred in hischair and groaned.

“Only half-formed,” she answered. “The lower face had not materialised.Some of you would have been alarmed. I think that we shall have no moreto-night. The power has sunk very low.”

So it proved. The lights were gradually turned on. The medium lay with awhite face and a clammy brow in his chair, while his wife sedulouslywatched over him, unbuttoning his collar and bathing his face from awater-glass. The company broke into little groups, discussing what theyhad seen.

“Oh, wasn’t it thrilling!” cried Miss Badley. “It really was mostexciting. But what a pity we could not see the one with thesemi-materialised face.”

“Thank you, I have seen quite enough,” said the pompous mystic, all thepomposity shaken out of him.{96}

Dr. Atkinson found himself near the psychic researchers. “Well, what doyou make of it?” he asked.

“Oh, come, Scott!” said the other. “You’ve no right to say that. Youadmitted that the cabinet was fraud-proof.”

“Yes, but it is Maskelyne’s own stage. This is not Linden’s own stage.He has no machinery.”

“Populus vult decipi,” the other answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Ishould certainly reserve judgment.” He moved away with the dignity ofone who cannot be deceived, while his more rational companion stillargued with him as they went.

“Did you hear that?” said Atkinson. “There is a certain class of psychicresearcher who is absolutely incapable of receiving evidence. Theymisuse their brains by straining them to find a way round when the roadis quite clear before them. When the human race advances into its newkingdom, these intellectual men will form the absolute rear.”

“No, no,” said Mailey, laughing. “The bishops are predestined to be therearguard. I see them all marching in step, a solid body, with theirgaiters and cassocks—the last in the whole world to reach spiritualtruth.”

“Of course they are. It’s quite physiological. They are a body ofelderly men, and the elderly brain{97} is sclerosed and cannot record newimpressions. It’s not their fault, but the fact remains. You are verysilent, Malone.”

But Malone was thinking of a little, squat, dark figure which waved itshands in joy when he spoke to it. It was with that image in his mindthat he turned from this room of wonders and passed down into thestreet.{98}

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH THE READER IS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL

WE will now leave that little group with whom we have made our firstexploration of these grey and ill-defined, but immensely important,regions of human thought and experiences. From the researchers we willturn to the researched. Come with me and we will visit Mr. Linden athome, and will examine the lights and shades which make up the life of aprofessional medium.

To reach him we will pass down the crowded thoroughfare of TottenhamCourt Road, where the huge furniture emporia flank the way, and we willturn into a small street of drab houses which leads eastwards towardsthe British Museum. Tullis Street is the name and 40 the number. Here itis, one of a row, flat-faced, dull-coloured and commonplace, with railedsteps leading up to a discoloured door, and one front-room window, inwhich a huge gilt-edged Bible upon a small round table reassures thetimid visitor. With the universal pass-key of imagination we open thedingy door, pass down a dark passage and up a narrow stair. It is nearlyten o’clock in the morning and yet it is in his bedroom that we mustseek the famous worker of miracles. The fact is that he has had, as wehave seen, an exhausting sitting the night before, and that he has toconserve his strength in the mornings.{99}

At the moment of our inopportune, but invisible, visit he was sittingup, propped by the pillows, with a breakfast-tray upon his knees. Thevision he presented would have amused those who have prayed with him inthe humble Spiritualist temples, or had sat with awe at the séanceswhere he had exhibited the modern equivalents of the gifts of theSpirit. He looked unhealthily pallid in the dim morning light, and hiscurly hair rose up in a tangled pyramid above his broad, intellectualbrow. The open collar of his night-shirt displayed a broad, bull’s neck,and the depth of his chest and spread of his shoulders showed that hewas a man of considerable personal strength. He was eating his breakfastwith avidity while he conversed with the little, eager, dark-eyed wifewho was seated on the side of the bed.

“Fair to middling, Tom. There was two of them researchers raking roundwith their feet and upsetting everybody. D’ye think those folk in theBible would have got their phenomena if they had chaps of that sort onthe premises? ‘Of one accord,’ that’s what they say in the Book.”

“Yes, I think she was very pleased. So was Mr. Atkinson, the surgeon.There was a new man there called Malone of the Press. Then Lord and LadyMontnoir got evidence and so did Sir James Smith and Mr. Mailey.”

“I wasn’t satisfied with the clairvoyance,” said the medium. “The sillyidiots kept on putting things into my mind. ‘That’s surely my UncleSam,’ and so forth. It blurs me so that I can see nothing clear.”

“Yes, and they think they are helping! Helping{100} to muddle you anddeceive themselves. I know the kind.”

“But I went under nicely and I am glad there were some finematerialisations. It took it out of me, though. I’m a rag this morning.”

“Well, maybe at Easter we could do a week. It would be fine. I don’tmind readings and clairvoyance, but the physicals do try you. I’m not asbad as Hallows. They say he just lies white and gasping on the floorafter them.”

“Yes,” cried the woman bitterly. “And then they run to him with whiskey,and so they teach him to rely on the bottle and you get another case ofa drunken medium. I know them. You keep off it, Tom!”

“Yes, one of our trade should stick to soft drinks. If he can stick tovegetables, too, he’s all the better, but I can’t preach that while I amwolfin’ up ham and eggs. By Gosh, Mary! it’s past ten and I have astring of them comin’ this morning. I’m going to make a bit to-day.”

“Well, some hard cases come my way. So long as we can make both endsmeet what more do we want? I expectthey will look after us allright.”

“They have let down a lot of other poor mediums who did good work intheir day.”

“It’s the rich folk that are to blame, not the Spirit-people,” said TomLinden hotly. “It makes me see red when I remember these folk, Lady Thisand Countess That, declaring all the comfort they have had, and thenleaving those who gave it to die in the gutter or rot in the workhouse.Poor old Tweedy and{101} Soames and the rest all living on old-age pensionsand the papers talking of the money that mediums make, while some damnedconjuror makes more than all of us put together by a rotten imitationwith two tons of machinery to help him.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” cried the medium’s wife, putting her thin handcaressingly upon the tangled mane of her man. “It all comes level intime and everybody pays the price for what they have done.”

Linden laughed loudly. “It’s my Welsh half that comes out when I flareup. Let the conjurors take their dirty money and let the rich folk keeptheir purses shut. I wonder what they think money is for. Paying deathduties is about the only fun some of them seem to get out of it. If Ihad their money....”

Linden shrugged his shoulders. “All right, Susan!” he cried. “Tell himI’ll be down. Now, dear, you keep him going and I’ll be with you in aquarter of an hour.”

In less time than he named he was down in the front-room—his consultingroom—where his wife was evidently having some difficulty in makingagreeable conversation with their visitor. He was a big, heavy man, notunlike his elder brother, but with all the genial chubbiness of themedium coarsened into pure brutality. He had the same pile of curlyhair, but he was clean-shaven with a heavy, obstinate jowl. He sat bythe window with his huge freckled hands upon his knees. A very importantpart of Mr. Silas Linden lay in those hands, for he had been aformidable{102} professional boxer, and at one time was fancied for thewelter-weight honours of England. Now, as his stained tweed suit andfrayed boots made clear, he had fallen on evil days, which heendeavoured to mitigate by cadging on his brother.

“Mornin’, Tom,” he said in a husky voice. Then as the wife left theroom: “Got a drop of Scotch about? I’ve a head on me this morning. I metsome of the old set last night down at ‘The Admiral Vernon.’ Quite areunion it was—chaps I hadn’t seen since my best ring days.”

“Sorry, Silas,” said the medium, seating himself behind his desk. “Ikeep nothing in the house.”

“Spirits enough, but not the right sort,” said Silas. “Well, the priceof a drink will do as well. If you’ve got a Bradbury about you I coulddo with it, for there’s nothing coming my way.”

“Here you are, Silas. So long as I have any you have your share. But youhad 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 between man and man.”

“You see that!” He pointed to a lump on the back of his hand. “That’s abone! See? It will never be right. It was when I hit Curly Jenkins thirdround and outed him at the N.S.C. I outed myself for life that night. Ican put up a show fight and exhibition bout, but I’m done for the realthing. My right has gone west.”

“Damned hard! But that’s neither here nor there. What matters is thatI’ve got to pick up a living and I{103} want to know how to do it. An oldscrapper don’t find many openings. Chucker-out at a pub with freedrinks. Nothing doing there. What I want to know, Tom, is what’s thematter with my becoming a medium?”

“Why the devil should you stare at me! If it’s good enough for you it’sgood enough for me.”

“Oh, come! Keep that for the newspapers. It’s all in the family, andbetween you an’ me, how dy’e do it?”

“And get four or five quid a week for it. That’s a good yarn. Now youcan’t fool me, Tom. I’m not one o’ those duds that pay you a thick ’unfor an hour in the dark. We’re on the square, you an’ me. How d’ye doit?”

“Well, them raps, for example. I’ve seen you sit there at your desk, asit might be, and raps come answerin’ questions over yonder on thebookshelf. It’s damned clever—fair puzzles ’em every time. How d’ye getthem?”

“Rats! You can tell me, Tom. I’m Griffiths, the safe man. It would setme up for life if I could do it.”

“You’re an impudent, blasphemous rascal, Silas Linden. It’s men like youwho come into our movement and give it a bad name. You should know mebetter than to think that I am a cheat. Get out of my house, youungrateful rascal!{104}”

Silas doubled his great fists and looked ugly for a moment. Then theanticipation of favours to come softened his mood.

“Well, well, no harm meant,” he growled, as he made for the door. “Iexpect I can make a shot at it without your help.” His grievancesuddenly overcame his prudence as he stood in the doorway. “You damned,canting, hypocritical box-of-tricks. I’ll be even with you yet.”

“The ’ulking blackguard!” she cried. “I ’eard ’im. What did ’e want?”

“Wanted me to put him wise to mediumship. Thinks it’s a trick of somesort that I could teach him.”

“The foolish lump! Well, it’s a good thing, for he won’t dare show hisface here again.”

“If he does I’ll slap it for him. To think of his upsettin’ you likethis. Why, you’re shakin’ all over.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t be a medium if I wasn’t high strung. Someone saidwe were poets, only more so. But it’s bad just when work is beginning.”

She put her little, work-worn hands over his high forehead and held themthere in silence.

“That’s better!” said he. “Well done, Mary. I’ll have a cigarette in thekitchen. That will finish it.”

“No, there’s someone here.” She had looked out{105} of the window. “Are youfit to see her? It’s a woman.”

An instant later a woman entered, a pale, tragic figure in black, whoseappearance told its own tale. Linden motioned her to a chair away fromthe light. Then he looked through his papers.

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

“You have been wise to come, very wise. There is someone beside you whohas an urgent message which could not be delayed. I get a name ...Francis ... yes, Francis.”

“A dark man, very sad, very earnest—oh, so earnest. He will speak. Hemust 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,’ he says. ‘Ifyou do what you purpose doing it will make a gap that it will take manyyears to cross.’ Does that mean anything?”

She sprang from her chair. “It means everything. Oh, Mr. Linden, thiswas my last chance. If this had failed—if I found that I had reallylost him I meant to go and seek him. I would have taken poison thisnight.”

“Thank God that I have saved you. It is a terrible{106} thing, madame, totake one’s life. It breaks the law of Nature, and Nature’s laws cannotbe broken without punishment. I rejoice that he has been able to saveyou. He has more to say to you. His message is, ‘If you will live and doyour duty I will for ever be by your side, far closer to you than ever Iwas in life. My presence will surround and guard both you and our threebabes.’”

It was marvellous the change! The pale, worn woman who had entered theroom was now standing with flushed cheeks and smiling lips. It is truethat tears were pouring down her face, but they were tears of joy. Sheclapped her hands. She made little convulsive movements as if she woulddance.

“He’s not dead! He’s not dead! How can he be dead if he can speak to meand be closer to me than ever? Oh, it’s glorious! Oh, Mr. Linden, whatcan I do for you? You have saved me from shameful death! You haverestored my husband to me! Oh, what a Godlike power you have!”

“My dear lady, say no more. It is not I. I do nothing. You can thank GodWho in His mercy permits some of His mortals to discern a spirit or tocarry a message. Well, well, a guinea is my fee, if you can afford it.Come back to me if ever you are in trouble.”

“I am content now,” she cried, drying her eyes, “to await God’s will andto do my duty in the world until such time as it shall be ordained thatwe unite once more.”

The widow left the house walking on air. Tom Linden also felt that theclouds left by his brother’s visit had been blown away by this joyfulincident, for there{107} is no happiness like giving happiness and seeingthe beneficent workings of one’s own power. He had hardly settled downin his chair, however, before another client was ushered in. This timeit was a smartly-dressed, white-spatted, frock-coated man of the world,with a bustling air as of one to whom minutes are precious.

“Mr. Linden, I believe? I have heard, sir, of your powers. I am toldthat by handling an object you can often get some clue as to the personwho owned it?”

“I should like to test you. I have a letter here which I received thismorning. Would you try your powers upon that?”

The medium took the folded letter, and, leaning back in his chair, hepressed it upon his forehead. He sat with his eyes closed for a minuteor more. Then he returned the paper.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “I get a feeling of evil. I see a mandressed all in white. He has a dark face. He writes at a bamboo table. Iget a sensation of heat. The letter is from the tropics.”

“They do not know everything. Their power and knowledge are as closelylimited as ours. But this is not a matter for the spirit people. What Idid then was psychometry, which, so far as we know, is a power of thehuman soul.”

“Well, you are right as far as you have gone. This man, mycorrespondent, wants me to put up the money{108} for the half-share in anoil boring. Shall I do it?”

“These powers are given to some of us, sir, for the consolation ofhumanity and for a proof of immortality. They were never meant forworldly use. Trouble always comes of such use, trouble to the medium andtrouble to the client. I will not go into the matter.”

“A fat lot of use the gift is, then!” said the visitor, rising from hischair. “I can get all the rest from the parsons who are licensed, andyou are not. There is your guinea, but I have not had the worth of it.”

“I am sorry, sir, but I cannot break a rule. There is a lady besideyou—near your left shoulder—an elderly lady....”

“Why, dash it, man, that was what my mother always wore! D’you tell meyou can see her?”

“Weeping! My mother! Why, she is in heaven if ever a woman was. Theydon’t weep in heaven!{109}”

“Not in the imaginary heaven. They do in the real heaven. It is only wewho ever make them weep. She left a message.”

“The message was: ‘Oh, Jack! Jack! you are drifting ever further from myreach.’”

“I was a damned fool to let you have my name when I made theappointment. You have been making enquiries. You don’t take me in withyour tricks. I’ve had enough of it—more than enough!”

“He didn’t like his message,” Linden explained to his wife. “It was hispoor mother. She is fretting over him. Lord! if folk only knew thesethings it would do them more good than all the forms and ceremonies.”

“Well, Tom, it’s not your fault if they don’t,” his wife answered.“There are two women waiting to see you. They have not an introductionbut they seem in great trouble.”

“I’ve a bit of a headache. I haven’t got over last night. Silas and Iare the same in that. Our night’s work finds us out next morning. I’lljust take these and no more, for it is bad to send anyone sorrowin’ awayif one can help it.”

The two women were shown in, both of them austere figures dressed inblack, one a stern-looking person of fifty, the other about half thatage.

“I believe your fee is a guinea,” said the elder, putting that sum uponthe table.

“To those who can afford it,” Linden answered. As a matter of fact, theguinea often went the other way.{110}

“Oh, yes, I can afford it,” said the woman. “I am in sad trouble andthey told me maybe you could help me.”

“I lost my poor husband in the war—killed at Ypres he was. Could I getin touch with him?”

“You don’t seem to bring any influence with you. I get no impression. Iam sorry, but we can’t command these things. I get the name Edmund. Wasthat his name?”

“I am sorry, but it seems confused—cross vibrations, perhaps and amix-up of messages like crossed telegraph wires.”

“It was about this girl of mine that I really wanted advice. My husbandwould have told me what to do. She has got engaged to a young man, afitter by trade, but there are one or two things against it and I wantto know what to do.”

“Do give us some advice,” said the young woman, looking at the mediumwith a hard eye.

“Well, if you don’t feel more than that about him, I should leave himalone. Nothing but unhappiness comes of such a marriage.”

“And money—will she have money? We are down-hearted, Mr. Linden, and wewant a little——”

At this moment there came a most surprising interruption. The door flewopen and little Mrs. Linden rushed into the room with pale face andblazing eyes.

“They are policewomen, Tom. I’ve had a warning about them. It’s onlyjust come. Get out of this house, you pair of snivelling hypocrites. Oh,what a fool! What a fool I was not to recognise what you were.”

“Yes, you are rather late, Mrs. Linden,” said the senior. “The money haspassed.”

“No, no, the money has passed. We have had our fortune told. You willhear more of this, Mr. Linden.”

“You brace of frauds! You talk of frauds when it is you who are thefrauds all the time! He would not have seen you if it had not been forcompassion.”

“It is no use scolding us,” the woman answered. “We do our duty and wedid not make the law. So long as it is on the Statute Book we have toenforce it. We must report the case at headquarters.{112}”

Tom Linden seemed stunned by the blow, but when the policewomen haddisappeared, he put his arms round his weeping wife and consoled her asbest he might.

“The typist at the police office sent down the warning,” she said. “Oh,Tom, it is the second time!” she cried. “It means gaol and hard labourfor you.”

“Well, dear, so long as we are conscious of having done no wrong and ofhaving done God’s work to the best of our power, we must take what comeswith a good heart.”

“Yes, Victor,” said Tom Linden, shaking his head at the air above him,“where were you? I’ve got a crow to pick with you. You know, dear,” headded, “just as a doctor can never treat his own case, a medium is veryhelpless when things come to his own address. That’s the law. And yet Ishould have known. I was feeling in the dark. I had no inspiration ofany sort. It was just a foolish pity and sympathy that led me on when Ihad no sort of a real message. Well, dear Mary, we will take what’scoming to us with a brave heart. Maybe they have not enough to make acase, and maybe the beak is not as ignorant as most of them. We’ll hopefor the best.”

In spite of his brave words the medium was shaking and quivering at theshock. His wife had put her hands upon him and was endeavouring tosteady him, when Susan, the maid, who knew nothing of the trouble,admitted a fresh visitor into the room. It was none other than EdwardMalone.

“He can’t see you,” said Mrs. Linden, “the medium is ill. He will see noone this morning.”

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

“What a dirty business!” cried Malone, with disgust. “I am sure thepublic does not realise how this law is enforced, or there would be arow. This agent-provocateur business is quite foreign to Britishjustice. But in any case, Linden, you are a real medium. The law wasmade to suppress false ones.”

“There are no real mediums in British law,” said Linden ruefully. “Iexpect the more real you are the greater the offence. If you are amedium at all and take money you are liable. But how can a medium liveif he does not take money? It’s a man’s whole work and needs all hisstrength. You can’t be a carpenter all day and a first-class medium inthe evening.”

“What a wicked law! It seems to be deliberately stifling all physicalproofs of spiritual power.”

“Yes, that is just what it is. If the Devil passed a law it would bejust that. It is supposed to be for the protection of the public and yetno member of the public has ever been known to complain. Every case is apolice trap. And yet the police know as well as you or I that everyChurch charity garden-party has got its clairvoyante or itsfortune-teller.”

“Well, I expect a summons will come along. Then a police court case.Then fine or imprisonment. It’s the second time, you see.{114}”

“Well, your friends will give evidence for you and we will have a goodman to defend you.”

“You never know who are your friends. They slip away like water when itcomes to the pinch.”

“Well, I won’t for one,” said Malone, heartily. “Keep me in touch withwhat is going on. But I called because I had something to ask you.”

“No, no, nothing psychic. I simply wanted to ask you whether thepresence of a strong sceptic would stop all your phenomena?”

“Not necessarily. But, of course, it makes everything more difficult. Ifthey will be quiet and reasonable we can get results. But they knownothing, break every law, and ruin their own sittings. There was oldSherbank, the doctor, the other day. When the raps came on the table hejumped up, put his hand on the wall, and cried, ‘Now then, put a rap onthe palm of my hand within five seconds.’ Because he did not get it hedeclared it was all humbug and stamped out of the room. They will notadmit that there are fixed laws in this as in everything else.”

“Well, I must confess that the man I am thinking of might be quite asunreasonable. It is the great Professor Challenger.”

“He won’t come to you or to any place you name. He imagines all sorts ofwires and contrivances. You might have to come down to his countryhouse.”

“I can do nothing until this horrible affair is over. It will take amonth or two.”

“Well, I will keep in touch with you till then. When all is well againwe shall make our plans and see if we can bring these facts before himas they have been brought before me. Meanwhile, let me say how much Isympathise. We will form a committee of your friends and all that canwill surely be done.{116}”

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH THE NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL GETS WHAT THE BRITISH LAW CONSIDERS TO BE HIS DESERTS

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

The two policewomen returned in triumph to Bardsley Square Station whereInspector Murphy, who had sent them, was waiting for their report.Murphy was a jolly-looking, red-faced, black-moustached man who had acheerful, fatherly way with women which was by no means justified by hisage or virility. He sat behind his official table, his papers strewn infront of him.

“I think it’s a go, Mr. Murphy,” said the elder policewoman. “We havethe evidence you want.”

“That, of course, is part of the game. He’ll be sorry for himself beforehe is through with it. He{117} didn’t say, ‘You are a single woman and neverhad a husband?’”

“Well, that’s one up against his spirits, is it not? That should impressthe court. What more?”

“Ah, that’s a pity. But, anyhow, he did not know that Pedro was yourAlsatian dog. He considered the name. That’s good enough. Make the jurylaugh and you have your verdict. Now about fortune-telling? Did you dowhat I suggested?”

“Yes, I asked about Amy’s young man. He did not give much that wasdefinite.”

“Oh, he did, did he? Well, if we spread that a little we have got all wewant. Now sit down and dictate your report while you have it fresh. Thenwe can go over it together and see how we can put it best. Amy mustwrite one, also.”

“Then we shall apply for the warrant. You see, it all depends upon whichmagistrate it comes before. There was Mr. Dalleret who let a medium offlast month. He is no use to us. And Mr. Lancing has been mixed up withthese people. Mr. Melrose is a stiff materialist. We could depend on himand have timed the arrest accordingly. It would never do to fail to getour conviction.{118}”

“We are supposed to be protecting the public, but between you and menone of the public have ever yet asked to be protected. There are nocomplaints. Therefore it is left to us to uphold the law as best we can.As long as it is there we have got to enforce it. Well, good-bye, girls!Let me have the report by four o’clock.”

“You wait, my dear. If we get twenty-five pounds fine it has got to gosomewhere—Police Fund, of course, but there may be something over.Anyhow, you go and cough it up and then we shall see.”

Next morning a scared maid broke into Linden’s modest study. “Please,sir, it’s an officer.”

“Name of Linden?” said he, and handing a folded sheet of foolscap hedeparted.

The stricken couple who spent their lives in bringing comfort to otherswere sadly in need of comfort themselves. She put her arm round his neckwhile they read the cheerless document:

On the same afternoon Mailey called upon Malone and they sat inconsultation over this document. Then they went together to seeSummerway Jones, an acute solicitor and an earnest student of psychicaffairs. Incidentally, he was a hard rider to hounds, a good boxer, anda man who carried a fresh-air flavour into the mustiest law chambers. Hearched his eyebrows over the summons.

“The poor devil has not an earthly!” said he. “He’s lucky to have asummons. Usually they act on a warrant. Then the man is carted rightoff, kept in the cells all night, and tried next morning with no one todefend him. The police are cute enough, of course, to choose either aRoman Catholic or a materialist as the magistrate. Then, by thebeautiful judgment of Chief Justice Lawrence—the first judgment, Ibelieve, that he delivered in that high capacity—the profession ofmediumship or wonder-working is in itself a legal crime, whether it begenuine or no, so that no defence founded upon good results has a lookin. It’s a mixture of religious persecution and police blackmail. As tothe public they don’t care a damn! Why should they? If they don’t wanttheir fortune told, they don’t go. The whole thing is the most absolutebilge and a disgrace to our legislature.{120}”

“I’ll write it up,” said Malone, glowing with Celtic fire. “What do youcall the Act?”

“Well, there are two Acts, each more putrid than the other, and bothpassed long before Spiritualism was ever heard of. There is theWitchcraft Act dating from George the Second. That has become tooabsurd, so they only use it as a second string. Then there is theVagrancy Act of 1824. It was passed to control the wandering gipsy folkon the roadside, and was never intended, of course, to be used likethis.” He hunted among his papers. “Here is the beastly thing. ‘Everyperson professing to tell fortunes or using any subtle craft, means ordevice to deceive and impose on any of His Majesty’s subjects shall bedeemed a rogue and a vagabond,’ and so on and so forth. The two Actstogether would have roped in the whole Early Christian movement just assurely as the Roman persecution did.”

“Jackasses!” cried Mailey. “That’s the modern substitute. But what arewe to do?”

“I’m damned if I know!” said the solicitor, scratching his head. “It’sperfectly hopeless!”

“Oh, dash it all!” cried Malone, “we can’t give it up so easily. We knowthe man is an honest man.”

“I don’t know if you call yourself a Spiritualist yet,” he said, “butyou are the kind of chap we want. There are too many white-livered folkin our movement who fawn on a medium when all is well, and desert him atthe first breath of an accusation. But, thank God! there are a fewstalwarts. There is Brookes and Rodwin and Sir James Smith. We can putup a hundred or two among us.”

“Right-o!” said the solicitor, cheerily. “If you{121} feel like that we willgive you a run for your money.”

“Well, they don’t plead in police courts. If you’ll leave it in my handsI fancy I can do as well as anyone, for I’ve had a lot of these cases.It will keep the costs down, too.”

“If we do nothing else we shall ventilate it,” said Malone. “I believein the good old British public. Slow and stupid, but sound at the core.They will not stand for injustice if you can get the truth into theirheads.”

“They damned well need trepanning before you can get it there,” said thesolicitor. “Well, you do your bit and I’ll do mine and we will see whatcomes to it.”

The fateful morning arrived and Linden found himself in the dock facinga spruce, middle-aged man with rat-trap jaws, Mr. Melrose, theredoubtable police magistrate. Mr. Melrose had a reputation for severitywith fortune-tellers and all who foretold the future, though he spentthe intervals in his court by reading up the sporting prophets, for hewas an ardent follower of the Turf, and his trim, fawn-coloured coat andrakish hat were familiar objects at every race meeting which was withinhis reach. He was in no particularly good humour this morning as heglanced at the charge-sheet and then surveyed the prisoner. Mrs. Lindenhad secured a position below the dock, and occasionally extended herhand to pat that of the prisoner which rested on the edge. The court wascrowded and many of the prisoner’s clients had attended to show theirsympathy.{122}

“Yes, your worship,” said Summerway Jones. “May I, before it opens, makean objection?”

“I beg to respectfully request your ruling before the case is proceededwith. My client is not a vagrant, but a respectable member of thecommunity, living in his own house, paying rates and taxes, and on thesame footing as every other citizen. He is now prosecuted under thefourth section of the Vagrancy Act of 1824, which is styled, ‘An Act forpunishing idle and disorderly persons, and rogues and vagabonds.’ TheAct was intended, as the words imply, to restrain lawless gipsies andothers, who at that time infested the country. I ask your Worship torule that my client is clearly not a person within the purview of thisAct or liable to its penalties.”

“I fear, Mr. Jones, that there have been too many precedents for the Actto be now interpreted in this limited fashion. I will ask the solicitorprosecuting on behalf of the Commissioner of Police to put forward hisevidence.”

A little bull of a man with side-whiskers and a raucous voice sprang tohis feet.

The elder policewoman popped up in the box with the alacrity of one whois used to it. She held an open notebook in her hand.

“I understand that you watched the prisoner’s home the day before youcalled on him?”

“Fourteen people. And I believe the prisoner’s average fee is ten andsixpence.”

“Seven pounds in one day! Pretty good wages when many an honest man iscontent with five shillings.”

“I must ask you not to interrupt. You are already very efficientlyrepresented,” said the Magistrate severely.

“Now, Henrietta Dresser,” continued the prosecutor, wagging hispince-nez. “Let us hear what occurred when you and Amy Bellinger visitedthe prisoner.”

The policewoman gave an account which was in the main true, reading itfrom her book. She was not a married woman, but the medium had acceptedher statement that she was. He had fumbled with several names and hadseemed greatly confused. The name of a dog—Pedro—had been submitted tohim, but he had not recognised it as such. Finally, he had answeredquestions as the future of her alleged daughter, who was, in fact, norelation to her, and had foretold that she would be unhappy in hermarriage.

“Did you come to this man as one who needed consolation? And did heattempt to give it?”

“You saw no signs of psychic power, or anything abnormal?” asked theprosecutor.

“May I ask, your worship, whether it is in order that these witnessesshould read their evidence?” asked Mr. Jones.

“Why not?” queried the Magistrate. “We desire the exact facts, do wenot?”

“It is clearly a method of securing that the evidence of these twowitnesses shall be in accord,” said Jones. “I submit that these accountsare carefully prepared and collated.”

“Naturally, the police prepare their case,” said the Magistrate. “I donot see that you have any grievance, Mr. Jones. Now, witness, let ushear your evidence.”

“You asked questions about your fiancé? You had no fiancé,” said Mr.Jones.

“I think,” said the Magistrate, “that the policewomen have given theirevidence very fairly and well. Have you any witnesses for the defence,Mr. Jones?”

“There are a number of people in court, your wor{125}ship, who have receivedgreat benefit from the mediumship of the prisoner. I have subpœnaed onewoman who was, by her own account, saved from suicide that very morningby what he told her. I have another man who was an atheist, and had lostall belief in future life. He was completely converted by his experienceof psychic phenomena. I can produce men of the highest eminence inscience and literature who will testify to the real nature of Mr.Linden’s powers.”

“You must know, Mr. Jones, that such evidence would be quite beside thequestion. It has been clearly laid down by the ruling of the Lord ChiefJustice and others that the law of this country does not recognisesupernatural powers of any sort whatever, and that a pretence of suchpowers where payment is involved constitutes a crime in itself.Therefore your suggestion that you should call witnesses could notpossibly lead to anything save a wasting of the time of the court. Atthe same time, I am, of course, ready to listen to any observationswhich you may care to make after the solicitor for the prosecution hasspoken.”

“Might I venture to point out, your worship,” said Jones, “that such aruling would mean the condemnation of any sacred or holy person of whomwe have any record, since even holy persons have to live, and havetherefore to receive money.”

“If your refer to Apostolic times, Mr. Jones,” said the Magistratesharply, “I can only remind you that the Apostolic age is past and alsothat Queen Anne is dead. Such an argument is hardly worthy of yourintelligence. Now, sir, if you have anything to add....{126}”

Thus encouraged the prosecutor made a short address, stabbing the air atintervals with his pince-nez as if every stab punctured afresh allclaims of the spirit. He pictured the destitution among theworking-classes, and yet charlatans, by advancing wicked and blasphemousclaims, were able to earn a rich living. That they had real powers was,as had been observed, beside the question, but even that excuse wasshattered by the fact that these policewomen, who had discharged anunpleasant duty in a most exemplary way, had received nothing butnonsense in return for their money. Was it likely that other clientsfared any better? These parasites were increasing in number, tradingupon the finer feelings of bereaved parents, and it was high time thatsome exemplary punishment should warn them that they would be wise toturn their hands to some more honest trade.

Mr. Summerway Jones replied as best he might. He began by pointing outthat the Acts were being used for a purpose for which they were neverintended. (“That point has been already considered!” snapped theMagistrate.) The whole position was open to criticism. The convictionswere secured by evidence from agents-provocateurs, who, if any crime hadbeen committed, were obviously inciters to it and also participants. Thefines obtained were often deflected for purposes in which the police hada direct interest.

“Surely, Mr. Jones, you do not mean to cast a reflection upon thehonesty of the police!”

The police were human, and were naturally inclined to stretch a pointwhere their own interests were affected. All these cases wereartificial. There was no record at any time of any real complaint fromthe{127} public or any demand for protection. There were frauds in everyprofession, and if a man deliberately invested and lost a guinea in afalse medium he had no more right to protection than the man whoinvested his money in a bad company on the stock market. Whilst thepolice were wasting time upon such cases, and their agents were weepingcrocodile tears in the character of forlorn mourners, many otherbranches of real crime received far less attention than they deserved.The law was quite arbitrary in its action. Every big garden-party, even,as he had been informed, every police fête was incomplete without itsfortune-teller or palmist. Some years ago theDaily Mail had raised anoutcry against fortune-tellers. That great man, the late LordNorthcliffe, had been put in the box by the defence, and it had beenshown that one of his other papers was running a palmistry column, andthat the fees received were divided equally between the palmist and theproprietors. He mentioned this in no spirit which was derogatory to thememory of this great man, but merely as an example of the absurdity ofthe law as it was now administered. Whatever might be the individualopinion of members of that court, it was incontrovertible that a largenumber of intelligent and useful citizens regarded this power ofmediumship as a remarkable manifestation of the power of spirit, makingfor the great improvement of the race. Was it not a most fatal policy inthese days of materialism to crush down by law that which in its highermanifestation might work for the regeneration of mankind? As to theundoubted fact that information received by the policewomen wasincorrect and that their lying statements were not detected by themedium, it was a psychic law that harmonious conditions were essentialfor true{128} results, and that deceit on one side produced confusion on theother. If the court would for a moment adopt the Spiritualistichypothesis, they would realise how absurd it would be to expect thatangelic hosts would descend in order to answer the questions of twomercenary and hypocritical inquirers.

Such, in a short synopsis, was the general line of Mr. Summerway Jones’defence which reduced Mrs. Linden to tears and threw the magistrate’sclerk into a deep slumber. The Magistrate himself rapidly brought thematter to a conclusion.

“Your quarrel, Mr. Jones, seems to be with the law, and that is outsidemy competence. I administer it as I find it, though I may remark that Iam entirely in agreement with it. Such men as the defendant are thenoxious fungi which collect on a corrupt society, and the attempt tocompare their vulgarities with the holy men of old, or to claim similargifts, must be reprobated by all right-thinking men.

“As to you, Linden,” he added, fixing his stern eyes upon the prisoner,“I fear that you are a hardened offender since a previous conviction hasnot altered your ways. I sentence you, therefore, to two months’ hardlabour without option of a fine.”

“Good-bye, dear, don’t fret,” said the medium, glancing over the side ofthe dock. An instant later he had been hurried down to 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 therea better man living in the whole great City of London?”

“I don’t think there is a more useful one,” said{129} Mailey. “I’ll ventureto say that the whole of Crockford’s Directory with the Archbishops attheir head could not prove the things of religion as I have seen TomLinden prove them, or convert an atheist as I have seen Linden converthim.”

“The touch about vulgarity was funny,” said Jones. “I wonder if hethinks the Apostles were very cultivated people. Well, I did my best. Ihad no hopes, and it has worked out as I thought. It is pure waste oftime.”

“Not at all,” Malone answered. “It has ventilated an evil. There werereporters in court. Surely some of them have some sense. They will notethe injustice.”

“Not they,” said Mailey. “The Press is hopeless. My God, what aresponsibility these people take on themselves, and how little theyguess the price that each will pay! I know. I have spoken with themwhile they were paying it.”

“Well, I for one will speak out,” said Malone, “and I believe otherswill also. The Press is more independent and intelligent than you seemto think.”

But Mailey was right, after all. When he had left Mrs. Linden in herlonely home and had reached Fleet Street once more, Malone bought aPlanet. As he opened it a scare head-line met his eye:

IMPOSTOR IN THE POLICE COURT
———
Dog Mistaken for Man.
WHO WAS PEDRO?
Exemplary Sentence.
{130}

“No wonder these Spiritualists feel bitterly,” he thought. “They havegood cause.”

Yes, poor Tom Linden had a bad press. He went down into his miserablecell amid universal objurgation. ThePlanet, an evening paper whichdepended for its circulation upon the sporting forecasts of CaptainTouch-and-go, remarked upon the absurdity of forecasting the future.Honest John, a weekly journal which had been mixed up with some of thegreatest frauds of the century, was of opinion that the dishonesty ofLinden was a public scandal. A rich country rector wrote toThe Timesto express his indignation that anyone should profess to sell the giftsof the spirit. TheChurchman remarked that such incidents arose fromthe growing infidelity, while theFreethinker saw in them a reversionto superstition. Finally Mr. Maskelyne showed the public, to the greatadvantage of his box office, exactly how the swindle was perpetrated. Sofor a few days Tom Linden had what the French call a “succesd’execration.” Then the world moved on and he was left to his fate.{131}

CHAPTER VIII

IN WHICH THREE INVESTIGATORS COME UPON A DARK SOUL

LORD ROXTON had returned from Central African heavy game shooting, andhad at once carried out a series of Alpine ascents which had satisfiedand surprised everyone except himself.

“Top of the Alps is becomin’ a perfect bear-garden,” said he. “Short ofEverest there don’t seem to be any decent privacy left.”

His advent into London was acclaimed by a dinner given in his honour atthe Travellers’ by the Heavy Game Society. The occasion was private andthere were no reporters, but Lord Roxton’s speech was fixedverbatimin the minds of all his audience and has been imperishably preserved. Hewrithed for twenty minutes under the flowery and eulogistic periods ofthe president, and rose himself in the state of confused indignationwhich the Briton feels when he is publicly approved. “Oh, I say! ByJove! What!” was his oration, after which he resumed his seat andperspired profusely.

Malone was first aware of Lord Roxton’s return through McArdle, thecrabbed old red-headed news editor, whose bald dome projected furtherand further from its ruddy fringe as the years still found him slavingat the most grinding of tasks. He retained his keen scent of what wasgood copy, and it was this sense of his which caused him one wintermorning to{132} summon Malone to his presence. He removed the long glasstube which he used as a cigarette-holder from his lips, and he blinkedthrough his big round glasses at his subordinate.

“Aye, he’s back. Dootless you’ve heard that he was wounded in the war.He led a small column in East Africa and made a wee war of his own tillhe got an elephant bullet through his chest. Oh, he’s done fine sincethen, or he couldn’t be climbin’ these mountains. He’s a deevil of a manand aye stirring up something new.”

“What is the latest?” asked Malone, eyeing a slip of paper which McArdlewas waving between his finger and thumb.

“Well, that’s where he impinges on you. I was thinking maybe you couldhunt in couples, and there would be copy in it. There’s a leaderette intheEvening Standard.” He handed it over. It ran thus:

“I’m thinking they are getting pairsonal there, friend Malone, for ifyou are no a supporter, you’re well on the way. But are you no of theopeenion that this chiel and you between you might put up a spook andget two racy columns off him?”

“Well, I can see Lord Roxton,” said Malone. “He’s still, I suppose, inhis old rooms in the Albany. I would wish to call in any case, so I canopen this up as well.”

Thus it was that in the late afternoon just as the murk of London brokeinto dim circles of silver, the pressman found himself once more walkingdown Vigo Street and accosting the porter at the dark entrance of theold-fashioned chambers. Yes, Lord John Roxton was in, but a gentlemanwas with him. He would take a card. Presently he returned with word thatin spite of the previous visitor, Lord Roxton would see Malone at once.An instant later, he had been ushered into the old luxurious rooms withtheir trophies of war and of the chase. The owner of them withoutstreched hand was standing at the door, long, thin, austere, with thesame gaunt, whimsical, Don Quixote face as of old. There was no changesave that he was more aquiline, and his eyebrows jutted more thicklyover his reckless, restless eyes.

“Hullo, young fellah!” he cried. “I was hopin’ you’d draw this oldcovert once more. I was comin’ down to the office to look you up. Comein! Come{134} in! Let me introduce you to the Reverend Charles Mason.”

A very tall, thin clergyman, who was coiled up in a large basket chair,gradually unwound himself and held out a bony hand to the newcomer.Malone was aware of two very earnest and human grey eyes lookingsearchingly into his, and of a broad, welcoming smile which disclosed adouble row of excellent teeth. It was a worn and weary face, the tiredface of the spiritual fighter, but it was very kindly and companionable,none the less. Malone had heard of the man, a Church of England vicar,who had left his model parish and the church which he had built himselfin order to preach freely the doctrines of Christianity, with the newpsychic knowledge super-added.

“You never will, Mr. Malone,” said the lean clergyman, chuckling. “Theworld never will until it has absorbed this new knowledge which God hassent. You can’t get away from it. It is too big. At the present momentin this great city there is not a place where men or women meet that itdoes not come up. And yet you would not know it from the Press.”

“Well, you can’t level that reproach at theDaily Gazette,” saidMalone. “Possibly you may have read my own descriptive articles.”

“Yes, I read them. They are at least better than the awful sensationalnonsense which the London Press usually serves up, save when they ignoreit altogether. To read a paper likeThe Times you would never knowthat this vital movement existed at all. The only editorial allusion toit that I can ever remember was in a leading article when the greatpaper announced that it would believe in it when it found it{135} could, bymeans of it, pick out more winners on a race-card than by other means.”

“Doosed useful, too,” said Lord Roxton. “It’s just what I should havesaid myself. What!”

“That brings me back to the object of my visit,” he said. He turned toMalone. “I took the liberty of calling upon Lord Roxton in connectionwith his advertisement to say that if he went on such a quest with agood intention, no better work could be found in the world, but if hedid it out of a love of sport, following some poor earth-bound soul inthe same spirit as he followed the white rhinoceros of the Lido, hemight be playing with fire.”

“Well, padre, I’ve been playin’ with fire all my life and that’s nothin’new. What I mean—if you want me to look at this ghost business from thereligious angle, there’s nothin’ doin’, for the Church of England that Iwas brought up in fills my very modest need. But if it’s got a spice ofdanger, as you say, then it’s worth while. What!”

“Incorrigible, is he not?” he said to Malone. “Well, I can only wish youa fuller comprehension of the subject.” He rose as if to depart.

“Wait a bit, padre!” cried Lord Roxton, hurriedly. “When I’m explorin’,I begin by ropin’ in a friendly native. I expect you’re just the man.Won’t you come with me?”

“Well, sit down and I’ll tell you.” He rummaged among a pile of letterson his desk. “Fine selection of spooks!” he said. “I got on the track ofover{136} twenty by the first post. This is an easy winner, though. Read itfor yourself. Lonely house, man driven mad, tenants boltin’ in thenight, horrible spectre. Sounds all right—what!”

The clergyman read the letter with puckered brows. “It seems a badcase,” said he.

The Rev. Mr. Mason pulled out a pocket-almanac. “I have a service forex-Service men on Wednesday, and a lecture the same evening.”

“If there is any poor soul in trouble it becomes a duty. Very well, Iwill come.”

“Of course there is, young fellah! What I mean—I expect that old,red-headed bird at the office sent you round with no other purpose. Ah,I thought so. Well, you can write an adventure that is not perfect bilgefor a change—what! There’s a train from Victoria at eight o’clock. Wecan meet there, and I’ll have a look in at old man Challenger as Ipass.”

They dined together in the train and after dinner reassembled in theirfirst-class carriage, which is the snuggest mode of travel which theworld can show. Roxton, behind a big black cigar, was full of his visitto Challenger.

“The old dear is the same as ever. Bit my head off once or twice in hisown familiar way. Talked un{137}adulterated tripe. Says I’ve gotbrain-softenin’ if I could think there was such a thing as a real spook.‘When you’re dead you’re dead.’ That’s the old man’s cheery slogan.Surveyin’ his contemporaries, he said, extinction was a doosed goodthing! ‘It’s the only hope of the world,’ said he. ‘Fancy the awfulprospect if they survived.’ Wanted to give me a bottle of chlorine tochuck at the ghost. I told him that if my automatic was not aspook-stopper, nothin’ else would serve. Tell me, padre, is this thefirst time you’ve been on Solfari after this kind of game?”

“You treat the matter too lightly, Lord John,” said the clergyman,gravely. “You have clearly had no experience of it. In answer to yourquestion I may say that I have several times tried to help in similarcases.”

“I am no authority upon the general question. You know Algernon Mailey,the barrister, do you not? He could give you facts and figures. Iapproach the subject rather perhaps from the point of view of instinctand emotion. I remember Mailey lecturing on Professor Bozzano’s book onghosts where over five hundred well-authenticated instances were given,every one of them sufficient to establish ana priori case. There isFlammarion, too. You can’t laugh away evidence of that kind.”

“I’ve read Bozzano and Flammarion, too,” said Malone, “but it is yourown experience and conclusions that I want.”

“Well, if you quote me, remember that I do not look on myself as a greatauthority on psychic research.{138} Wiser brains than mine may come alongand give some other explanation. Still, what I have seen has led me tocertain conclusions. One of them is to think that there is some truth inthe theosophical idea of shells.”

“They imagined that all spirit bodies near the earth were empty shellsor husks from which the real entity had departed. Now, of course, weknow that a general statement of that sort is nonsense, for we could notget the glorious communications which we do get from anything but highintelligences. But we also must beware of generalisations. They are notall high intelligences. Some are so low that I think the creature ispurely external and is an appearance rather than a reality.”

“Yes, that is the question. It is usually allowed that there is thenatural body, as St. Paul called it, which is dissolved at death, andthe etheric or spiritual body which survives and functions upon anetheric plane. Those are the essential things. But we may really have asmany coats as an onion and there may be a mental body which may sheditself at any spot where great mental or emotional strain has beenexperienced. It may be a dull automatic simulacrum and yet carrysomething of our appearance and thoughts.”

“Well,” said Malone, “that would to some extent get over the difficulty,for I could never imagine that a murderer or his victim could spendwhole centuries re-acting the old crime. What would be the sense of it?”

“Quite right, young fellah,” said Lord Roxton. “There was a pal of mine,Archie Soames, the gentle{139}man Jock, who had an old place in Berkshire.Well, Nell Gwynne had lived there once, and he was ready to swear he mether a dozen times in the passage. Archie never flinched at the big jumpat the Grand National, but, by Jove! he flinched at those passages afterdark. Doosed fine woman she was and all that, but dash it all! What Imean—one has to draw the line—what!”

“Quite so!” the clergyman answered. “You can’t imagine that the realsoul of a vivid personality like Nell could spend centuries walkingthose passages. But if by chance she had ate her heart out in thathouse, brooding and fretting, one could think that she might have cast ashell and left some thought-image of herself behind her.”

“I had one before ever I knew anything of Spiritualism. I hardly expectthat you will believe me, but I assure you it is true. I was a veryyoung curate up in the north. There was a house in the village which hadapoltergeist, one of those very mischievous influences which cause somuch trouble. I volunteered to exorcise it. We have an official form ofexorcism in the Church, you know, so I thought that I was well-armed. Istood in the drawing-room which was the centre of the disturbances, withall the family on their knees beside me, and I read the service. What doyou think happened?”

Mason’s gaunt face broke into a sweetly humorous laugh. “Just as Ireached Amen, when the creature should have been slinking away abashed,the big bearskin hearthrug stood up on end and simply enveloped me. I amashamed to say that I was out of that house in two jumps. It was thenthat I learned that no{140} formal religious proceeding has any effect atall.”

“Well, kindness and reason may do something. You see, they vary greatly.Some of these earthbound or earth-interested creatures are neutral, likethese simulacra or shells that I speak of. Others are essentially goodlike these monks of Glastonbury, who have manifested so wonderfully oflate years and are recorded by Bligh Bond. They are held to earth by apious memory. Some are mischievous children like thepoltergeists. Andsome—only a few, I hope—are deadly beyond words, strong, malevolentcreatures too heavy with matter to rise above our earth plane—so heavywith matter that their vibrations may be low enough to affect the humanretina and to become visible. If they have been cruel, cunning brutes inlife, they are cruel and cunning still with more power to hurt. It isevil monsters of this kind who are let loose by our system of capitalpunishment, for they die with unused vitality which may be expended uponrevenge.”

“Exactly. That is why I disapprove of levity. He seems to me to be thevery type of the creature I speak of. Just as an octopus may have hisden in some ocean cave, and come floating out a silent image of horror,to attack a swimmer, so I picture such a spirit lurking in the dark ofthe house which he curses by his presence, and ready to float out uponall whom he can injure.”

“Yes, I think we have. If we had not, such a creature could devastatethe earth. Our protection{141} is that there are white forces as well asdark ones. We may call them ‘guardian angels’ as the Catholics do, or‘guides’ or ‘controls,’ but whatever you call them, they really do existand they guard us from evil on the spiritual plane.”

“What about the chap who was driven mad, padre? Where was your guidewhen the spook put the rug around you? What?”

“The power of our guards may depend upon our own worthiness. Evil mayalways win for a time. Good wins in the end. That’s my experience inlife.”

“If good wins, then it runs a doosed long waitin’ race, and most of usnever live to see the finish. Look at those rubber devils that I had ascrap with up the Putomayo River. Where are they? What! Mostly in Parishavin’ a good time. And the poor niggers they murdered. What aboutthem?”

“Yes, we need faith sometimes. We have to remember that we don’t see theend. ‘To be continued in our next’ is the conclusion of everylife-story. That’s where the enormous value of the other world accountscome in. They give us at least one chapter more.”

“There are many wonderful books, though the world has not yet learned toappreciate them—records of the life beyond. I remember oneincident—you may take it as a parable, if you like—but it is reallymore than that. The dead rich man pauses before the lovely dwelling. Hissad guide draws him away. ‘It is not for you. It is for your gardener.’He shows him a wretched shack. ‘You gave us nothing to build with. Itwas the best that we could do.’ That may{142} be the next chapter in thestory of your rubber millionaires.”

“I gave some of them a shack that was six foot long and two foot deep,”said he. “No good shakin’ your head, padre. What I mean—I don’t love myneighbour as myself, and never shall. I hate some of ’em like poison.”

“Well, we should hate sin, and for my own part, I have never been strongenough to separate sin from the sinner. How can I preach when I am ashuman and weak as anyone?”

“Why, that’s the only preachin’ I could listen to,” said Lord Roxton.“The chap in the pulpit is over my head. If he comes down to my level Ihave some use for him. Well, it strikes me we won’t get much sleepto-night. We’ve just an hour before we reach Dryfont. Maybe we hadbetter use it.”

It was past eleven o’clock of a cold, frosty night when the partyreached their destination. The station of the little watering-place wasalmost deserted, but a small, fat man in a fur overcoat ran forward tomeet them, and greeted them warmly.

“I am Mr. Belchamber, owner of the house. How do you do, gentlemen? Igot your wire, Lord Roxton, and everything is in order. It is indeedkind of you to come down. If you can do anything to ease my burden Ishall indeed be grateful.”

Mr. Belchamber led them across to the little Station Hotel where theypartook of sandwiches and coffee, which he had thoughtfully ordered. Asthey ate he told them something of his troubles.

“It isn’t as if I was a rich man, gentleman. I am a retired grazier andall my savings are in three houses. That is one of them, the VillaMaggiore. Yes, I got{143} it cheap, that’s true. But how could I think therewas anything in this story of the mad doctor?”

“He was there away back in Queen Victoria’s time. I’ve seen him myself.A long, stringy, dark-faced kind of man, with a round back and a queer,shuffling way of walking. They say he had been in India all his life,and some thought he was hiding from some crime, for he would never showhis face in the village and seldom came out till after dark. He broke adog’s leg with a stone, and there was some talk of having him up for it,but the people were afraid of him and no one would prosecute. The littleboys would run past, for he would sit glowering and glooming in thefront window. 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 had opened the veins of his arm.Tremayne was his name. No one here forgets it.”

“Well, it was re-papered and painted and fumigated, and done up outside.You’d have said it was a new house. Then, I let it to Mr. Jenkins of theBrewery. Three days he was in it. I lowered the rent, and Mr. Beale, theretired grocer, took it. It was he who went mad—clean mad—after a weekof it. And I’ve had it on my hands ever since—sixty pounds out of myincome, and taxes to pay on it, into the bargain. If you gentlemen cando anything, for God’s sake do it! If not, it would pay me to burn itdown.”

The Villa Maggiore stood about half a mile from the town on the slope ofa low hill. Mr. Belchamber{144} conducted them so far, and even up to thehall door. It was certainly a depressing place, with a huge, gambrelroof which came down over the upper windows and nearly obscured them.There was a half-moon, and by its light they could see that the gardenwas a tangle of scraggy, winter vegetation, which had, in some places,almost overgrown the path. It was all very still, very gloomy and veryominous.

“The door is not locked,” said the owner. “You will find some chairs anda table in the sitting-room on the left of the hall. I had a fire litthere, and there is a bucketful of coals. You will be prettycomfortable, I hope. You won’t blame me for not coming in, but my nervesare not so good as they were.” With a few apologetic words, the ownerslipped away, and they were alone with their task.

Lord Roxton had brought a strong electric torch. On opening the mildeweddoor, he flashed a tunnel of light down the passage, uncarpeted anddreary, which ended in a broad, straight, wooden staircase leading tothe upper floor. There were doors on either side of the passage. That onthe right led into a large, cheerless, empty room, with a derelictlawn-mower in one corner and a pile of old books and journals. There wasa corresponding room upon the left which was a much more cheeryapartment. A brisk fire burned in the grate, there were threecomfortable chairs, and a deal table with a water carafe, a bucket ofcoals, 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 LordRoxton completed his preparations. From a little hand-bag he extractedhis automatic pistol, which he put upon the mantelpiece. Then heproduced a packet of candles, placing two of them in the hall. Finallyhe took a{145} ball of worsted and tied strings of it across the backpassage and across the opposite door.

“We will have one look round,” said he, when his preparations werecomplete. “Then we can wait down here and take what comes.”

The upper passage led at right angles to left and right from the top ofthe straight staircase. On the right were two large, bare, dusty rooms,with the wall-paper hanging in strips and the floor littered withscattered plaster. On the left was a single large room in the samederelict condition. Out of it was the bathroom of tragic memory, withthe high, zinc bath still in position. Great splotches of red lay withinit, and though they were only rust stains, they seemed to be terriblereminders from the past. Malone was surprised to see the clergymanstagger and support himself against the door. His face was ghastly whiteand there was moisture on his brow. His two comrades supported him downthe stairs, and he sat for a little, as one exhausted, before he spoke.

“Did you two really feel nothing?” he asked. “The fact is that I ammediumistic myself and very open to psychic impressions. This particularone was horrible beyond description.”

“It is difficult to describe these things. It was a sinking of my heart,a feeling of utter desolation. All my senses were affected. My eyes wentdim. I smelt a terrible odour of putrescence. The strength seemed to besapped out of me. Believe me, Lord Roxton, it is no light thing which weare facing to-night.”

The sportsman was unusually grave. “So I begin to think,” said he. “Doyou think you are fit for the job?”

“I am sorry to have been so weak,” Mr. Mason{146} answered. “I shallcertainly see the thing through. The worse the case, the more need formy help. I am all right now,” he added, with his cheery laugh, drawingan old charred briar from his pocket. “This is the best doctor forshaken nerves. I’ll sit here and smoke till I’m wanted.”

“That’s what I cannot understand, in spite of all my reading,” saidMalone. “These authorities are all agreed that there is a materialbasis, and that this material basis is drawn from the human body. Callit ectoplasm, or what you like, it is human in origin, is it not?”

“Well, then are we to suppose that this Dr. Tremayne builds up his ownappearance by drawing stuff from me and you?”

“I think, so far as I understand it, that in most cases a spirit doesso. I believe that when the spectator feels that he goes cold, that hishair rises and the rest of it, he is really conscious of this draft uponhis own vitality which may be enough to make him faint or even to killhim. Perhaps he was drawing on me then.”

“There is a very full case that I read lately,” Mr. Mason answered. “Itwas closely observed—reported by Professor Neillson of Iceland. In thatcase the evil spirit used to go down to an unfortunate photographer inthe town, draw his supplies from him, and{147} then come back and use them.He would openly say, ‘Give me time to get down to So-and-so. Then I willshow you what I can do.’ He was a most formidable creature and they hadgreat difficulty in mastering him.”

“Strikes me, young fellah, we have taken on a larger contract than weknew,” said Lord Roxton. “Well, we’ve done what we could. The passage iswell lit. No one can come at us except down the stair without breakingthe worsted. There is nothing more we can do except just to wait.”

So they waited. It was a weary time. A carriage clock had been placed onthe discoloured wooden mantelpiece, and slowly its hands crept on fromone to two and from two to three. Outside an owl was hooting mostdismally in the darkness. The villa was on a by-road, and there was nohuman sound to link them up with life. The padre lay dozing in hischair. Malone smoked incessantly. Lord Roxton turned over the pages of amagazine. There were the occasional strange tappings and creakings whichcome in the silence of the night. Nothing else until....

There could not be a doubt of it. It was a furtive, and yet a clearfootstep. Creak! Creak! Creak! Then it had reached the level. Then ithad reached their door. They were all sitting erect in their chairs,Roxton grasping his automatic. Had it come in? The door was ajar, buthad not further opened. Yet all were aware of a sense that they were notalone, that they were being observed. It seemed suddenly colder, andMalone was shivering. An instant later the steps were retreating. Theywere low and swift—much swifter than before. One could imagine that amessenger was speeding back with intelligence to{148} some great master wholurked in the shadows above.

“By Jove!” said Lord Roxton at last. His face was pale but firm. Malonescribbled some notes and the hour. The clergyman was praying.

“Well, we are up against it,” said Roxton after a pause. “We can’t leaveit at that. We have to go through with it. I don’t mind tellin’ you,padre, that I’ve followed a wounded tiger in a thick jungle and neverhad quite the feelin’ I’ve got now. If I’m out for sensations, I’ve gotthem. But I’m going upstairs.”

“Stay here, young fellah! And you, too, padre. Three of us make too muchnoise. I’ll call you if I want you. My idea is just to steal out andwait quiet on the stair. If that thing, whatever it was, comes again, itwill have to pass me.”

All three went into the passage. The two candles were throwing outlittle circles of light, and the stair was dimly illuminated, with heavyshadows at the top. Roxton sat down half-way up the stair, pistol inhand. He put his finger to his lips and impatiently waved his companionsback to the room. Then they sat by the fire, waiting, waiting.

Half an hour, three-quarters—and then, suddenly it came. There was asound as of rushing feet, the reverberation of a shot, a scuffle and aheavy fall, with a loud cry for help. Shaking with horror, they rushedinto the hall. Lord Roxton was lying on his face amid a litter ofplaster and rubbish. He seemed half-dazed as they raised him, and wasbleeding where the skin had been grazed from his cheek and hands.Looking up the stair, it seemed that{149} the shadows were blacker andthicker at the top.

“I’m all right,” said Roxton, as they led him to his chair. “Just giveme a minute to get my wind and I’ll have another round with thedevil—for if this is not the devil, then none ever walked the earth.”

“I hardly know myself. I sat, as you saw, with my back to the toplanding. Suddenly I heard a rush. I was aware of something dark right onthe top of me. I half-turned and fired. The next instant I was chuckeddown as if I had been a baby. All that plaster came showering down afterme. That’s as much as I can tell you.”

“Why should we go further in the matter?” said Malone. “You areconvinced that this is more than human, are you not?”

“Well, I, at least, want something more,” said Mr. Mason. “I think ourhelp is needed.”

“Strikes me thatwe shall need the help,” said Lord Roxton, rubbinghis knee. “We shall want a doctor before we get through. But I’m withyou, padre. I feel that we must see it through. If you don’t like it,young fellah——”

They stood together in the candle-lit, shadow-draped passage. Malone hadhis hand on the balustrade and his foot on the lower step, when ithappened.

What was it? They could not tell themselves. They only knew that theblack shadows at the top of the staircase had thickened, had coalesced,had taken a definite, batlike shape. Great God! They were moving! Theywere rushing swiftly and noiselessly downwards! Black, black as night,huge, ill-defined, semi-human and altogether evil and damnable. Allthree men screamed and blundered for the door. Lord Roxton caught thehandle and threw it open. It was too late; the thing was upon them. Theywere conscious of a warm, glutinous contact, of a purulent smell, of ahalf-formed, dreadful face and of entwining limbs. An instant later allthree were lying half-dazed and horrified, hurled outwards on to thegravel of the drive. The door had shut with a crash.

Malone whimpered and Roxton swore, but the clergyman was silent as theygathered themselves together, each of them badly shaken and bruised, butwith an inward horror which made all bodily ill seem insignificant.There they stood in a little group in the light of the sinking moon,their eyes turned upon the black square of the door.

“More than enough,” said Malone. “I wouldn’t enter that house again foranything Fleet Street could offer.”

“Foul!” said Roxton. “Foul! Did you get the reek of it? And the purulentwarmth?”

Malone gave a cry of disgust. “Featureless—save for the dreadful eyes!Semi-materialised! Horrible!”

“Well, Belchamber can come in the morning. Maybe he is waiting for usnow at the inn.”

Malone and Roxton turned away, but the clergyman stood fast. He haddrawn a crucifix from his pocket.

“Padre, this is madness! It will break your neck. We were all likestuffed dolls in its clutch.”

But it was too late. With a few quick steps, Mr. Mason had reached thedoor, flung it open, passed in and closed it behind him. As his comradestried to follow, they heard a creaking clang upon the further side. Thepadre had bolted them out. There was a great slit where the letter-boxhad been. Through it Lord Roxton entreated him to return.

“Stay there!” said the quick, stern voice of the clergyman. “I have mywork to do. I will come when it is done.”

A moment later he began to speak. His sweet, homely, affectionateaccents rang through the hall.{152} They could only hear snatches outside,bits of prayer, bits of exhortation, bits of kindly greeting. Lookingthrough the narrow opening, Malone could see the straight, dark figurein the candle-light, its back to the door, its face to the shadows ofthe stair, the crucifix held aloft in its right hand.

His voice sank into silence and then there came one more of the miraclesof this eventful night. A voice answered him. It was such a sound asneither of the auditors had heard before—a guttural, rasping, croakingutterance, indescribably menacing. What it said was short, but it wasinstantly answered by the clergyman, his tone sharpened to a fine edgeby emotion. His utterance seemed to be exhortation and was at onceanswered by the ominous voice from beyond. Again and again, and yetagain came 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 Malonecrouched by the door, catching snatches of that inconceivable 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 inthe darkness beyond him. A moment later the light went out in theleft-hand window, the bolt was drawn, and the clergyman emerged carryingLord Roxton’s bag. His face looked ghastly in the moonlight, but hismanner was brisk and happy.

“By Jove! You don’t give us the slip again!{153}” cried the nobleman.“Padre, you should have a row of Victoria Crosses.”

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

“I humbly hope so. I was but the instrument of the higher forces. Thehouse is haunted no longer. He promised. But I will not speak of it now.It may be easier in days to come.”

The landlord and the maids stared at the three adventurers in amazementwhen, in the chill light of the winter dawn, they presented themselvesat the inn once more. Each of them seemed to have aged five years in thenight. Mr. Mason, with the reaction upon him, threw himself down uponthe horsehair sofa in the humble coffee-room and was instantly asleep.

“Poor chap! He looks pretty bad!” said Malone. Indeed, his white,haggard face and long, limp limbs might have been those of a corpse.

“We will get a cup of hot tea into him,” Lord Roxton answered, warminghis hands at the fire, which the maid had just lit. “By Jove! We shallbe none the worse for some ourselves. Well, young fellah, we’ve got whatwe came for. I’ve had my sensation, and you’ve had your copy.”

“And he has had the saving of a soul. Well, we must admit that ourobjects seem very humble compared to his.”

They caught the early train to London, and had a carriage to themselves.Mason had said little and seemed to be lost in thought. Suddenly, heturned to his companions.{154}

Lord Roxton made a grimace. “I warn you, padre, I am rather out ofpractice.”

They knelt down, side by side, the padre in the middle. Malone made amental note of the prayer.

“Father, we are all Your children, poor, weak, helpless creatures,swayed by Fate and circumstance. I implore You that You will turn eyesof compassion upon the man, Rupert Tremayne, who wandered far from You,and is now in the dark. He has sunk deep, very deep, for he had a proudheart which would not soften, and a cruel mind, which was filled withhate. But now he would turn to the light, and so I beg help for him andfor the woman, Emma, who, for the love of him, has gone down into thedarkness. 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, forto-night, move up towards that glorious light which sooner or latershines upon even the lowest.”

“That’s better!” cried the Padre, thumping his chest with his bony hand,and breaking out into his expansive, toothsome grin. “What a night! GoodLord, what a night!”[B]

CHAPTER IX

WHICH INTRODUCES SOME VERY PHYSICAL PHENOMENA

MALONE seemed destined to be entangled in the affairs of the Lindenfamily, for he had hardly seen the last of the unfortunate Tom before hebecame involved in a very much more unpleasant fashion with hisunsavoury brother.

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

“I say, Malone, you are a hefty man. You played Rugger for Ireland, didyou not? You don’t mind a possible rough-and-tumble, do you?”

“It may really be rather formidable. We shall have possibly to tackle aprizefighter.”

“And we want another man for the job. Do you know any fellow who wouldcome along just for the sake of the adventure. If he knows anythingabout psychic matters, all the better.”

“There is Roxton,” said he. “He’s not a chicken, but he is a useful manin a row. I think I could get{156} him. He has been keen on your subjectsince his Dorsetshire experience.”

“Right! Bring him along! If he can’t come, we shall have to tackle thejob ourselves. Forty-one, Belshaw Gardens, S.W. Near Earl’s CourtStation. Three p.m. Right!”

“What’s that, young fellah?... A scrap? Why, certainly. What!... I meanI had a golf match at Richmond Deer Park, but this sounds moreattractive. What! Very good. I’ll meet you there.”

And so it came about that at the hour of three, Mailey, Lord Roxton andMalone found themselves seated round the fire in the comfortabledrawing-room of the barrister. His wife, a sweet and beautiful woman,who was his helpmate in his spiritual as well as in his material life,was there to welcome them.

“Now, dear, you are not on in this act,” said Mailey. “You will retirediscreetly into the wings. Don’t worry if you hear a row.”

“I think your furniture may possibly get hurt. You have nothing else tofear, dear. And it’s all for the good of the Cause. That always settlesit,” he explained, as his wife reluctantly left the room. “I reallythink she would go to the stake for the Cause. Her great, loving,womanly heart knows what it would mean for this grey earth if peoplecould get away from the shadow of death and value this great happinessthat is to come, By Jove! she is an inspiration to me.... Well,” he wenton with a laugh, “I must not get on to that subject. We have some{157}thingvery different to think of—something as hideous and vile as she isbeautiful and good. It concerns Tom Linden’s brother.”

“I’ve heard of the fellow,” said Malone. “I used to box a bit and I amstill a member of the N.S.C. Silas Linden was very nearly Champion inthe Welters.”

“That’s the man. He is out of a job and thought he would take upmediumship. Naturally I and other Spiritualists took him seriously, forwe all love his brother, and these powers often run in families, so thathis claim seemed reasonable. So we gave him a trial last night.”

“I suspected the fellow from the first. You understand that it is hardlypossible for a medium to deceive an experienced Spiritualist. When thereis deception it is at the expense of outsiders. I watched him carefullyfrom the first, and I seated myself near the cabinet. Presently heemerged clad in white. I broke the contact by prearrangement with mywife who sat next me, and I felt him as he passed me. He was, of course,in white. I had a pair of scissors in my pocket and I snipped off a bitfrom the edge.”

“There it is, you see. Very ordinary linen. I have no doubt the fellowwas wearing his nightgown.”

“There were several ladies there, and I was the only really able-bodiedman in the room.”

“I have appointed that he come here at three-thirty. He is due now.Unless he has noticed the{158} small cut in his linen, I don’t think he hasany suspicion why I want him.”

“Well, that depends on him. We have to stop him at any cost. That is theway our Cause gets bemired. Some villain who knows nothing about itcomes into it for money and so the labours of honest mediums getdiscounted. The public very naturally brackets them all together. Withyour help I can talk to this fellow on equal terms which I certainlycould not do if I were alone. By Jove! here he is!”

There was a heavy step outside. The door was opened and Silas Linden,fake medium and ex-prizefighter, walked in. His small piggy grey eyesunder their shaggy brows looked round with suspicion at the three men.Then he forced a smile and nodded to Mailey.

“Sit down, Linden,” said Mailey, indicating a chair. “It’s about lastnight that I want to talk to you. You cheated us.”

“It was cut out of the white gown you wore. I cut it out myself as youstood in front of me. If you examine the gown you will find the place.It’s no{159} use, Linden. The game is up. You can’t deny it.”

For a moment the man was completely taken aback. Then he burst into astream of horrible profanity.

“What’s the game?” he cried, glaring round him. “Do you think I am easyand that you can play me for a sucker? Is it a frame-up, or what? You’vechose the wrong man for a try-on of that sort.”

“There is no use being noisy or violent, Linden,” said Mailey quietly.“I could bring you up in the police court to-morrow. I don’t want anypublic scandal, for your brother’s sake. But you don’t leave this roomuntil you have signed a paper that I have here on my desk.”

“You will! Well, try that!” He stood before them with rage in his eyesand his great hands knotted. “Will you get out of the way?”

They did not answer, but they all three gave the fighting snarl which isperhaps the oldest of all human expressions. The next instant Linden wasupon them, his fists flashing out with terrific force. Mailey, who hadboxed in his youth, stopped one blow, but the next beat in his guard andhe fell with a crash against the door. Lord Roxton was hurled to oneside, but Malone, with a footballer’s instinct, ducked his head andcaught the prizefighter round the knees. If a man is too good for you onhis feet, then put him on his back, for he cannot be scientific there.Over went Linden, crashing through an armchair before he reached theground. He staggered to one knee and got in a short jolt to the chin,but Malone had him down again and Roxton’s bony hand had closed upon histhroat. Silas Linden{160} had a yellow streak in him and he was cowed.

He lay now spread-eagled upon his back. Malone and Roxton were bendingover him. Mailey had gathered himself together, pale and shaken afterhis fall.

“I’m all right!” he cried, in answer to a feminine voice at the otherside of the door. “No, not yet, dear, but we shall soon be ready foryou. Now, Linden, there’s no need for you to get up, for you can talkvery nicely where you are. You’ve got to sign this paper before youleave the room.”

“What is the paper?” croaked Linden, as Roxton’s grip upon his throatrelaxed.

“Shall I give him another squeeze?” asked Lord Roxton. “Perhaps I couldchoke some sense into him—what!”

“Not at all,” said Mailey. “I think that his case now would do good inthe police court, for it would show the public that we are determined tokeep our house clean. I’ll give you one minute for consideration,Linden, and then I ring up the police.”

He was allowed to rise with a warning that if he played any tricks hewould not get off so lightly the second time. But there was no kick leftin him and he scrawled a big, coarse “Silas Linden” at the bottom of thepaper without a word. The three men signed as witnesses.

“Now, get out!” said Mailey, sharply. “Find some honest trade in futureand leave sacred things alone!”

“Keep your bloody cant to yourself!” Linden answered, and so departed,grumbling and swearing, into the outer darkness from which he had come.He had hardly passed before Mrs. Mailey had rushed into the room toreassure herself as to her husband. Once satisfied as to this shemourned over her broken chair, for like all good women she took apersonal pride and joy in every detail of her littleménage.

“Never mind, dear. It’s a cheap price to pay in order to get thatblackguard out of the movement. Don’t go away, you fellows. I want totalk to you.”

“Perhaps something stronger would be better,” said Mailey, and indeed,all three were rather exhausted, for it was sharp while it lasted.Roxton, who had enjoyed the whole thing immensely, was full of vitality,but Malone was shaken and Mailey had narrowly escaped serious injuryfrom that ponderous blow.

“I have heard,” said Mailey, as they all settled down round the fire,“that this blackguard has sweated money out of poor Tom Linden foryears. It was a form of blackmail, for he was quite capable ofdenouncing him. By Jove!” he cried, with sudden inspiration, “that wouldaccount for the police raid.{162} Why should they pick Linden out of all themediums in London? I remember now that Tom told me the fellow had askedto be taught to be a medium, and that he had refused to teach him.”

Mailey was thoughtful over this question. “Well, perhaps he could,” hesaid at last. “But Silas Linden as a false medium would be very muchless dangerous than Silas Linden as a true medium.”

“Mediumship can be developed,” said Mrs. Mailey. “One might almost sayit was catching.”

“That was what the laying-on of hands meant in the early Church,” Maileyexplained. “It was the conferring of thaumaturgic powers. We can’t do itnow as rapidly as that. But if a man or woman sits with the desire ofdevelopment, and especially if that sitting is in the presence of a realmedium, the chance is that powers will come.”

“Because it could be used for evil. I assure you, Malone, that the talkof black magic and of evil entities is not an invention of the enemy.Such things do happen and centre round the wicked medium. You can getdown into a region which is akin to the popular idea of witchcraft. Itis dishonest to deny it.”

“Like attracts like,” explained Mrs. Mailey, who was quite as capable anexponent as her husband. “You get what you deserve. If you sit withwicked people you get wicked visitors.”

“Do you know anything on earth which has not a dangerous side if it ismishandled and exaggerated? This dangerous side exists quite apart fromorthodox{163} Spiritualism, and our knowledge is the surest way tocounteract it. I believe that the witchcraft of the Middle Ages was avery real thing, and that the best way to meet such practices is tocultivate the higher powers of the spirit. To leave the thing entirelyalone is to abandon the field to the forces of evil.”

“When I was in Paris last year,” said he, “there was a fellah called LaPaix who dabbled in the black magic business. He held circles and thelike. What I mean, there was no great harm in the thing, but it wasn’twhat you would call very spiritual, either.”

“It’s a side that I as a journalist would like to see something of, if Iam to report impartially upon this subject,” said Malone.

“Well, young fellah, if you give me a week of your time and come toParis, I’ll introduce you to La Paix,” said Roxton.

“It is a curious thing, but I also had a Paris visit in my mind for ourfriend here,” said Mailey. “I have been asked over by Dr. Maupuis of theInstitute Métapsychique to see some of the experiments which he isconducting upon a Galician medium. It is really the religious side ofthis matter which interests me, and that is conspicuously wanting in theminds of these scientific men of the Continent but for accurate, carefulexamination of the psychic facts they are ahead of anyone except poorCrawford of Belfast, who stood in a class by himself. I promised Maupuisto run across, and he has certainly been having some wonderful—in somerespects, some rather alarming results.”

“Well, his materialisations lately have not been human at all. That isconfirmed by photographs. I won’t say more, for it is best that, if yougo, you should approach it with an open mind.”

“I shall certainly go,” said Malone. “I am sure my chief would wish it.”

Tea had arrived to interrupt the conversation in the irritating way thatour bodily needs intrude upon our higher pursuits. But Malone was tookeen to be thrown off his scent.

“I understood that when there was an intrusion of that kind you drove itaway.”

“Not necessarily. If we can help any lower spirit we do so, and we canonly do it by encouraging it to tell us its troubles. Most of them arenot wicked. They are poor, ignorant, stunted creatures who are sufferingthe effects of the narrow and false views which they have learned inthis world. We try to help them—and we do.”

“Because they report to us afterwards and register their progress. Suchmethods are often used by our people. They are called ‘rescue circles.’”

“I have heard of rescue circles. Where could I attend one? This thingattracts me more and more. Fresh gulfs seem always opening. I would takeit as a great favour if you would help me to see this fresh side of it.”

“We don’t want to make a spectacle of these poor{165} creatures. On theother hand, though we can hardly claim you yet as a Spiritualist, youhave treated the subject with some understanding and sympathy.” Helooked enquiringly at his wife, who smiled and nodded.

“Ah, you have permission. Well then, you must know that we run our ownlittle rescue circle, and that at five o’clock to-day we have our weeklysitting. Mr. Terbane is our medium. We don’t usually have anyone elseexcept Mr. Charles Mason, the clergyman. But if you both care to havethe experience, we shall be very happy if you will stay. Terbane shouldbe here immediately after tea. He is a railway-porter, you know, so histime is not his own. Yes, psychic power in its varied manifestations isfound in humble quarters, but surely that has been its maincharacteristic from the beginning—fishermen, carpenters, tent-makers,camel drivers, these were the prophets of old. At this moment some ofthe highest psychic gifts in England lie in a miner, a cotton operative,a railway-porter, a bargeman and a charwoman. Thus does history repeatitself, and that foolish beak, with Tom Linden before him, was but Felixjudging Paul. The old wheel goes round.{166}”

CHAPTER X

DE PROFUNDIS

THEY were still having tea when Mr. Charles Mason was ushered in.Nothing draws people together into such intimate soul-to-soulrelationship as psychic quest, and thus it was that Roxton and Malone,who had only known him in the one episode, felt more near to this manthan to others with whom they had associated for years. This close vitalcomradeship is one of the outstanding features of such communion. Whenhis loosely-built, straggling, lean, clerical figure appeared, with thatgaunt, worn face illuminated by its human grin and dignified by itsearnest eyes, through the doorway, they both felt as if an old friendhad entered. His own greeting was equally cordial.

“Still exploring!” he cried, as he shook them by the hand. “We will hopeyour new experiences will not be so nerve-racking as our last.”

“By Jove, padre!” said Roxton. “I’ve worn out the brim of my hat takingit off to you since then.”

“No, no!” cried Mason. “I tried in my poor way to guide a darkened soul.Let us leave it at that. But that is exactly what we are here for now,and what these dear people do every week of their lives. It was from Mr.Mailey here that I learned how to attempt it.”

“Well, certainly we have plenty of practice,” said{167} Mailey. “You haveseen enough of it, Mason, to know that.”

“But I can’t get the focus of this at all!” cried Malone. “Could youclear my mind a little on the point? I accept for the moment yourhypothesis, that we are surrounded by material earth-bound spirits whofind themselves under strange conditions which they don’t understand,and who want counsel and guidance. That more or less expresses it, doesit not?”

“Well, their dead friends and relatives are presumably on the other sideand cognisant of their benighted condition. They know the truth. Couldthey not minister to the wants of these afflicted ones far better thanwe can?”

“It is a most natural question,” Mailey answered. “Of course we put thatobjection to them and we can only accept their answer. They appear to beactually anchored to the surface of this earth, too heavy and gross torise. The others are, presumably, on a spiritual level and far separatedfrom them. They explain that they are much nearer to us and that theyare cognisant of us, but not of anything higher. Therefore it is we whocan reach them best.”

“My wife loves everybody and everything,” Mailey explained. “She iscapable of talking of the poor dear devil.”

“Well, surely they are to be pitied and loved!” cried the lady. “Thispoor fellow was nursed along by us week by week. He had really come fromthe depths. Then one day he cried in rapture, ‘My mother has come! Mymother is here!’ We naturally said, ‘But why did she not come before?{168}’‘How could she,’ said he, ‘when I was in so dark a place that she couldnot see me?’”

“That’s very well,” said Malone, “but so far as I can follow yourmethods it is some guide or control or higher spirit who regulates thewhole matter and brings the sufferer to you. If he can be cognisant, onewould think other higher spirits could also be.”

“No, for it is his particular mission,” said Mailey. “To show how markedthe divisions are I can remember one occasion when we had a dark soulhere. Our own people came through and did not know he was there until wecalled their attention to it. When we said to the dark soul, ‘Don’t yousee our friends beside you?’ he answered, ‘I can see a light but nothingelse.’”

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr.John Terbane from Victoria Station, where his mundane duties lay. He wasdressed now in civil garb and appeared as a pale, sad-faced,clean-shaven, plump-featured man with dreamy, thoughtful eyes, but noother indication of the remarkable uses to which he was put.

Mrs. Mailey, smiling, handed him an envelope. “We kept it all ready foryou but you can read it at home. You see,” she explained, “poor Mr.Terbane is in trance and knows nothing of the wonderful work of which heis the instrument, so after each sitting my husband and I draw up anaccount for him.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Terbane answered humbly. “I don’t seethat the tool need be{169} proud because the worker happens to use it. Yetit is a privilege, of course.”

“Good old Terbane!” said Mailey, laying his hand affectionately on therailwayman’s shoulder. “The better the medium the more unselfish. Thatis my experience. The whole conception of a medium is one who giveshimself up for the use of others, and that is incompatible withselfishness. Well, I suppose we had better get to work or Mr. Chang willscold us.”

“Oh, you will soon make the acquaintance of Mr. Chang! We need not sitround the table. A semicircle round the fire does very well. Lightshalf-down. That is all right. You’ll make yourself comfortable, Terbane.Snuggle among the cushions.”

The medium was in the corner of a comfortable sofa, and had fallen atonce into a doze. Both Mailey and Malone sat with note books upon theirknees awaiting developments.

They were not long in coming. Terbane suddenly sat up, his dreamy selftransformed into a very alert and masterful individuality. A subtlechange had passed over his face. An ambiguous smile fluttered upon hislips, his eyes seemed more oblique and less open, his face projected.The two hands were thrust into the sleeves of his blue lounge jacket.

“Good evening,” said he, speaking crisply and in short staccatosentences. “New faces! Who these?”

“Good evening, Chang,” said the master of the house. “You know Mr.Mason. This is Mr. Malone who studies our subject. This is Lord Roxtonwho has helped me to-day.”

As each name was mentioned, Terbane made a{170} sweeping Oriental gesture ofgreeting, bringing his hand down from his forehead. His whole bearingwas superbly dignified and very different from the humble little man whohad sat down a few minutes before.

“Lord Roxton!” he repeated. “An English milord! I knew Lord—LordMacart. No! I cannot say it. Alas! I called him ‘foreign devil’ then.Chang, too, had much to learn.”

“He is speaking of Lord Macartney. That would be over a hundred yearsago. Chang was a great living philosopher then,” Mailey explained.

“Not lose time!” cried the control. “Much to do to-day! Crowd waiting.Some new, some old. I gather strange folk in my net. Now I go.” He sankback among the cushions.

“I want to thank you,” he said, speaking perfect English. “I came twoweeks ago. I have thought over all you said. The path is lighter.”

“Yes, yes! I said so in my anger. I was so weary—so weary. Oh, thetime, the endless time, the grey mist, the heavy weight of remorse!Hopeless! Hopeless! And you brought me comfort, you and this greatChinese spirit. You gave me the first kind words I have had since Idied!”

“Oh! It seems an eternity. We do not measure as you do. It is a long,horrible dream without change or break.”

“Victoria was queen. I had attuned my mind to matter and so it clung tomatter. I did not believe in a future life. Now I know that I was allwrong,{171} but I could not adapt my mind to new conditions.”

“It is all—all grey. That is the awful part of it. One’s surroundingsare so horrible.”

“No, but they know no more than I. They, too scoff and doubt and aremiserable.”

“Poor soul!” said Mrs. Mailey in her sweet, caressing voice, a voicewhich could bring every animal to her side. “You have suffered much. Butdo not think of yourself. Think of these others. Try to bring one ofthem up and so you will best help yourself.”

“Thank you, lady, I will. There is one here whom I brought. He has heardyou. We will go on together. Perhaps some day we may find the light.”

“I will pray for you,” said Mason. “Could you say the ‘Our Father’ now?”He uttered the old universal prayer, but before he had finished Terbanehad collapsed again among the cushions. He sat up again as Chang.

“He come on well,” said the control. “He give up time for others whowait. That is good. Now I have hard case. Ow!”

“What is this?” he asked in a precise and affected voice. “I am at aloss to know what right this{172} Chinese person has to summon me here.Perhaps you can enlighten me.”

“When I desire help, sir, I ask for it. At present I do not desire it.The whole proceeding seems to me to be a very great liberty. So far asthis Chinaman can explain it, I gather that I am the involuntaryspectator of some sort of religious service.”

“A most pernicious sect. A most blasphemous proceeding. As a humbleparish priest I protest against such desecrations.”

“You are held back, friend, by those narrow views. It is you who suffer.We want to relieve you.”

“Yes, an asylum for bad cases. I fear you are one of them. Are you happywhere you are?”

“Sir, I must give you some religious instruction. When one dies and hasled an honourable life, one assumes a glorified body and one associateswith the angels. I am now in exactly the same body as in life, and I amin a very dull, drab place. Such compan{173}ions as I have are not such as Ihave been accustomed to associate with in life, and certainly no onecould describe them as angels. Therefore your absurd conjecture may bedismissed.”

“Do not continue to deceive yourself. We wish to help you. You can neverprogress until you realise your position.”

The medium fell back among the cushions. An instant later the Chinesecontrol, with his whimsical smile and his hands tucked away in hissleeves, was talking to the circle.

“He good man—fool man—learn sense soon. Bring him again. Not wastemore time. Oh, my God! My God! Help! Mercy! Help!”

He had fallen full length upon the sofa, face upwards, and his crieswere so terrible that the little audience all sprang to their feet. “Asaw! A saw! Fetch a saw!” yelled the medium. His voice sank into a moan.

“Someone has obsessed him. I can’t understand it. It may be some strongevil entity.”

The medium writhed in agony. “Oh, my God! Why don’t you fetch a saw!” hecried. “It’s here across my breast-bone. It is cracking! I feel it!Hawkin! Hawkin! Pull me from under! Hawkin! Push up the beam! No, no,that’s worse! And it’s on fire! Oh, horrible! Horrible!”

His cries were blood-curdling. They were all chilled with horror. Thenin an instant the China{174}man was blinking at them with his slanting eyes.

“It was for him,” nodding towards Malone. “He want newspaper story, Igive him newspaper story. He will understand. No time ’splain now. Toomany waiting. Sailor man come next. Here he comes!”

The Chinaman was gone, and a jovial, puzzled grin passed over the faceof the medium. He scratched his head.

“Well, damn me,” said he. “I never thought I would take orders from aChink, but he says ‘hist!’ and by crums you’ve got to hist and no backtalk 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’veseen the gunnery lootenant, and he was blown to bits before my eyes. Ifhe’s dead I’m dead and all the rest of us, for we are over to the lastman. But we’ve got the laugh on our sky-pilot, for he’s as puzzled asthe rest of us. Damned poor pilot, I call him. We’re all taking our ownsounding now.”

“That’s right. South American waters. It was clean hell. Yes, it washell.” There was a world of emotion in his voice. “Well,” he added morecheer{175}fully, “I’ve heard our mates got level with them later. That isso, sir, is it not?”

“We’ve seen nothing of them this side. Just as well, maybe. We don’tforget nothing.”

“But you must,” said Mailey. “That’s what is the matter with you. Thatis why the Chinese control brought you through. We are here to teachyou. Carry our message to your mates.”

“Well, then, I tell you and them that the time for hard thoughts andworldly strife is over. Your faces are to be turned forward, not back.Leave this earth which still holds you by the ties of thought and letall your desire be to make yourself unselfish and worthy of a higher,more peaceful, more beautiful life. Can you understand?”

“I hear you, sir. So do they. We want steering, sir, for, indeed, we’vehad wrong instructions, and we never expected to find ourselves castaway like this. We had heard of heaven and we had heard of hell, butthis don’t seem to fit in with either. But this Chinese gent, says timeis up, and we can report again next week. I thank you, sir, for self andcompany. I’ll come again.”

“What an incredible conversation!” gasped Malone. “If I were to put downthat man’s sailor talk and slang as emanating from a world of spirits,what would the public say?”

“Does it matter what the public says? I started as a fairly sensitiveperson, and now a tank takes as much notice of small shot as I do ofnewspaper at{176}tacks. They honestly don’t even interest me. Let us juststick fast to truth as near as we can get it, and leave all else to findits own level.”

“I don’t pretend to know much of these things,” said Roxton, “but whatstrikes me most is that these folk are very decent ordinary people.What? Why should they be wanderin’ about in the dark, and hauled up hereby this Chinaman when they’ve done no partic’lar harm in life?”

“It is the strong earth tie and the absence of any spiritual nexus ineach case,” Mailey explained. “Here is a clergyman with his mindentangled with formulas and ritual. Here is a materialist who hasdeliberately attuned himself to matter. Here is a seaman brooding overrevengeful thoughts. They are there by the million million.”

“Here,” Mailey answered. “Actually on the surface of the earth. Well,you saw it for yourself, I understand, when you went down toDorsetshire. That was on the surface, was it not? That was a very grosscase, and that made it more visible and obvious, but it did not changethe general law. I believe that the whole globe is infested with theearthbound, and that when a great cleansing comes, as is prophesied, itwill be for their benefit as much as for that of the living.”

Malone thought of the strange visionary Miromar and his speech at theSpiritualistic Church on the first night of his quest.

Mailey smiled. “That is rather a large subject to open up,” he said. “Ibelieve—But here is Mr. Chang again!{177}”

“I heard you. I sit and listen,” said he. “You speak now of what is tocome. Let it be! Let it be! The Time is not yet. You will be told whenit is good that you know. Remember this. All is best. Whatever come allis best. God makes no mistakes. Now others here who wish your help, Ileave you.”

Several spirits came through in quick succession. One was an architectwho said that he had lived at Bristol. He had not been an evil man, buthad simply banished all thoughts of the future. Now he was in the darkand needed guidance. Another had lived in Birmingham. He was an educatedman but a materialist. He refused to accept the assurances of Mailey,and was by no means convinced that he was really dead. Then came a verynoisy and violent man of a crudely-religious and narrowly-intoleranttype, who spoke repeatedly of “the blood.”

“It is part of his deceit. I tell you it is of the devil! Be warned! Iwill take no further part in it.”

The placid, whimsical Chinaman was back like a flash. “Good man. Foolishman,” he repeated once more. “Plenty time. He learn better some day. NowI bring bad case—very bad case. Ow!”

He reclined his head in the cushion and did not raise it as the voice, afeminine voice, broke out:

“Janet, I say! Where is the morning tea? Janet! This is intolerable! Ihave called you again and again! Janet!” The figure sat up, blinking andrubbing his eyes.

“What is this?” cried the voice. “Who are you? What right have you here?Are you aware that this is my house?”

“Your house! How can it be your house when this is my bedroom? Go awaythis moment!”

“I will have you put out. What insolence! Janet! Janet! Will no one lookafter me this morning?”

“It is a room I never saw in my life. Where am I? What is the meaning ofit? You look like a kind lady. Tell me, for God’s sake, what is themeaning of it? Oh, I am so terrified! So terrified! Where are John andJanet?”

“I remember speaking severely to Janet. She is my maid, you know. Shehas become so very careless. Yes, I was very angry with her. I was soangry that I was ill. I went to bed feeling very ill. They told me thatI should not get excited. How can one help getting excited? Yes, Iremember being breathless. That was after the light was out. I tried tocall Janet. But why should I be in another 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! How can I be dead? I wasnot ready to die! I never thought of such a thing. If I am dead, why amI not in heaven or hell? What is this room? This room is a real room.”

“Yes, lady, you have been brought here and allowed to use this man’sbody——”

“A man?” She convulsively felt the coat and passed her hand over theface. “Yes, it is a man. Oh, I am dead! I am dead! What shall I do?”

“You are here that we may explain to you. You have been, I judge, aworldly woman—a society woman. You have lived always for materialthings.”

“That is nothing. It is the inner daily life that counts. You werematerial. Now you are held down to the world. When you leave this man’sbody you will be in your own body once more and in your oldsurroundings. But no one will see you. You will remain there unable toshow yourself. Your body of flesh will be buried. You will stillpersist, the same as ever.”

“You will take what comes in a good spirit and understand that it is foryour cleansing. We only clear ourselves of matter by suffering. All willbe well. We will pray for you.”

“Bad case,” said the Chinaman, sitting up. “Selfish woman! Bad woman!Live for pleasure. Hard on those around her. She have much to suffer.{180}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, lightest above. Firstsphere is on the earth. These people belong to that sphere. Each sphereis separate from the other. Therefore it is easier for you to speak withthese people than for those in any other sphere.”

“Yes. That why you should be plenty careful when you do not know to whomyou talk. Try the spirits.”

“Number Three. Summerland. Bible book called it the third heaven. Plentysense in Bible book, but people do not understand.”

“Ah! That is where the Christs are. All come there at last—you, me,everybody.”

“Too much question, Mr. Mailey. Poor old Chang not know so much as that.Now good-bye! God bless you! I go.”

It was the end of the sitting of the rescue circle. A few minutes laterTerbane was sitting up smiling and alert, but with no apparentrecollection of anything which had occurred. He was pressed for time andlived afar, so that he had to make his departure,{181} unpaid save by theblessing of those whom he had helped. Modest little unvenal man, wherewill he stand when we all find our real places in the order of creationupon the further side?

The circle did not break up at once. The visitors wanted to talk and theMaileys to listen.

“What I mean,” said Roxton, “it’s doosed interestin’ and all that, butthere is a sort of variety-show element in it. What! Difficult to besure it’s really real, if you take what I mean.”

“That is what I feel also,” said Malone. “Of course on its face value itis simply unspeakable. It is a thing so great that all ordinaryhappenings become commonplace. That I grant. But the human mind is verystrange. I’ve read the case Moreton Prince examined, and Miss Beauchampand the rest; also the results of Charcot, the great Nancy hypnoticschool. They could turn a man into anything. The mind seems to be like arope which can be unravelled into its various threads. Then each threadis a different personality which may take dramatic form, and act andspeak as such. That man is honest, and he could not normally producethese effects. But how do we know that he is not self-hypnotised, andthat under those conditions one strand of him becomes Mr. Chang andanother becomes a sailor and another a society lady, and so forth?”

Mailey laughed. “Every man his own Cinquevalli,” said he, “but it is arational objection and has to be met.”

“We have traced some of the cases,” said Mrs. Mailey. “There is not adoubt of it—names, addresses, everything.”

“Well, then we have to consider the question of Terbane’s normalknowledge. How can you possibly{182} know what he has learned? I shouldthink a railway-guard is particularly able to pick up such information.”

“You have seen one sitting,” Mailey answered. “If you had been presentat as many as we and noted the cumulative effect of the evidence youwould not be sceptical.”

“That is very possible,” Malone answered. “And I daresay my doubts arevery annoying to you. And yet one is bound to be brutally honest in acase like this. Anyhow, whatever the ultimate cause, I have seldom spentso thrilling an hour. Heavens! If it onlyis true, and if you had athousand circles instead of one, what regeneration would result?”

“That will come,” said Mailey in his patient, determined fashion. “Weshall live to see it. I am sorry the thing has not forced convictionupon you. However, you must come again.”

But it so chanced that a further experience became unnecessary.Conviction came in a full flood and in a strange fashion that veryevening. Malone had hardly got back to the office, and was seated at hisdesk drawing up some sort of account from his notes of all that hadhappened in the afternoon, when Mailey burst into the room, his yellowbeard bristling with excitement. He was waving anEvening News in hishand. Without a word he seated himself beside Malone and turned thepaper over. Then he began to read:

“That’s that!” said Mailey, folding up the paper. “Now Mr. ThomasDidymus. I leave you to your conclusions,” and the enthusiast vanishedout of the office as precipitately as he had entered.[C]

CHAPTER XI

WHERE SILAS LINDEN COMES INTO HIS OWN

SILAS LINDEN, prizefighter and fake-medium, had had some great days inhis life—days crowded with incidents for good or evil. There was thetime when he had backed Rosalind at 100 to 1 in the Oaks and had spenttwenty-four hours of brutal debauchery on the strength of it. There wasthe day also when his favourite right upper-cut had connected in mostaccurate and rhythmical fashion with the protruded chin of Bull Wardellof Whitechapel, whereby Silas put himself in the way of a Lonsdale Cupand a try for the championship. But never in all his varied career hadhe such a day as this supreme one, so it is worth our while to followhim to the end of it. Fanatical believers have urged that it isdangerous to cross the path of spiritual things when the heart is notclean. Silas Linden’s name might be added to their list of examples, buthis cup of sin was full and overflowing before the judgment fell.

He emerged from the room of Algernon Mailey with every reason to knowthat Lord Roxton’s grip was as muscular as ever. In the excitement ofthe struggle he had hardly realised his injuries, but now he stoodoutside the door with his hand to his bruised throat and a hoarse streamof oaths pouring through it. His breast was aching also where Malone hadplanted his knee, and even the successful blow which had struck Maileydown had brought retribution, for{185} it had jarred that injured hand ofwhich he had complained to his brother. Altogether, if Silas Linden wasin a most cursed temper, there was a very good reason for his mood.

“I’ll get you one at a time,” he growled, looking back with his angrypig’s eyes at the outer door of the flats. “You wait, my lads, and see!”Then with sudden purpose he swung off down the street.

It was to the Bardsley Square Police Station that he made his way, andhe found the jovial, rubicund, black-moustached Inspector Murphy seatedat his desk.

“That’s neither here nor there. I don’t hold with such things in anyman. But you got your conviction. What is there for me in it?”

“What? Wasn’t it I that gave the information? Where would you have beenif I had not given you the office?”

“If there had been a fine we might have allowed you something. We wouldhave got something, too, Mr. Melrose sent him to gaol. There is nothingfor anybody.”

“So you say. I’m damned sure you and those two women got something outof it. Why the hell should I give away my own brother for the sake ofthe likes of you? You’ll find your own bird next time.”

Murphy was a choleric man with a sense of his own importance. He was notto be bearded thus in his own seat of office. He rose with a very redface.

“I’ll tell you what, Silas Linden, I could find my{186} own bird and nevermove out of this room. You had best get out of this quick, or you maychance to stay here longer than you like. We’ve had complaints of yourtreatment of those two children of yours, and the children’s protectionfolk are taking an interest. Look out that we don’t take an interest,too.”

Silas Linden flung out of the room with his temper hotter than ever, anda couple of rum-and-waters on his way home did not help to appease him.On the contrary, he had always been a man who grew more dangerous in hiscups. There were many of his trade who refused to drink with him.

Silas lived in one of a row of small brick houses named Bolton’s Court,lying at the back of Tottenham Court Road. His was the end house of acul-de-sac, with the side wall of a huge brewery beyond. These dwellingswere very small, which was probably the reason why the inhabitants, bothadults and children, spent most of their time in the street. Several ofthe elders were out now, and as Silas passed under the solitarylamp-post, they scowled at his thick-set figure, for though the moralityof Bolton’s Court was of no high order, it was none the less graduatedand Silas was at zero. A tall Jewish woman, Rebecca Levi, thin, aquilineand fierce-eyed, lived next to the prizefighter. She was standing at herdoor now, with a child holding her apron.

“Mr. Linden,” she said as he passed, “them children of yours want morecare than they get. Little Margaret was in here to-day. That child don’tget enough to eat.”

“You mind your own business, curse you!” growled Silas. “I’ve told youbefore now not to push that long, sheeny beak of yours into my affairs.If you was a man I’d know better how to speak to you.{187}”

“If I was a man maybe you wouldn’t dare to speak to me so. I says it’s ashame, Silas Linden, the way them children is treated. If it’s apolice-court case, I’ll know what to say.”

“Oh, go to hell!” said Silas, and kicked open his own unlatched door. Abig, frowsy woman with a shock of dyed hair and some remains of a floridbeauty, now long over-ripe, looked out from the sitting-room door.

“I thought it was a mad bullock maybe got strayin’ down the lane, andbuttin’ down our door.”

“Maybe I am, but I hain’t got much to be funny about. Not a shillin’ inthe ’ouse, nor so much as a pint o’ beer, and these damned children ofyours for ever upsettin’ me.”

“What have they been a-doin’ of?” asked Silas with a scowl. When thisworthy pair could get no change out of each other, they usually unitedtheir forces against the children. He had entered the sitting-room andflung himself down in the wooden armchair.

“I ’eard ’im say somethin’ to ’er about it. ‘Mother was there,’ ’e says.Then afterwards ’e ’ad one o’ them sleepy fits.”

“Yes, it is,” retorted the woman. “If you ’adn’t sleepy fits you’d getsome work to do, like other men.”

“Oh, shut it, woman! What I mean is, that my brother Tom gets them fits,and this lad o’ mine is{188} said to be the livin’ image of his uncle. So hehad a trance, had he? What did you do?”

“Not much of it. Just enough to wake ’im. It’s the only way to break ’imof it.”

“’Ave a care, my lass! There is talk of the p’lice, and if they seethose burns, you and I may be in the dock together.”

“Yes, but it ain’tyour own child, and stepmothers has a bad name,see? There’s that Jew woman next door. She saw you when you took theclothes’ rope to little Margery last washin’-day. She spoke to me aboutit and again to-day about the food.”

“What’s the matter with the food? The greedy little bastards! They had a’unch of bread each when I ’ad my dinner. A bit of real starvin’ woulddo them no ’arm, and I would ’ave less sauce.”

“Well, I did it for ’is good, didn’t I? It was to cure ’im of a bad’abit.”

“Cursed me good and proper, ’e did. All about his mother—wot ’is motherwould do to me. I’m dam’ well sick of ’is mother!”

“So you say now, Silas Linden, but by all accounts you ’ad a queer wayof showin’ it when she was alive.{189}”

“Hold your jaw, woman! I’ve had enough to vex me to-day without youstartin’ your tantrums. You’re jealous of the grave. That’s wot’s thematter with you.”

“And ’er brats can insult me as they like—me that ’as cared for youthese five years.”

“No, I didn’t say that. If he insulted you, it’s up to me to deal withhim. Where’s that strap? Go, fetch him in!”

“Oh hell! don’t muck me about. I’m not in the mood. Go and fetch Williein. You can bring Margery also. It takes the sauce out of her also, forI think she feels it more than he does.”

“’E’s off again!” said she. “It fair gets on my nerves to see him. Come’ere, Silas! ’Ave a look!”

They went together into the back kitchen. A small fire was smoulderingin the grate. Beside it, huddled up in a chair, sat a fair-haired boy often. His delicate face was upturned to the ceiling. His eyes werehalf-closed, and only the whites visible. There was a look of greatpeace upon his thin, spiritual features. In the corner a poor littlecowed mite of a girl, a year or two younger, was gazing with sad,frightened eyes at her brother.

“Looks awful, don’t ’e?” said the woman. “Don’t seem to belong to thisworld. I wish to God ’e’d make a move for the other. ’E don’t do muchgood ’ere.”

“Here, wake up!” cried Silas. “None of your foxin’! Wake up! D’ye hear?”He shook him roughly by the shoulder, but the boy still slumbered{190} on.The backs of his hands, which lay upon his lap, were covered with brightscarlet blotches.

“My word, you’ve dropped enough hot wax on him. D’you mean to tell me,Sarah, it took all that to wake him?”

“Maybe I dropped one or two extra for luck. ’E does aggravate me so thatI can ’ardly ’old myself. But you wouldn’t believe ’ow little ’e canfeel when ’e’s like that. You can ’owl in ’is ear. It’s all lost on ’im.See ’ere!”

She caught the lad by the hair and shook him violently. He groaned andshivered. Then he sank back into his serene trance.

“Say!” cried Silas, stroking his stubbled chin as he looked thoughtfullyat his son, “I think there is money in this if it is handled to rights.Wot about a turn on the halls, eh? ’The Boy Wonder or How is it Done?’There’s a name for the bills. Then folk know his uncle’s name, so theywill be able to take him on trust.”

“That’s a wash-out,” snarled Silas. “Don’t you talk of it. It’sfinished.”

“I tell you not to talk about it, woman!” the man shouted. “I’m just inthe mood to give you the hidin’ of your life, so don’t you get my goat,or you’ll be sorry.” He stepped across and pinched the boy’s arm withall his force. “By Cripes, he’s a wonder! Let us see how far it willgo.”

He turned to the sinking fire and with the tongs he picked out ahalf-red ember. This he placed on the boy’s head. There was a smell ofburning hair, then{191} of roasting flesh, and suddenly, with a scream ofpain, the boy came back to his senses.

“Mother! Mother!” he cried. The girl in the corner took up the cry. Theywere like two lambs bleating together.

“Damn your mother!” cried the woman, shaking Margery by the collar ofher frail black dress. “Stop squallin’, you little stinker!” She struckthe child with her open hand across the face. Little Willie ran at herand kicked her shins until a blow from Silas knocked him into thecorner. The brute picked up a stick and lashed the two coweringchildren, while they screamed for mercy, and tried to cover their littlebodies from the cruel blows.

“It’s that blasted Jewess!” said the woman. She went to the kitchendoor. “What the ’ell are you doing in our ’ouse? ’Op it, quick, or itwill be the worse for you!”

“Get out of it! ’Op it, I tell you!” The frowsy stepmother bore down infull sail, but the lean, lank Jewess stood her ground. Next instant theymet. Mrs. Silas Linden screamed, and staggered back with blood runningdown her face where four nails had left as many red furrows. Silas, withan oath, pushed his wife out of the way, seized the intruder round thewaist, and slung her bodily through the door. She lay in the roadwaywith her long gaunt limbs sprawling about like some half-slain fowl.Without rising, she shook her clenched hands in the air and screamedcurses at Silas, who slammed the door and left her, while neighbours ranfrom all sides to hear particulars of the fray. Mrs. Linden, staringthrough the front{192} blind, saw with some relief that her enemy was ableto rise and to limp back to her own door, whence she could be hearddelivering a long shrill harangue as to her wrongs. The wrongs of a Jeware not lightly forgotten, for the race can both love and hate.

“It’s what she wants, the damned canting sheeny. It’s bad enough to haveher in the street without her daring to set foot inside my door. I’llcut the hide off that young Willie. He’s the cause of it all. Where ishe?”

“I wouldn’t touch ’em now, Silas. The neighbours is all up and about andwe needn’t ask for trouble.”

“Down to the Admiral Vernon. There’s a chance of a job as sparrin’partner to Long Davis. He goes into training on Monday and needs a manof my weight.”

“Well, I’ll expect you when I see you. I get too much of that pub ofyours. I know what the Admiral Vernon means.”

“It means the only place in God’s earth where I get any peace or rest,”said Silas.

“That’s right. Grouse away!” he growled. “If grousin’ made a man happy,you’d be the champion.” He picked up his hat and slouched off down thestreet,{193} his heavy tread resounding upon the great wooden flap whichcovered the cellars of the brewery.

Up in a dingy attic two little figures were seated on the side of awretched straw-stuffed bed, their arms enlacing each other, their cheekstouching, their tears mingling. They had to cry in silence, for anysound might remind the ogre downstairs of their existence. Now and againone would break into an uncontrollable sob, and the other would whisper,“Hush! Hush! Oh hush!” Then suddenly they heard the slam of the outerdoor and that heavy tread booming over the wooden flap. They squeezedeach other in their joy. Perhaps when he came back he might kill them,but for a few short hours at least they were safe from him. As to thewoman, she was spiteful and vicious, but she did not seem so deadly asthe man. In a dim way they felt that he had hunted their mother into hergrave and might do as much for them.

The room was dark save for the light which came through the single dirtywindow. It cast a bar across the floor, but all round was black shadow.Suddenly the little boy stiffened, clasped his sister with a tightergrip, and stared rigidly into the darkness.

But the little girl, like all the world, was without vision. To her allwas darkness.

“Tell me, Willie,” she whispered, in a solemn voice. She was not reallyfrightened, for many times before had the dead mother returned in thewatches of the night to comfort her stricken children.{194}

“Oh, she is beautiful. She is not crying. She is smiling. It is like thepicture we saw of the angel. She looks so happy. Dear, dear mother! Nowshe is speaking. ‘It is over,’ she says. ‘It is all over.’ She says itagain. Now she beckons with her hand. We are to follow. She has moved tothe door.”

“Yes, yes, she nods her head. She bids us fear nothing. Now she haspassed through the door. Come, Margery, come, or we shall lose her.”

The two little mites crept across the room and Willie unlocked the door.The mother stood at the head of the stair beckoning them onwards. Stepby step they followed her down into the empty kitchen. The woman seemedto have gone out. All was still in the house. The phantom still beckonedthem on.

They threw open the door and were in the street. Down the deserted courtthey followed the gleaming, gracious presence, and through a tangle oflow streets, and so out into the crowded rush of Tottenham Court Road.Once or twice amid all that blind torrent of humanity, some man orwoman, blessed with the precious gift of discernment, would start andstare as they were aware of an angel presence and of two littlewhite-faced children who followed behind, the{195} boy with fixed, absorbedgaze, the girl glancing ever in terror over her shoulder. Down the longstreet they passed, then again amid the humbler dwellings, and so atlast to a 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 misery andbrooding over her martyr in gaol, was summoned suddenly to the door, andfound two little apologetic figures outside it. A few words, a rush ofwoman’s instinct, and her arms were round the children. These batteredlittle skiffs, who had started their life’s voyage so sadly, had found aharbour of peace where no storm should vex them more.

There were some strange happenings in Bolton’s Court that night. Somefolk thought they had no relation to each other. One or two thought theyhad. The British Law saw nothing and had nothing to say.

In the second last house, a keen, hawklike face peered from behind awindow-blind into the darkened street. A shaded candle was behind thatfearful face, dark as death, remorseless as the tomb. Behind RebeccaLevi stood a young man whose features showed that he sprang from thesame Oriental race. For an hour—for a second hour—the woman had satwithout a word, watching, watching.... At the entrance to the courtthere was a hanging lamp which cast a circle of yellow light. It was onthis pool of radiance that her brooding eyes were fixed.{196}

Then suddenly she saw what she had waited for. She started and hissedout a word. The young man rushed from the room and into the street. Hevanished through a side door into the brewery.

Drunken Silas Linden was coming home. He was in a gloomy, sulken stateof befuddlement. A sense of injury filled his mind. He had not gainedthe billet he sought. His injured hand had been against him. He had hungabout the bar waiting for drinks and had got some, but not enough. Nowhe was in a dangerous mood. Woe to the man, woman or child who crossedhis path! He thought savagely of the Jewess who lived in that darkenedhouse. He thought savagely of all his neighbours. They would standbetween him and his children, would they? He would show them. The verynext morning he would take them both out into the street and strap themwithin an inch of their lives. That would show them all what SilasLinden thought of their opinion. Why should he not do it now? If he wereto waken the neighbours up with the shrieks of his children, it wouldshow them once for all that they could not defy him with impunity. Theidea pleased him. He stepped more briskly out. He was almost at his doorwhen....

It was never quite clear how it was that the cellar-flap was notsecurely fastened that night. The jury were inclined to blame thebrewery, but the coroner pointed out that Linden was a heavy man, thathe might have fallen on it if he were drunk, and that all reasonablecare had been taken. It was an eighteen-foot fall upon jagged stones,and his back was broken. They did not find him till next morning, for,curiously enough, his neighbour, the Jewess, never heard the sound ofthe accident. The doctor seemed to think that death had not comequickly. There were hor{197}rible signs that he had lingered. Down in thedarkness, vomiting blood and beer, the man ended his filthy life with afilthy death.

One need not waste words or pity over the woman whom he had left.Relieved from her terrible mate, she returned to that music-hall stagefrom which he, by force of his virility and bull-like strength, hadlured her. She tried to regain her place with:

which was the ditty which had won her her name. But it became toopainfully evident that she was anything but thedernier cri, and thatshe could never get back. Slowly she sank from big halls to small halls,from small halls to pubs, and so ever deeper and deeper, sucked into theawful, silent quicksands of life which drew her down and down until thatvacuous painted face and frowsy head were seen no more.{198}

CHAPTER XII

THERE ARE HEIGHTS AND THERE ARE DEPTHS

THE Institut Métapsychique was an imposing stone building in the AvenueWagram with a door like a baronial castle. Here it was that the threefriends presented themselves late in the evening. A footman showed theminto a reception-room where they were presently welcomed by Dr. Maupuisin person. The famous authority on psychic science was a short broad manwith a large head, a clean-shaven face, and an expression in whichworldly wisdom and kindly altruism were blended. His conversation was inFrench with Mailey and Roxton, who both spoke the language well, but hehad to fall back upon broken English with Malone, who could only utterstill more broken French in reply. He expressed his pleasure at theirvisit, as only a graceful Frenchman can, said a few words as to thewonderful qualities of Panbek, the Galician medium, and finally led theway downstairs to the room in which the experiments were to beconducted. His air of vivid intelligence and penetrating sagacity hadalready shown the strangers how preposterous were those theories whichtried to explain away his wonderful results by the supposition that hewas a man who was the easy victim of impostors.

Descending a winding stair they found themselves in a large chamberwhich looked at first glance like a chemical laboratory, for shelvesfull of bottles, retorts, test-tubes, scales and other apparatus linedthe walls.{199} It was more elegantly furnished, however, than a mereworkshop, and a large massive oak table occupied the centre of the roomwith a fringe of comfortable chairs. At one end of the room was a largeportrait of Professor Crookes, which was flanked by a second ofLombroso, while between them was a remarkable picture of one of EusapiaPalladino’s séances. Round the table there was gathered a group of menwho were 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. The Press is representedto-day by Monsieur Forte, sub-editor of theMatin. The tall, dark manwho looks like a retired general you probably know.... Not? That isProfessor Charles Richet, our honoureddoyen, who has shown greatcourage in this matter, though he has not quite reached the sameconclusion as you, Monsieur Mailey. But that also may come. You mustremember that we have to show policy, and that the less we mix this withreligion, the less trouble we shall have with the Church, which is stillvery powerful in this country. The distinguished-looking man with thehigh forehead is the Count de Grammont. The gentleman with the head of aJupiter and the white beard is Flammarion, the astronomer. Now,gentleman,” he added, in a louder voice, “if you will take your placeswe shall get to work.”

They sat at random round the long table, the three Britons keepingtogether. At one end a large photographic camera was reared aloft. Twozinc buckets also occupied a prominent position upon a side table. Thedoor was locked and the key given to Professor{200} Richet. Dr. Maupuis satat one end of the table with a small middle-aged man, moustached,bald-headed and intelligent, upon his right.

“Some of you have not met Monsieur Panbek,” said the doctor. “Permit meto present him to you. Monsieur Panbek, gentlemen, has placed hisremarkable powers at our disposal for scientific investigation, and weall owe him a debt of gratitude. He is now in his forty-seventh year, aman of normal health, of a neuroarthritic disposition. Somehyper-excitability of his nervous system is indicated, and his reflexesare exaggerated, but his blood-pressure is normal. The pulse is now atseventy-two, but rises to one hundred under trance conditions. There arezones of marked hyper-æsthesia on his limbs. His visual field andpupillary reaction is normal. I do not know that there is anything toadd.”

“I might say,” remarked Professor Richet, “that the hyper-sensibility ismoral as well as physical. Panbek is impressionable and full of emotion,with the temperament of the poet and all those little weaknesses, if wemay call them so, which the poet pays as a ransom for his gifts. A greatmedium is a great artist and is to be judged by the same standards.”

“He seems to me, gentlemen, to be preparing you for the worst,” said themedium with a charming smile, while the company laughed in sympathy.

“We are sitting in the hopes that some remarkable materialisations whichwe have recently had may be renewed in such a form that we may get apermanent record of them.” Dr. Maupuis was talking in his dry,unemotional voice. “These materialisations have taken very unexpectedforms of late, and I would beg the company to repress any feelings offear, however{201} strange these forms may be, as a calm and judicialatmosphere is most necessary. We shall now turn out the white light andbegin with 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 amoment they were plunged in utter darkness. Then a dull red glow came inthe corner, enough to show the dim outlines of the men round the table.There was no music and no religious atmosphere of any sort. The companyconversed in whispers.

“Very,” Mailey answered. “It seems to me that we are wide open toanything which may come. It’s all wrong. They don’t realise the danger.”

“Well, from my point of view, it is like sitting at the edge of a pondwhich 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 I treat themlightly. Some things which I have seen make me appreciate yourcomparison of the frog and the crocodile. In this very room I have beenconscious of the presence of creatures which could, if moved to anger,make our experiments seem rather hazardous. I believe with you that evilpeople here might bring an evil reflection into our circle.”

“I am glad, sir, that you are moving in our direc{202}tion,” said Mailey,for like everyone else he regarded Richet as one of the world’s greatmen.

“Moving, perhaps, and yet I cannot claim to be altogether with you yet.The latent powers of the human incarnate spirit may be so wonderful thatthey may extend to regions which seem at present to be quite beyondtheir scope. As an old materialist, I fight every inch of the ground,though I admit that I have lost several lines of trenches. Myillustrious friend Challenger still holds his front intact, as Iunderstand.”

There was dead silence. Then there came a sound of uneasy movement witha strange flapping vibration.

There was silence and then once again came the sound of movement and animpatient flap.

The flash of the luminant mixture filled the room, while the shutter ofthe camera fell. In that sudden glare of light the visitors had amomentary glimpse of a marvellous sight. The medium lay with his headupon his hands in apparent insensibility. Upon his rounded shouldersthere was perched a huge bird of prey—a large falcon or an eagle. Forone instant the strange picture was stamped upon their retinas even asit was upon the photographic plate. Then the darkness closed down again,save for the two red lamps, like the eyes of some baleful demon lurkingin the corner.{203}

“But harmless,” added Professor Richet. “The bird has been with usseveral times. He moves his wings, as you have heard, but otherwise isinert. We may have another and a more dangerous visitor.”

The flash of the light had, of course, dispelled all ectoplasm. It wasnecessary to begin again. The company may have sat for a quarter of anhour when Richet touched Mailey’s arm.

“There is another more ordinary analogy. Have you been in a warm roomwith a wet dog?”

“Exactly,” said Mailey. “That is a perfect description. But where is thedog?”

The animal smell became more pronounced. It was overpowering. Thensuddenly Malone became conscious of something moving round the table. Inthe dim red light he was aware of a mis-shapen figure, crouching,ill-formed, with some resemblance to man. He silhouetted it against thedull radiance. It was bulky, broad, with a bullet-head, a short neck,heavy, clumsy shoulders. It slouched slowly round the circle. Then itstopped, and a cry of surprise, not unmixed with fear, came from one ofthe sitters.

“Do not be alarmed,” said Dr. Maupuis’ quiet voice. “It is thePithecanthropus. He is harmless.” Had it been a cat which had strayedinto the room the scientist could not have discussed it more calmly.{204}

“You may have my share of his caresses!” cried the sitter in a quaveringvoice.

“Do not repulse him. It might be serious. He is well disposed. But hehas his feelings, no doubt, like the rest of us.”

The creature had resumed its stealthy progress. Now it turned the end ofthe table and stood behind the three friends. Its breath came in quickpuffs at the back of their necks. Suddenly Lord Roxton gave a loudexclamation of disgust.

An instant later Malone was aware of a shaggy head extended between LordRoxton and himself. With his left hand he could feel long, coarse hair.It turned towards him, and it needed all his self-control to hold hishand still when a long soft tongue caressed it. Then it was gone.

“We have been asked not to photograph it. Possibly the light wouldinfuriate it. The command through the medium was definite. We can onlysay that it is either an ape-like man or a man-like ape. We have seen itmore clearly than to-night. The face is Simian, but the brow isstraight; the arms long, the hands huge, the body covered with hair.”

“Tom Linden gave us something better than that,” whispered Mailey. Hespoke low but Richet caught the words.

“All nature is the field of our study, Mr. Mailey. It is not for us tochoose. Shall we classify the flowers but neglect the fungi?{205}”

“The X-rays were dangerous. How many martyrs lost their arms, joint byjoint, before those dangers were realised. And yet it was necessary. Soit is with us. We do not know yet what it is that we are doing. But ifwe can indeed show the world that this Pithecanthropus can come to usfrom the Invisible, and depart again as it came, then the knowledge isso tremendous that even if he tore us to pieces with those formidableclaws, it would none the less be our duty to go forward with ourexperiments.”

“Science can be heroic,” said Mailey. “Who can deny it? And yet I haveheard these very scientific men tell us that we imperil our reason whenwe try to get in touch with spiritual forces. Gladly would we sacrificeour reason, or our lives, if we could help mankind. Should we not do asmuch for spiritual advance as they for material?”

The lights had been turned up and there was a pause for relaxationbefore the great experiment of the evening was attempted. The men brokeinto little groups, chatting in hushed tones over their recentexperience. Looking round at the comfortable room with its up-to-dateappliances, the strange bird and the stealthy monster seemed likedreams. And yet they had been very real, as was shown presently by thephotographer, who had been allowed to leave and now rushed excitedlyfrom the adjacent dark room waving the plate which he had just developedand fixed. He held it up against the light, and there, sure enough, wasthe bald head of the medium sunk between his hands, and crouchingclosely over his shoulders the outline of that ominous figure. Dr.Maupuis rubbed his little fat hands with glee. Like all pioneers he hadendured much persecution from{206} the Parisian Press, and every freshphenomenon was another weapon for his own defence.

“Nous marchons! Hein! Nous marchons!” he kept on repeating, whileRichet, lost in thought, answered mechanically:

The little Galician was sitting nibbling a biscuit with a glass of redwine before him. Malone went round to him and found that he had been inAmerica and could talk a little English.

“In moderation, no. Two sittings a week. Behold my allowance. The doctorwill allow no more.”

“Yes, yes, ever since a child. And my father, and my uncle. Their talkwas of visions. For me, I would go and sit in the woods and strangeanimals would come round me. It did me such a surprise when I found thatthe other children could not see them.”

“Parfaitement,” answered the medium, brushing away the crumbs. Thedoctor lit a spirit-lamp under one of the zinc buckets.

“We are about to co-operate in an experiment, gentlemen, which should,once and for all, convince the world as to the existence of theseectoplasmic forms. Their nature may be disputed, but their objectivitywill be beyond doubt from now onwards unless my plans miscarry. I wouldfirst explain these two buckets to you. This one, which I am warming,contains paraffin, which is now in process of liquefaction. This othercontains water. Those who have{207} not been present before must understandthat Panbek’s phenomena occur usually in the same order, and that atthis stage of the evening we may expect the apparition of the old man.To-night we lie in wait for the old man, and we shall, I hope,immortalise him in the history of psychic research. I resume my seat,and I switch on the red light, Number Three, which allows of greatervisibility.”

The circle was now quite visible. The medium’s head had fallen forwardand his deep snoring showed that he was already in trance. Every facewas turned towards him, for the wonderful process of materialisation wasgoing on before their very eyes. At first it was a swirl of light,steam-like vapour which circled round his head. Then there was a waving,as of white diaphanous drapery, behind him. It thickened. It coalesced.It hardened in outline and took definite shape. There was a head. Therewere shoulders. Arms grew out from them. Yes, there could not be a doubtof it—there was a man, an old man, standing behind the chair. He movedhis head slowly from side to side. He seemed to be peering in indecisiontowards the company. One could imagine that he was asking himself,“Where am I, and what am I here for?”

“He does not speak, but he hears and has intelligence,” said Dr.Maupuis, glancing over his shoulder at the apparition. “We are here,sir, in the hope that you will aid us in a very important experiment.May we count upon your co-operation?”

“We thank you. When you have attained your full power, you will, nodoubt, move away from the medium.”

The figure again bowed, but remained motionless.{208} It seemed to Malonethat it was growing denser every moment. He caught glimpses of the face.It was certainly an old man, heavy-faced, long-nosed, with a curiouslyprojecting lower lip. Suddenly with a brusque movement it stood clearfrom Panbek and stepped out into the room.

“Now, sir,” said Maupuis in his precise fashion. “You will perceive thezinc bucket upon the left. I would beg you to have the kindness toapproach it and to plunge your right hand into it.”

The figure moved across. He seemed interested in the buckets, for heexamined them with some attention. Then he dipped one of his hands intothat which the doctor had indicated.

“Excellent!” cried Maupuis, his voice shrill with excitement. “Now, sir,might I ask you to have the kindness to dip the same hand into the coldwater of the other bucket.”

“Now, sir, you would bring our experiment to complete success if youwould lay your hand upon the table, and while it is resting there youwould yourself dematerialise and return into the medium.”

The figure bowed its comprehension and assent. Then it slowly advancedtowards the table, stooped over it, extended its hand—and vanished. Theheavy breathing of the medium ceased, and he moved uneasily as if aboutto wake. Maupuis turned on the white light, and threw up his hands witha loud cry of wonder and joy which was echoed by the company.

On the shining wooden surface of the table there lay a delicateyellow-pink glove of paraffin, broad at the knuckles, thin at the wrist,two of the fingers bent down to the palm. Maupuis was beside himselfwith delight. He broke off a small bit of wax from{209} the wrist and handedit to an assistant, who hurried from the room.

“It is final!” he cried. “What can they say now? Gentlemen, I appeal toyou. You have seen what occurred. Can any of you give any rationalexplanation of that paraffin mould, save that it was the result ofdematerialisation of the hand within it?”

“I can see no other solution,” Richet answered. “But you have to do withvery obstinate and very prejudiced people. If they cannot deny it, theywill probably ignore it.”

“The Press is here and the Press represents the public,” said Maupuis.“For the Press Engleesh, Monsieur Malone,” he went on in his broken way.“Is it that you can see any answer?”

“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 realise how fragile this thing is. They willsay that the medium brought it on his person and laid it upon thetable.”

Maupuis clapped his hands triumphantly. His assistant had just broughthim a slip of paper from the next room.

“Your objection is already answered,” he cried, waving the paper in theair. “I had foreseen it and I had put some cholesterine among theparaffin in the zinc pail. You may have observed that I broke off acorner of the mould. It was for purpose of chemical analysis. This hasnow been done. It is here and cholesterine has been detected.{210}”

“Excellent!” said the French journalist. “You have closed the last hole.But what next?”

“What we have done once we can do again,” Maupuis answered. “I willprepare a number of these moulds. In some cases I will have fists andhands. Then I will have plaster casts made from them. I will run theplaster inside the mould. It is delicate, but it can be done. I willhave dozens of them so created, and I will send them broadcast to everycapital in the world that people may see with their own eyes. Will thatnot at last convince them of the reality of our conclusions?”

“Do not hope for too much, my poor friend,” said Richet, with his handupon the shoulder of the enthusiast. “You have not yet realised theenormousvis inertiæ of the world. But as you have said, ‘Vousmarchez—vous marchez toujours.’”

“And our march is regulated,” said Mailey. “There is a gradual releaseto accommodate it to the receptivity of mankind.”

“Always transcendental, Monsieur Mailey! Always seeing more than meetsthe eye and changing science into philosophy! I fear you areincorrigible. Is your position reasonable?”

“Professor Richet,” said Mailey, very earnestly, “I would beg you toanswer the same question. I have a deep respect for your talents andcomplete sympathy with your caution, but have you not come to thedividing of the ways? You are now in the position that you admit—youmust admit—that our intelligent apparition in human form, built up fromthe substance which you have yourself named ectoplasm, can walk the roomand carry out instructions while the medium lay senseless under oureyes, and yet you hesi{211}tate to assert that spirit has an independentexistence. Is that reasonable?”

Richet smiled and shook his head. Without answering, he turned to bidfarewell to Dr. Maupuis, and to offer him his congratulations. A fewminutes later the company had broken up and our friends were in a taxispeeding towards their hotel.

Malone was deeply impressed with what he had seen, and he sat up halfthe night drawing up a full account of it for the Central News, with thenames of those who had endorsed the results—honourable names which noone in the world could associate with folly or deception.

“Surely, surely, this will be a turning-point and an epoch.” So ran hisdream. Two days later he opened the great London dailies one after theother. Columns about football. Columns about golf. A full page as to thevalue of shares. A long and earnest correspondence inThe Times aboutthe habits of the lapwing. Not one word in any of them as to the wonderswhich he had seen and reported. Mailey laughed at his dejected face.

“A mad world, my masters,” said he. “A crazy world! But the end is notyet!”[D]

CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GOES FORTH TO BATTLE

PROFESSOR CHALLENGER was in a bad humour, and when that was so hishousehold were made aware of it. Neither were the effects of his wrathconfined to those around him, for most of those terrible letters whichappeared from time to time in the Press, flaying and scarifying someunhappy opponent, were thunderbolt flashes from an offended Jove who satin sombre majesty 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 papers as alion from a bone. Only Enid could dare him at such a time, and even shefelt occasionally that sinking of the heart which the bravest of tamersmay experience as he unbars the gate of the cage. She was not safe fromthe acridity of his tongue, but at least she need not fear physicalviolence, which was well within the possibilities for others.

Sometimes these Berserk fits of the famous Professor arose from materialcauses. “Hepatic, sir, hepatic!” he would explain in extenuation aftersome aggravated assault. But on this particular occasion he had a verydefinite cause for discontent. It was Spiritualism!

He never seemed to get away from the accursed superstition—a thingwhich ran counter to the whole{213} work and philosophy of his lifetime. Heattempted to pooh-pooh it, to laugh at it, to ignore it with contempt,but the confounded thing would insist upon obtruding itself once more.On Monday he would write it finally off his books, and before Saturdayhe would be up to his neck in it again. And the thing was so absurd! Itseemed to him that his mind was being drawn from the great pressingmaterial problems 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 simple fashion beenan index figure representing the normal clear-headed human being, had insome way been bedevilled by these people and had committed himself totheir pernicious views. Then Enid, his ewe-lamb, his one real link withhumanity, had also been corrupted. She had agreed with Malone’sconclusions. She had even hunted up a good deal of evidence of her own.In vain he had himself investigated a case and proved beyond a shadow ofa doubt that the medium was a designing villain who brought messagesfrom a widow’s dead husband in order to get the woman into his power. Itwas a clear case and Enid admitted it. But neither she nor Malone wouldallow any general application. “There are rogues in every line of life,”they would say. “We must judge every movement by the best and not by theworst.”

All this was bad enough, but worse still was in store. He had beenpublicly humiliated by the Spiritualists—and that by a man who admittedthat he had had no education and would in any other subject in the worldhave been seated like a child at the Professor’s feet.{214} And yet inpublic debate ... but the story must be told.

Be it known then that Challenger, greatly despising all opposition andwith no knowledge of the real strength of the case to be answered, had,in a fatal moment, actually asserted that he would descend from Olympusand would meet in debate any representative whom the other party shouldselect. “I am well aware,” he wrote, “that by such condescension I, likeany other man of science of equal standing, run the risk of giving adignity to these absurd and grotesque aberrations of the human brainwhich they could otherwise not pretend to claim, but we must do our dutyto the public, and we must occasionally turn from our serious work andspare a moment in order to sweep away those ephemeral cobwebs whichmight collect and become offensive if they were not dispersed by thebroom of Science.” Thus, in a most self-confident fashion, did Goliathgo forth to meet his tiny antagonist, an ex-printer’s assistant and nowthe editor of what Challenger would describe as an obscure print devotedto matters of the spirit.

The particulars of the debate are public property, and it is notnecessary to tell in any great detail that painful event. It will beremembered that the great man of Science went down to the Queen’s Hallaccompanied by many rationalist sympathisers who desired to see thefinal destruction of the visionaries. A large number of these poordeluded creatures also attended, hoping against hope that their championmight not be entirely immolated upon the altar of outraged Science.Between them the two factions filled the hall, and glared at each otherwith as much enmity as did the Blues and the Greens a thousand yearsbefore in the Hippodrome of Constantinople. There{215} on the left of theplatform were the solid ranks of those hard and unbending rationalistswho look upon the Victorian agnostics as credulous, and refresh theirfaith by the periodical perusal of theLiterary Gazette and theFreethinker.

There, too, was Dr. Joseph Baumer, the famous lecturer upon theabsurdities of religion, together with Mr. Edward Mould, who hasinsisted so eloquently upon man’s claim to ultimate putridity of thebody and extinction of the soul. On the other side Mailey’s yellow beardflamed like an oriflamme. His wife sat on one side of him and Mervin,the journalist, on the other, while dense ranks of earnest men and womenfrom the Queen Square Spiritual Alliance, from the Psychic College, fromthe Stead Bureau, and from the outlying churches, assembled in order toencourage their champion in his hopeless task. The genial faces ofBolsover, the grocer, with his Hammersmith friends, Terbane, the railwaymedium, the Reverend Charles Mason with his ascetic features, TomLinden, now happily released from bondage, Mrs. Linden, the Crewecircle, Dr. Atkinson, Lord Roxton, Malone, and many other familiar faceswere to be picked out amid that dense wall of humanity. Between the twoparties, solemn and stolid and fat, sat Judge Gaverson of the King’sBench, who had consented to preside. It was an interesting andsuggestive fact that in this critical debate at which the very core orvital centre of real religion was the issue, the organised churches wereentirely aloof and neutral. Drowsy and semi-conscious, they could notdiscern that the live intellect of the nation was really holding aninquisition upon their bodies to determine whether they were doomed tothe extinction towards which they were rapidly drifting, or whether aresuscitation{216} in other forms was among the possibilities of the future.

In front, on one side, with his broad-browed disciples behind him, satProfessor Challenger, portentous and threatening, his Assyrian beardprojected in his most aggressive fashion, a half-smile upon his lips,and his eyelids drooping insolently over his intolerant grey eyes. Onthe corresponding position on the other side was perched a drab andunpretentious person over whose humble head Challenger’s hat would havedescended to the shoulders. He was pale and apprehensive, glancingacross occasionally in apologetic and deprecating fashion at his leonineopponent. Yet those who knew James Smith best were the least alarmed,for they were aware that behind his commonplace and democraticappearance there lay a knowledge of his subject, practical andtheoretical, such as few living men possessed. The wise men of thePsychical Research Society are but children in psychic knowledge whencompared with such practicing Spiritualists as James Smith—men whosewhole lives are spent in various forms of communion with the unseen.Such men often lose touch with the world in which they dwell and areuseless for its everyday purposes, but the editorship of a live paperand the administration of a wide-spread scattered community had keptSmith’s feet solid upon earth, while his excellent natural faculties,incorrupted by useless education, had enabled him to concentrate uponthe one field of knowledge which offers in itself a sufficient scope forthe greatest human intellect. Little as Challenger could appreciate it,the contest was really one between a brilliant discursive amateur and aconcentrated highly-specialised professional.

It was admitted on all sides that Challenger’s open{217}ing half-hour was amagnificent display of oratory and argument. His deep organ voice—sucha voice as only a man with a fifty-inch chest can produce—rose and fellin a perfect cadence which enchanted his audience. He was born to swayany assembly—an obvious leader of mankind. In turn he was descriptive,humorous and convincing. He pictured the natural growth of animism amongsavages cowering under the naked sky, unable to account for the beat ofthe rain or the roar of the thunder, and seeing a benevolent ormalicious intelligence behind those operations of Nature which Sciencehad now classified and explained.

Hence on false premises was built up that belief in spirits or invisiblebeings outside ourselves, which by some curious atavism was re-emergingin modern days among the less educated strata of mankind. It was theduty of Science to resist retrogressive tendencies of the sort, and itwas a sense of that duty which had reluctantly drawn him from theprivacy of his study to the publicity of this platform. He rapidlysketched the movement as depicted by its maligners. It was a mostunsavoury story as he told it, a story of cracking toe joints, ofphosphorescent paint, of muslin ghosts, of a nauseous sordid commissiontrade betwixt dead men’s bones on one side, and widows’ tears upon theother. These people were the hyenas of the human race who battened uponthe graves. (Cheers from the rationalists and ironical laughter from theSpiritualists.) They were not all rogues. (“Thank you, Professor!” froma stentorian opponent.) But the others were fools (laughter). Was itexaggeration to call a man a fool who believed that his grandmothercould rap out absurd messages with the leg of a dining-room table? Hadany savages de{218}scended to so grotesque a superstition? These people hadtaken dignity from death and had brought their own vulgarity into theserene oblivion of the tomb. It was a hateful business. He was sorry tohave to speak so strongly, but only the knife or the cautery could dealwith so cancerous a growth. Surely man need not trouble himself withgrotesque speculations as to the nature of life beyond the grave. We hadenough to do in this world. Life was a beautiful thing. The man whoappreciated its real duties and beauties would have sufficient to employhim without dabbling in pseudo sciences which had their roots in frauds,exposed already a hundred times and yet finding fresh crowds of foolishdevotees whose insane credulity and irrational prejudice made themimpervious to all argument.

Such is a most bald and crude summary of this powerful opening argument.The materialists roared their applause; the Spiritualists looked angryand uneasy, while their spokesman rose, pale but resolute, to answer theponderous onslaught.

His voice and appearance had none of those qualities which madeChallenger magnetic, but he was clearly audible and made his points in aprecise fashion like a workman who is familiar with his tools. He was sopolite and so apologetic at first that he gave the impression of havingbeen cowed. He felt that it was almost presumptuous upon one who had solittle advantage of education to measure mental swords for an instantwith so renowned 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 a household wordthroughout the world—there was one missing, and unhappily it was justthis one upon which{219} he had been tempted to speak. He had listened tothat speech with admiration so far as its eloquence was concerned, butwith surprise, and he might almost say with contempt, when he analysedthe assertions which were contained in it. It was clear that theProfessor had prepared his case by reading all the anti-Spiritualistliterature which he could lay his hands upon—a most tainted source ofinformation—while neglecting the works of those who spoke fromexperience and conviction.

All this talk of cracking joints and other fraudulent tricks wasmid-Victorian in its ignorance, and as to the grandmother talkingthrough the leg of a table he, the speaker, could not recognise it as afair description of Spiritualistic phenomena. Such comparisons remindedone of the jokes about the dancing frogs which impeded the recognitionof Volta’s early electrical experiments. They were unworthy of ProfessorChallenger. He must surely be aware that the fraudulent medium was theworst enemy of Spiritualism, that he was denounced by name in thepsychic journals whenever he was discovered, and that such exposureswere usually made by the Spiritualists themselves who had spoken of“human hyenas” as indignantly as his opponent had done. One did notcondemn banks because forgers occasionally used them for nefariouspurposes. It was wasting the time of so chosen an audience to descend tosuch a level of argument. Had Professor Challenger denied the religiousimplications of Spiritualism while admitting the phenomena, it mighthave been harder to answer him, but in denying everything he had placedhimself in an absolutely impossible position. No doubt ProfessorChallenger had read the recent work of Professor Richet, the famousphysiologist. That work extended{220} over thirty years. Richet had verifiedall the phenomena.

Perhaps Professor Challenger would inform the audience what personalexperience he had himself had which gave him the right to talk ofRichet, or Lombroso, or Crookes, as if they were superstitious savages.Possibly his opponent had conducted experiments in private of which theworld knew nothing. In that case he should give them to the world. Untilhe did so it was unscientific and really indecent to deride men hardlyinferior in scientific reputation to himself, who actually had done suchexperiments and laid them before the public.

As to the self-sufficiency of this world, a successful Professor with aeupeptic body might take such a view, but if one found oneself withcancer of the stomach in a London garret, one might question thedoctrine that there was no need to yearn for any state of being savethat in which we found ourselves.

It was a workmanlike effort illustrated with facts, dates and figures.Though it rose to no height of eloquence it contained much which neededan answer. And the sad fact emerged that Challenger was not in aposition to answer. He had read up his own case but had neglected thatof his adversary, accepting too easily the facile and speciouspresumptions of incompetent writers who handled a matter which they hadnot themselves investigated. Instead of answering, Challenger lost histemper. The lion began to roar. He tossed his dark mane and his eyesglowed, while his deep voice reverberated through the hall. Who werethese people who took refuge behind a few honoured but misguided names?What right had they to expect serious men of science to suspend theirlabours in order to waste time in examining their{221} wild surmises? Somethings were self-evident and did not require proof. The onus of prooflay with those who made the assertions. If this gentleman, whose name isunfamiliar, claims that he can raise spirits, let him call one up nowbefore a sane and unprejudiced audience. If he says that he receivesmessages, let him give us the news in advance of the general agencies.(“It has often been done!” from the Spiritualists.) “So you say, but Ideny it. I am too accustomed to your wild assertions to take themseriously.” (Uproar, and Judge Gaverson upon his feet.) If he claimsthat he has higher inspiration, let him solve the Peckham Rye murder. Ifhe is in touch with angelic beings, let him give us a philosophy, whichis higher than mortal mind can evolve. This false show of science, thiscamouflage of ignorance, this babble about ectoplasm and other mythicalproducts of the psychic imagination was mere obscurantism, the bastardoffspring of superstition and darkness. Wherever the matter was probedone came upon corruption and mental putrescence. Every medium was adeliberate impostor. (“You are a liar!” in a woman’s voice from theneighbourhood of the Lindens.) The voices of the dead had utterednothing but childish twaddle. The asylums were full of the supporters ofthe cult and would be fuller still if everyone had his due.

It was a violent but not an effective speech. Evidently the great manwas rattled. He realised that there was a case to be met and that he hadnot provided himself with the material wherewith to meet it. Thereforehe had taken refuge in angry words and sweeping assertions which canonly be safely made when there is no antagonist present to takeadvantage of them. The Spiritualists seemed more amused than{222} angry. Thematerialists fidgeted uneasily in their seats. Then James Smith rose forhis last innings. He wore a mischievous smile. There was quiet menace inhis whole bearing.

He must ask, he said, for a more scientific attitude from hisillustrious opponent. It was an extraordinary fact that many scientificmen, when their passions and prejudices were excited, showed a ludicrousdisregard for all their own tenets. Of these tenets there was none morerigid than that a subject should be examined before it was condemned. Wehave seen of late years, in such matters as wireless or heavier-than-airmachines, that the most unlikely things may come to pass. It is mostdangerous to saya priori that a thing is impossible. Yet this was theerror into which Professor Challenger had fallen. He had used the famewhich he had rightly won in subjects which he had mastered in order tocast discredit upon a subject which he had not mastered. The fact that aman was a great physiologist and physicist did not in itself make him anauthority upon psychic science.

It was perfectly clear that Professor Challenger had not read thestandard works upon the subject on which he posed as an authority. Couldhe tell the audience what the name of Schrenck Notzing’s medium was? Hepaused for a reply. Could he then tell the name of Dr. Crawford’smedium? Not? Could he tell them who had been the subject of ProfessorZollner’s experiments at Leipzig? What, still silent! But these were theessential points of the discussion. He had hesitated to be personal, butthe Professor’s robust language called for corresponding frankness uponhis part. Was the Professor aware that this ectoplasm which he deridedhad been examined lately by twenty German professors—the names werehere{223} for reference—and that all had testified to its existence? Howcould Professor Challenger deny that which these gentlemen asserted?Would he contend that they also were criminals or fools? The fact wasthat the Professor had come to this hall entirely ignorant of the factsand was now learning them for the first time. He clearly had noperception that Psychic Science had any laws whatever, or he would nothave formulated such childish requests as that an ectoplasmic figureshould manifest in full light upon this platform when every student wasaware that ectoplasm was soluble in light. As to the Peckham Rye murderit had never been claimed that the angel world was an annex to ScotlandYard. It was mere throwing of dust in the eyes of the public for a manlike Professor Challenger——

It was at this moment that the explosion occurred. Challenger hadwriggled in his chair. Challenger had tugged at his beard. Challengerhad glared at the speaker. Now he suddenly sprang to the side of thechairman’s table with the bound of a wounded lion. That gentleman hadbeen lying back half asleep with his fat hands clutched across his amplepaunch, but at this sudden apparition he gave a convulsive start whichnearly carried him into the orchestra.

“I refuse to sit down,” roared Challenger. “Sir, I appeal to you aschairman! Am I here to be insulted? These proceedings are intolerable. Iwill stand it no longer. If my private honour is touched I am justifiedin taking the matter into my own hands.”

Like many men who override the opinions of others, Challenger wasexceedingly sensitive when anyone took a liberty with his own. Eachsuccessive incisive sentence of his opponent had been like a barbedban{224}darillo in the flanks of a foaming bull. Now, in speechless fury, hewas shaking his huge hairy fist over the chairman’s head in thedirection of his adversary, whose derisive smile stimulated him to morefurious plunges with which he butted the fat president along theplatform. The assembly had in an instant become a pandemonium. Half therationalists were scandalised, while the other half shouted “Shame!Shame!” as a sign of sympathy with their champion. The Spiritualists hadbroken into derisive shouts, while some rushed forward to protect theirchampion from physical assault.

“We must get the old dear out,” said Lord Roxton to Malone. “He’ll behad 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 auditorium was littlebetter. Through the crush Malone and Roxton elbowed their way until theyreached Challenger’s side, and partly by judicious propulsion, partly byartful persuasion they got him, still bellowing his grievances, out ofthe building. There was a perfunctory vote to the chairman, and themeeting broke up in riot and confusion. “The whole episode,” remarkedThe Times next morning, “was a deplorable one, and forciblyillustrates the danger of public debates where the subjects are such asto inflame the prejudices of either speakers or audience. Such terms as‘Microcephalous idiot!’ or ‘Simian survival!’ when applied by aworld-renowned Professor to an opponent, illustrate the lengths to whichsuch disputants may permit themselves to go.”

Thus by a long interpolation we have got back to the fact that ProfessorChallenger was in the worst{225} of humours as he sat with theabove-mentioned copy ofThe Times in his hand and a heavy scowl uponhis brow. And yet it was that very moment that the injudicious Malonehad chosen in order to ask him the most intimate question which one mancan address to another.

Yet perhaps it is hardly fair to our friend’s diplomacy to say that hehad “chosen” the moment. He had really called in order to see forhimself that a man for whom, in spite of his eccentricities, he had adeep reverence and affection, had not suffered from the events of thenight before. On that point he was speedily reassured.

“Intolerable!” roared the Professor, in a tone so unchanged that hemight have been at it all night. “You were there yourself, Malone. Inspite of your inexplicable and misguided sympathy for the fatuous viewsof these people, you must admit that the whole conduct of theproceedings was intolerable, and that my righteous protest was more thanjustified. It is possible that when I threw the chairman’s table at thePresident of the Psychic College, I passed the bounds of decorum, butthe provocation had been excessive. You will remember that this Smith orBrown person—his name is most immaterial—dared to accuse me ofignorance and of throwing dust in the eyes of the audience.”

“Quite so,” said Malone, soothingly. “Never mind, Professor. You got inone or two pretty hard knocks yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I fancy that some of my thrusts went home. I imagine thatthey will not be forgotten. When I said that the asylums would be fullif every{226} man of them had his due, I could see them wince. They allyelped, I remember, like a kennelful of puppies. It was theirpreposterous claim that I should read their hare-brained literaturewhich caused me to display some little heat. But I hope, my boy, thatyou have called round this morning in order to tell me that what I saidlast night has had some effect upon your own mind, and that you havereconsidered these views which are, I confess, a considerable tax uponour friendship.”

“I had something else in my mind when I came here,” said he. “You mustbe aware that your daughter Enid and I have been thrown together a gooddeal of late. To me, sir, she has become the one woman in the world, andI shall never be happy until she is my wife. I am not rich, but a goodsub-editorship has been offered to me and I could well afford to marry.You have known me for some time and I hope you have nothing against me.I trust, therefore, that I may count upon your approval in what I amabout to do.”

“My perceptions,” said he, “are not so dull that I should have failed toobserve the relations which have been established between my daughterand yourself. This question, however, has become entangled with thatother which we were discussing. You have both, I fear, imbibed thispoisonous fallacy which I am more and more inclined to devote my life toextirpating. If only on the ground of eugenics, I could not give mysanction to a union which was built up on such a foundation. I must askyou, therefore, for a definite{227} assurance that your views have becomemore sane. I shall ask the same from her.”

And so Malone suddenly found himself also enrolled among the noble armyof martyrs. It was a hard dilemma, but he faced it like the man that hewas.

“I am sure, sir, that you would not think the better of me if I allowedmy views as to truth, whether they be right or wrong, to be swayed bymaterial considerations. I cannot change my opinions even to win Enid. Iam sure that she would take the same view.”

“Then my mind is made up also,” roared Challenger, with a sudden glare.“You will leave this house, sir, and you will return when you haveregained your sanity.”

“One moment!” said Malone. “I beg, sir, that you will not beprecipitate. I value your friendship too much to risk the loss of it ifit can, in any way, be avoided. Possibly if I had your guidance, I wouldbetter understand these things that puzzle me. If I should be able toarrange it would you mind being present personally at one of thesedemonstrations so that your own trained powers of observation may throwa light upon the things that have puzzled me.”

Challenger was enormously open to flattery. He plumed and preenedhimself now like some great bird.{228}

“If, my dear Malone, I can help you to get this taint—what shall wecall it?—microbus spiritualensis—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 so easy avictim. I would not say that you are entirely devoid of brains, but thatyour good nature is liable to be imposed upon. I warn you that I shallbe an exacting enquirer and bring to the investigation those laboratorymethods of which it is generally admitted that I am a master.”

“Then you will prepare the occasion and I shall be there. But meanwhileyou will clearly understand that I insist upon a promise that thisconnection with my daughter shall go no further.”

“I will decide when the time comes,” Malone answered diplomatically, andso escaped from a dangerous situation with more credit than at one timeseemed probable.

It chanced that as he emerged upon the landing, Enid, who had beenengaged in her morning’s shopping, appeared in the lift. Malone’s easyIrish conscience allowed him to think that the six months need not starton the instant, so he persuaded Enid to descend in the lift with him. Itwas one of those lifts which are handled by whoever uses them, and onthis occasion it so happened that, in some way best known to Malone, itstuck between the landing-stages, and in spite of several impatientrings it remained stuck for a good quarter of an hour. When themachinery re{229}sumed its functions, and when Enid was able at last toreach her home and Malone the street, the lovers had prepared themselvesto wait for six months with every hope of a successful end to theirexperiment.[E]

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH CHALLENGER MEETS A STRANGE COLLEAGUE

PROFESSOR CHALLENGER was not a man who made friends easily. In order tobe his friend you had also to be his dependent. He did not admit ofequals. But as a patron he was superb. With his Jovian air, his colossalcondescension, his amused smile, his general suggestion of the goddescending to the mortal, he could be quite overpowering in hisamiability. But he needed certain qualities in return. Stupiditydisgusted him. Physical ugliness alienated him. Independence repulsedhim. He coveted the man whom all the world would admire but who in turnwould admire the superman above him. Such a man was Dr. Ross Scotton,and for this reason he had been Challenger’s favourite pupil.

And now he was sick unto death. Dr. Atkinson of St. Mary’s, who hasalready played some minor part in this record, was attending him, andhis reports were increasingly depressing. The illness was that dreaddisease, disseminated sclerosis, and Challenger was aware that Atkinsonwas no alarmist when he said that a cure was a most remote and unlikelypossibility.

It seemed a terrible instance of the unreasonable nature of things thata young man of science, capable before he reached his prime of two suchworks as “The Embryology of the Sympathetic Nervous System” and “TheFallacy of the Obsonic Index,{231}” should be dissolved into his chemicalelements with no personal or spiritual residue whatever. And yet theProfessor shrugged his huge shoulders, shook his massive head andaccepted the inevitable. Every fresh message was worse than the last,and, finally, there was an ominous silence. Challenger went down once tohis young friend’s lodging in Gower Street. It was a racking experience,and he did not repeat it. The muscular cramps, which are characteristicof the complaint were tying the sufferer into knots, and he was bitinghis lips to shut down the screams which might have relieved his agony atthe expense of his manhood. He seized his mentor by the hand as adrowning man seizes a plank.

“Is it really as you have said? Is there no hope beyond the six monthsof torture which I see lying before me? Can you with all your wisdom andknowledge see no spark of light or life in the dark shadow of eternaldissolution?”

“Face it, my boy, face it!” said Challenger. “Better to look facts inthe face than to console oneself with fancies.”

Then the lips parted and the long-pent scream burst forth. Challengerrose and rushed from the room.

But now an amazing development occurred. It began by the appearance ofMiss Delicia Freeman.

One morning there came a knock at the door of the Victoria flat. Theaustere and taciturn Austin looking out at the level of his eyesperceived nothing at all. On glancing downwards, however, he was awareof a small lady, whose delicate face and bright bird-like eyes wereturned upwards to his own.

“Oh, yes, he can,” the small lady answered serenely. There was not anewspaper office, a statesman’s sanctum, or a political chancellorywhich had ever presented a barrier strong enough to hold her back whereshe believed that there was good work to be done.

“Oh, but really I must, you know,” said Miss Freeman, and made a suddendive past the butler. With unerring instinct she made for the door ofthe sacred study, knocked, and forthwith entered.

The lion head looked up from behind a desk littered with papers. Thelion eyes glared.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” the lion roared. The small ladywas, however, entirely unabashed. She smiled sweetly at the gloweringface.

“I am so glad to make your acquaintance,” she said. “My name is DeliciaFreeman.”

“Austin!” shouted the Professor. The butler’s impassive face appearedround the angle of the door. “What is this, Austin? How did this personget here?”

“I couldn’t keep her out,” wailed Austin. “Come miss, we’ve had enoughof it.”

“No, no! You must not be angry—you really must not,” said the ladysweetly. “I was told that you were a perfectly terrible person, butreally you are rather a dear.”

“Who are you? What do you want? Are you aware that I am one of the mostbusy men in London?”

Miss Freeman fished about in her bag once more. She was always fishingin that bag, extracting sometimes a leaflet on Armenia, sometimes apamphlet on Greece, sometimes a note on Zenana Missions, and{233} sometimesa psychic manifesto. On this occasion it was a folded bit ofwriting-paper which emerged.

It was hastily folded and roughly scribbled—so roughly as to be hardlylegible. Challenger bent his heavy brows over it.

Challenger read it twice over and sighed. The brain was clearly involvedin the lesion: “He says I am to listen to you. What is it? Cut it asshort as you can.”

“Good God, am I never to get away from this nonsense!” he cried. “Canthey not let this poor devil lie quiet on his deathbed but they mustplay their tricks upon him?”

“You want me to aid and abet in some infernal quackery. The next thing,I should see my name on this rascal’s testimonials. I know the breed. IfI did come I should probably take him by the collar and throw him downthe stair.”

“He would say with Aristides: ‘Strike but hear me.’ You will hear himfirst, however, I am sure. Your pupil is a real chip of yourself. Heseems quite ashamed of getting well in such an unorthodox way. It was Iwho called Dr. Felkin in against his wish.”

“I am prepared to take any responsibility, so long as Iknow I amright. I spoke to Dr. Atkinson. He knows a little of psychic matters. Heis far less prejudiced than most of you scientific gentlemen. He tookthe view that when a man was dying in any case it could matter littlewhat you did. So Dr. Felkin came.”

“That is what Dr. Ross Scotton wants you to see.” She looked at a watchwhich she dragged from the depths of the bag. “In an hour he will bethere. I’ll tell your friend you are coming. I am sure you would notdisappoint him. Oh!” She dived into the bag again. “Here is a recentnote upon the Bessarabian question. It is much more serious than peoplethink.{235} You will just have time to 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 wassomething compelling in the absolutely unselfish enthusiasm of thissmall person who would, at a moment’s notice, take on anyone from aMormon elder to an Albanian brigand, loving the culprit and mourning thesin. Challenger came under the spell, and shortly after three he stumpedhis way up the narrow stair and blocked the door of the humble bedroomwhere his favourite pupil lay stricken. Ross Scotton lay stretched uponthe bed in a red dressing-gown, and his teacher saw, with a start ofsurprised joy, that his face had filled out and that the light of lifeand hope had come back into his eyes.

“Yes, I’m beating it!” he cried. “Ever since Felkin held his firstconsultation with Atkinson I have felt the life force stealing back intome. Oh, chief, it is a fearful thing to lie awake at night and feelthese cursed microbes nibbling away at the very roots of your life! Icould almost hear them at it. And the cramps when my body—like a badlyarticulated skeleton—would all get twisted into one rigid tangle! Butnow, except some dyspepsia and urticaria of the palms, I am free frompain. And all on account of this dear fellow here who has helped me.”

He motioned with his hand as if alluding to someone present. Challengerlooked round with a glare, expecting to find some smug charlatan behindhim. But no doctor was there. A frail young woman, who seemed to be anurse, quiet, unobtrusive, and with a wealth of brown hair, was dozingin a corner. Miss Delicia, smiling demurely, stood in the window.

“I am glad you are better, my dear boy,” said{236} Challenger. “But do nottamper with your reason. Such a complaint has its natural systole anddiastole.”

Challenger looked up at the cornice and round at the skirting. His pupilwas clearly addressing some doctor in the room and yet none was visible.Surely his aberration had not reached the point when he thought thatactual floating apparitions were directing his cure.

“Indeed, it needs some clearing,” said a deep and virile voice at hiselbow. He bounded round. It was the frail young woman who was talking.

“Let me introduce you to Dr. Felkin,” said Miss Delicia, with amischievous laugh.

The young woman rose and fumbled at the side of her dress. Then she madean impatient gesture with her hand.

“Time was, my dear colleague, when a snuff-box was as much part of myequipment as my phlebotomy case. I lived before the days of Laennec, andwe carried no stethoscope, but we had our little chirurgical battery,none the less. But the snuff-box was a peace-offering, and I was aboutto offer it to you, but, alas! it has had its day.”

Challenger stood with staring eyes and dilated nostrils while thisspeech was delivered. Then he turned to the bed.

“Do you mean to say that this is your doctor—that you take the adviceof this person?”

“Sir, I will not bandy words with you. I perceive very clearly that youare one of those who have been so immersed in material knowledge thatyou have had{237} no time to devote to the possibilities of the spirit.”

“My dear chief!” cried a voice from the bed. “I beg you to bear in mindhow much Dr. Felkin has already done for me. You saw how I was a monthago, and you see how I am now. You would not offend my best friend.”

“I certainly think, Professor, that you owe dear Dr. Felkin an apology,”said Miss Delicia.

“A private lunatic asylum!” snorted Challenger. Then, playing up to hispart, he assumed the ponderous elephantine irony which was one of hismost effective weapons in dealing with recalcitrant students.

“Perhaps, young lady—or shall I say elderly and most venerableProfessor?—you will permit a mere raw earthly student, who has no moreknowledge than this world can give, to sit humbly in a corner andpossibly to learn a little from your methods and your teachings.” Thespeech was delivered with his shoulders up to his ears, his eyelids overhis eyes, and his palms extended in front—an alarming statue ofsarcasm. Dr. Felkin, however, was striding, with heavy and impatientsteps, about the room and took little notice.

“Quite so! Quite so!” he said carelessly. “Get into the corner and staythere. Above all stop talking, as this case calls for all my faculties.”He turned with a masterful air towards the patient. “Well, well, you arecoming along. In two months you will be in the class-room.”

“I’ll answer for that,” said Miss Delicia. “I say, dear Doctor, do tellus who you were when you were alive.”

“Tut! tut! The unchanging woman. They gossiped in my time and theygossip still. No, no! We will have a look at our young friend here.Pulse! The intermittent beat has gone. That is something gained.Temperature ... obviously normal. Blood-pressure—still higher than Ilike. Digestion—much to be desired. What you moderns call ahunger-strike would not be amiss. Well, the general conditions aretolerable. Let us see the local centre of the mischief. Pull your shirtdown, sir! Lie on your face. Excellent!” She passed her fingers withgreat force and precision down the upper part of the spine, and then dugin her knuckles with a sudden force which made the sufferer yelp. “Thatis better! There is—as I have explained—a slight want of alignment inthe cervical vertebræ which has, as I perceive it, the effect oflessening the foramina through which the nerve roots emerge. This hascaused compression, and as these nerves are really the conductors ofvital force, it has upset the whole equilibrium of the parts supplied.My eyes are the same as your clumsy X-rays, and I clearly perceive thatthe position is almost restored and the fatal constriction removed. Ihope, sir,” to Challenger, “that I make the pathology of thisinteresting case intelligible to you.”

“I will clear up any little difficulties which may linger in your mind.But, meantime, my dear lad, you are a credit to me and I rejoice in yourprogress. You will present my compliments to my colleague of earth, Dr.Atkinson, and tell him that I can suggest{239} nothing more. The medium is alittle weary, poor girl, so I 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 and perhapsimbibed something of his methods. When I passed over in early middle ageI continued my studies and was permitted, if I could find some suitablemeans of expression, to do something to help humanity. You understand,of course, that it is only by serving and self-abnegation that weadvance in the higher world. This is my service, and I can only thankkind Fate that I was able to find in this girl a being whose vibrationsso correspond with my own that I can easily assume control of her body.”

“She is waiting beside me and will presently re-enter her own frame. Asto you, sir,” turning to Challenger, “you are a man of character andlearning, but you are clearly embedded in that materialism which is thespecial curse of your age. Let me assure you that the medicalprofession, which is supreme upon earth for the disinterested work ofits members, has yielded too much to the dogmatism of such men as you,and has unduly neglected that spiritual element in man which is far moreimportant than your herbs and your minerals. There is a life-force, sir,and it is in the control of this life-force that the medicine of thefuture lies. If you shut your mind to it it can only mean that theconfidence of the public will turn to those who are ready to adopt everymeans of cure, whether they have the approval of your authorities ornot.”

Never could young Ross Scotton forget that scene.{240} The Professor, themaster, the supreme chief, he who had to be addressed with bated breath,sat with half-opened mouth and staring eyes, leaning forward in hischair, while in front of him the slight young woman, shaking her mop ofbrown hair and wagging an admonitory forefinger, spoke to him as afather speaks to a refractory child. So intense was her power thatChallenger, for the instant, was constrained to accept the situation. Hegasped and 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, I must go, forI have much to do. This is not my only medium of expression and I am duein Edinburgh in a few minutes. But be of good heart, young man. I willset my assistant with two extra batteries to increase your vitality sofar as your system will permit. As to you, sir,” to Challenger, “I wouldimplore you to beware of the egotism of brain and the self-concentrationof intellect. Store what is old, but be ever receptive to what is new,and judge it not as you may wish it, but as God has designed it.”

She gave a deep sigh and sank back in her chair. There was a minute ofdead silence while she lay with her head upon her breast. Then withanother sigh and a shiver she opened a pair of very bewildered blueeyes.

“Indeed, yes!” cried the patient. “He was great. He says I shall be inthe class-room in two months.”

“Just the special message as before. But he is{241} going to put on two newspirit batteries if I can stand it.”

“My word, he won’t be long now!” Suddenly the girl’s eyes lit onChallenger and she stopped in confusion.

“This is Nurse Ursula,” said Miss Delicia. “Nurse, let me present you tothe famous Professor Challenger.”

Challenger was great in his manner towards women, especially if theparticular woman happened to be a young and pretty girl. He advanced nowas Solomon may have advanced to the Queen of Sheba, took her hand andpatted her hair with patriarchal assurance.

“My dear, you are far too young and charming for such deceit. Have donewith it for ever. Be content to be a bewitching nurse and resign allclaim to the higher functions of doctor. Where, may I ask, did you pickup all this jargon about cervical vertebræ and posterior foramina?”

Nurse Ursula looked helplessly round as one who finds herself suddenlyin the clutches of a gorilla.

“She does not understand a word you say!” cried the man on the bed. “Oh,chief, you must make an effort to face the real situation! I know what areadjustment it means. In my small way I have had to undergo it myself.But, believe me, you see everything through a prism instead of throughplate-glass until you understand the spiritual factor.”

Challenger continued his paternal attentions though the frightened ladyhad begun to shrink from him.

“Come now,” said he, “who was the clever doctor with whom you acted asnurse—the man who taught you all these fine words? You must feel thatit is hopeless to deceive me. You will be much happier, dear child, whenyou have made a clean breast of it all,{242} and when we can laugh togetherover the lecture which you inflicted upon me.”

An unexpected interruption came to check Challenger’s exploration of theyoung woman’s conscience or motives. The invalid was sitting up, a vividred patch against his white pillows, and he was speaking with an energywhich was in itself an indication of his coming cure.

“Professor Challenger!” he cried, “you are insulting my best friend.Under this roof at least she shall be safe from the sneers of scientificprejudice. I beg you to leave the room if you cannot address NurseUrsula in a more respectful manner.”

“You are far too hasty, dear Dr. Ross Scotton!” she cried. “ProfessorChallenger has had no time to understand this. You were just assceptical yourself at first. How can you blame him?”

“Yes, yes, that is true,” said the young doctor. “It seemed to me toopen the door to all the quackery in the Universe—indeed it does, butthe fact remains.”

“‘One thing I know that whereas I was blind now I see.’” quoted MissDelicia. “Ah, Professor, you may raise your eyebrows and shrug yourshoulders, but we’ve dropped something into your big mind this afternoonwhich will grow and grow until no man can see the end of it.” She divedinto the bag. “There is a little slip here ‘Brainversus Soul.’ I dohope, dear Professor, that you will read it and then pass it on.{243}”

CHAPTER XV

IN WHICH TRAPS ARE LAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

MALONE was bound in honour not to speak of love to Enid Challenger, butlooks can speak, and so their communications had not broken downcompletely. In all other ways he adhered closely to the agreement,though the situation was a difficult one. It was the more difficultsince he was a constant visitor to the Professor, and now that theirritation of the debate was over, a very welcome one. The one object ofMalone’s life was to get the great man’s sympathetic consideration ofthose psychic subjects which had gained such a hold upon himself. Thishe pursued with assiduity, but also with great caution, for he knew thatthe lava was thin and that a fiery explosion was always possible. Onceor twice it came and caused Malone to drop the subject for a week or twountil the ground seemed a little more firm.

Malone developed a remarkable cunning in his approaches. One favouritedevice was to consult Challenger upon some scientific point—on thezoological importance of the Straits of Banda, for example, or theInsects of the Malay Archipelago, and lead him on until Challenger indue course would explain that our knowledge on the point was due toAlfred Russel Wallace. “Oh, really! To Wallace the Spiritualist!” Malonewould say in an innocent voice, on which Challenger would glare andchange the topic.{244}

Sometimes it was Lodge that Malone would use as a trap. “I suppose youthink highly of him.”

Challenger would shut up like a clam. Then Malone would wait a few daysand remark casually: “Have you ever met Lombroso!”

“Ah, a man of Lombroso’s penetrating brain would make short work of thefallacies of these charlatans.”

“Well, even the greatest mind has its inexplicable weakness.” Thus withinfinite patience and cunning did Malone drop his little drops of reasonin the hope of slowly wearing away the casing of prejudice, but no veryvisible effects could be seen. Some stronger measure must be adopted andMalone determined upon direct demonstration. But how, when, and where?Those were the all-important points upon which he determined to consultAlgernon Mailey. One spring afternoon found him back in thatdrawing-room where he had once rolled upon the carpet in the embrace ofSilas Linden. He found the Rev. Charles Mason, and Smith, the hero ofthe Queen’s Hall debate, in deep consultation with Mailey upon a subjectwhich may seem much more important to our descendants that those topicswhich now bulk large in the eyes of the public. It was no less thanwhether{245} the psychic movement in Britain was destined to take aUnitarian or a Trinitarian course. Smith had always been in favour ofthe former, as had the old leaders of the movement and the presentorganised Spiritualist Churches. On the other hand, Charles Mason was aloyal son of the Anglican Church, and was the spokesman of a host ofothers, including such weighty names as Lodge and Barrett among thelaymen, or Wilberforce, Haweis and Chambers among the clergy, who clungfast to the old teachings while admitting the fact of spiritcommunication. Mailey stood between the two parties, and, like thezealous referee in a boxing-match who separates the two combatants, healways took a chance of getting a knock from each. Malone was only tooglad to listen, for now that he realised that the future of the worldmight be bound up in this movement, every phase of it was of intenseinterest to him. Mason was holding forth in his earnest, butgood-humoured, way as he entered.

“The people are not ready for a great change. It is not necessary. Wehave only to add our living knowledge, and direct communion of thesaints to the splendid liturgy and traditions of the Church, and youwill have a driving-force which will revitalise all religion. You can’tpull a thing up from the roots like that. Even the early Christiansfound that they could not, and so they made all sorts of concessions tothe religions around them.”

“Which was exactly what ruined them,” said Smith. “That was the real endof the Church in its original strength and purity.”

“But it was never the same from the time that villain Constantine laidhis hands on it.{246}”

“Oh, come!” said Mailey. “You must not write down the first Christianemperor as a villain.”

But Smith was a forthright, uncompromising, bull-doggy antagonist. “Whatother name will you give to a man who murdered half his own family?”

“Well, his personal character is not the question. We were talking ofthe organisation of the Christian Church.”

Mason smiled his jolly smile. “So long as you grant me the existence ofthe New Testament I don’t care what you do. If you were to prove thatour Lord was a myth, as that German Drews tried to do, it would not inthe least affect me so long as I could point to that body of sublimeteaching. It must have come from 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 enoughto go on with, anyhow. But we want to cut out the frills andsuperfluities. Where did they all come from? They were compromises withmany religions, so that our friend C. could get uniformity in hisworld-wide Empire. He made a patchwork quilt of it. He took an Egyptianritual—vestments, mitre, crozier, tonsure, marriage ring—all Egyptian.The Easter ceremonies are pagan and refer to the vernal equinox.Confirmation is mithraism. So is baptism, only it was blood instead ofwater. As to the sacrificial meal....”

Mason put his fingers in his ears. “This is some old lecture of yours,”he laughed. “Hire a hall, but don’t obtrude it in a private house. Butseriously, Smith, all this is beside the question. If it is true it willnot affect my position at all, which is that we have{247} a great body ofdoctrine which is working well, and which is regarded with veneration bymany people, your humble servant included, and that it would be wrongand foolish to scrap it. Surely you must agree.”

“No, I don’t,” Smith answered, setting his obstinate jaw. “You arethinking too much of the feelings of your blessed church-goers. But youhave also to think of the nine people out of ten who never enter into achurch. They have been choked off by what they, including your humbleservant, consider to be unreasonable and fantastic. How will you gainthem while you continue to offer them the same things, even though youmix spirit-teaching with it? If, however, you approach these agnostic oratheistic ones, and say to them: ‘I quite agree that all this is unrealand is tainted by a long history of violence and reaction. But here wehave something pure and new. Come and examine it!’ In that way I couldcoax them back into a belief in God and in all the fundamentals ofreligion without their having to do violence to their reason byaccepting your theology.”

Mailey had been tugging at his tawny beard while he listened to theseconflicting counsels. Knowing the two men he was aware that there wasnot really much between them, when one got past mere words, for Smithrevered the Christ as a God-like man, and Mason as a man-like God, andthe upshot was much the same. At the same time he knew that their moreextreme followers on either side were in very truth widely separated, sothat compromise became impossible.

“What I can’t understand,” said Malone, “is why you don’t ask yourspirit friends these questions and abide by their decisions.{248}”

“It is not so simple as you think,” Mailey answered. “We all carry onour earthly prejudices after death, and we all find ourselves in anatmosphere which more or less represents them. Thus each would echo hisold views at first. Then in time the spirit broadens out and it ends ina universal creed which includes only the brotherhood of man and thefatherhood of God. But that takes time. I have heard most furious bigotstalking through the veil.”

“So have I, for that matter,” said Malone, “and in this very room. Butwhat about the materialists? They at least cannot remain unchanged.”

“I believe their mind influences their state and that they lie inert forages sometimes, under their own obsession that nothing can occur. Thenat last they wake, realise their own loss of time, and, finally, in manycases get to the head of the procession, since they are often men offine character and influenced by lofty motives, however mistaken intheir views.”

“Yes, they are often among the salt of the earth,” said the clergymanheartily.

“And they offer the very best recruits for our movement,” said Smith.“There comes such a reaction when they find by the evidence of their ownsenses that there really is intelligent force outside themselves, thatit gives them an enthusiasm that makes them ideal missionaries. Youfellows who have a religion and then add to it cannot even imagine whatit means to the man who has a complete vacuum and suddenly findssomething to fill it. When I meet some poor earnest chap feeling outinto the darkness 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 of those whoexplore psychic{249} possibilities that the subject is so many-sided and theinterest so intense that when they meet together they plunge into themost fascinating exchange of views and experiences. It was with somedifficulty that Malone got the conversation round to that which had beenthe particular object of his visit. He could have found no group of menmore fit to advise 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 large séance roomof the Psychic College was the most select, the most comfortable, inevery way the best appointed in London. When should it be? The soonerthe better. Every Spiritualist and every medium would surely put anyengagement aside in order to help on such an occasion.

“Who should the medium be? Ah! There was the rub. Of course, theBolsover circle would be ideal. It was private and unpaid, but Bolsoverwas a man of quick temper and Challenger was sure to be very insultingand annoying. The meeting might end in riot and fiasco. Such a chanceshould not be taken. Was it worth while to take him over to Paris? Butwho would take the responsibility of letting loose such a bull in Dr.Maupuis’ china-shop?

“He would probably seize Pithecanthropus by the throat and risk everylife in the room,” said Mailey. “No, no, it would never do.”

“There is no doubt that Banderby is the strongest physical medium inEngland,” said Smith. “But we all know what his personal character is.You could not rely upon him.”

“But surely,” said Malone, “that is a strong argument against our cause.How can a thing be good if it leads to such a result?”

“Yet Poe was a drunkard, and Coleridge an addict, and Byron a rake, andVerlaine a degenerate. You have to separate the man from the thing. Thegenius has to pay a ransom for his genius in the instability of histemperament. A great medium is even more sensitive than a genius. Manyare beautiful in their lives. Some are not. The excuse for them isgreat. They practise a most exhausting profession and stimulants areneeded. Then they lose control. But their physical mediumship carries onall the same.”

“Which reminds me of a story about Banderby,” said Mailey. “Perhaps youhave not seen him, Malone. He is a funny figure at any time—a little,round, bouncing man who has not seen his own toes for years. When drunkhe is funnier still. A few weeks ago I got an urgent message that he wasin the bar of a certain hotel, and too far gone to get home unassisted.A friend and I set forth to rescue him. We got him home after someunsavoury adventures, and what would the man do but insist upon holdinga séance. We tried to restrain him, but the trumpet was on a side-table,and he suddenly switched off the light. In an instant the phenomenabegan. Never were they more powerful. But they were interrupted byPrinceps, his control, who seized the trumpet and began belabouring himwith it. ‘You rascal! You drunken rascal! How dare you! How dare you!’The trumpet was all dinted with the blows. Banderby{251} ran bellowing outof the room, and we took our departure.”

“Well, it wasn’t the medium that time, at any rate,” said Mason. “Butabout Professor Challenger—it would never do to risk the chance.”

“Tom has never been quite the same since his imprisonment. These foolsnot only persecute our precious mediums, but they ruin their powers. Itis like putting a razor into a damp place and then expecting it to havea fine edge.”

“Well, I would not go so far as that. But they are not so good as theywere. He sees a disguised policeman in every sitter and it distractshim. Still he is dependable so far as he goes. Yes, on the whole we hadbetter have Tom.”

“I expect Professor Challenger may wish to bring a friend or two of hisown.”

“They will form a horrible block of vibrations. We must have some of ourown sympathetic people to counteract it. There is Delicia Freeman. Shewould come. I would come myself. You would come, Mason?”

“No, no! I have my paper to look after, three services, two burials, onemarriage, and five meetings all next week.”

“Well, we can easily get one or two more. Eight is Linden’s favouritenumber. So now, Malone, you have only to get the great man’s consent andthe date.”

“And the spirit confirmation,” said Mason, seri{252}ously. “We must take ourpartners into consultation.”

“Of course we must, padre. That is the right note to strike. Well,that’s settled, Malone, and we can only await the event.”

As it chanced, a very different event was awaiting Malone that evening,and he came upon one of those chasms which unexpectedly open across thepath of life. When, in his ordinary routine, he reached the office oftheGazette, he was informed by the commissionaire that Mr. Beaumontdesired to see him. Malone’s immediate superior was the old Scotchsubeditor, Mr. McArdle, and it was rare indeed for the supreme editor tocast a glimpse down from that peak whence he surveyed the kingdoms ofthe world, or to show any cognisance of his humble fellow-workers uponthe slopes beneath him. The great man, clean-shaven, prosperous andcapable, sat in his palatial sanctum amid a rich assortment of old oakfurniture and sealing-wax-red leather. He continued his letter whenMalone entered, and only raised his shrewd, grey eyes after some minutesinterval.

“Ah, Mr. Malone, good evening! I have wanted to see you for some littletime. Won’t you sit down? It is in reference to these articles onpsychic matters which you have been writing. You opened them in a toneof healthy scepticism, tempered by humour, which was very acceptableboth to me and to our public. I regret, however, to observe that yourview changed as you proceeded, and that you have now assumed a positionin which you really seem to condone some of these practises. That, Ineed not say, is not the policy of theGazette, and we should havediscontinued the articles had it not been that we had an{253}nounced aseries by an impartial investigator. We have had to continue, but thetone must change.”

“You must get the funny side of it again. That is what our public loves.Poke fun at it all. Call up the maiden aunt and make her talk in anamusing fashion. You grasp my meaning?”

“I am afraid, sir, it has ceased to seem funny in my eyes. On thecontrary, I take it more and more seriously.”

“So, unfortunately, do our subscribers.” He had a small pile of lettersupon the desk beside him and he took one up.

“Look at this. ‘I had always regarded your paper as a God-fearingpublication, and I would remind you that such practises as yourcorrespondent seems to condone are expressly forbidden both in Leviticusand Deuteronomy. I should share your sin if I continued to be asubscriber.’”

“So he may be, but the penny of a bigoted ass is as good as any otherpenny. Here is another letter: ‘Surely in this age of free-thought andenlightenment you are not helping a movement which tries to lead us backto the exploded idea of angelic and diabolic intelligences outsideourselves. If so, I must ask you to cancel my subscription.’”

“It would be amusing, sir, to shut these various objectors up in a roomand let them settle it among themselves.”

“That may be, Mr. Malone, but what I have to consider is the circulationof theGazette.”

“Don’t you think, sir, that possibly you underrate the intelligence ofthe public, and that behind these{254} extremists of various sorts there isa vast body of people who have been impressed by the utterances of somany great and honourable witnesses? Is it not our duty to keep thesepeople abreast of the real facts without making fun of them?”

“The Spiritualists must fight their own battle. This is not a propagandanewspaper, and we make no pretense to lead the public on religiousbeliefs.”

“No, no, I only meant as to the actual facts. Look how systematicallythey are kept in the dark. When, for example, did one ever read anintelligent article upon ectoplasm in any London paper? Who wouldimagine that this all-important substance has been examined anddescribed and endorsed by men of science with innumerable photographs toprove their words?”

“Well, well,” said Beaumont, impatiently. “I am afraid I am too busy toargue the question. The point of this interview is that I have had aletter from Mr. Cornelius to say that we must at once take anotherline.”

Mr. Cornelius was the owner of theGazette, having become so, not fromany personal merit, but because his father left him some millions, partof which he expended upon this purchase. He seldom was seen in theoffice himself, but occasionally a paragraph in the paper recorded thathis yacht had touched at Mentone and that he had been seen at the MonteCarlo tables, or that he was expected in Leicestershire for the season.He was a man of no force of brain or character, though occasionally heswayed public affairs by a manifesto printed in larger type upon his ownfront page. Without being dissolute, he was a free liver, living in aconstant luxury which placed him{255} always on the edge of vice andoccasionally over the border. Malone’s hot blood flushed to his head ashe thought of this trifler, this insect, coming between mankind and amessage of instruction and consolation descending from above. And yetthose clumsy, 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 manner of onewho ends an argument.

“Quite final!” said Malone. “So final that it marks the end of myconnection with your paper. I have a six month’s contract. When it ends,I go!”

Malone, with the flush of battle still upon him, went into McArdle’sroom and told him what had happened. The old Scotch sub-editor was veryperturbed.

“Eh, man, it’s that Irish blood of yours. A drop o’ Scotch is a goodthing, 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 and red face,and—well, you know all about his private life—the idea of such a mandictating what folk are to believe, and asking me to make fun of theholiest thing on this earth!”

“Well, better men than I have been ruined over this cause. But I’ll getanother job.”

“Not if Cornelius can stop you. If you get the name of an insubordinatedog there is no place for you in Fleet Street.”

“It’s a damned shame!” cried Malone. “The way this thing has beentreated is a disgrace to journal{256}ism. It’s not Britain alone. America isworse. We seem to have the lowest, most soulless folk that ever lived onthe Press—good-hearted fellows too, but material to a man. And theseare the leaders of the people! It’s awful!”

“Weel, weel, lad, we take the world as we find it. We didn’t make it andwe’re no reesponsible. Give it time! Give it time! We’re a’ in such ahurry. Gang hame, noo, think it over, remember your career, that youngleddy of yours, and then come back and eat the old pie that all of ushave to eat if we are to keep our places in the world.{257}”

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH CHALLENGER HAS THE EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFETIME

SO now the nets were set and the pit was dug and the hunters were allready for the great quarry, but the question was whether the creaturewould allow himself to be driven in the right direction. Had Challengerbeen told that the meeting was really held in the hope of puttingconvincing evidence before him as to the truth of spirit intercoursewith the aim of his eventual conversion, it would have roused mingledanger and derision in his breast. But the clever Malone, aided andabetted by Enid, still put forward the idea that his presence would be aprotection against fraud, and that he would be able to point out to themhow and why they had been deceived. With this thought in his mind,Challenger gave a contemptuous and condescending consent to the proposalthat he should grace with his presence a proceeding which was, in hisopinion, more fitted to the stone cabin of a neolithic savage than tothe serious attention of one who represented the accumulated culture andwisdom of the human race.

Enid accompanied her father, and he also brought with him a curiouscompanion who was strange both to Malone and to the rest of the company.This was a large, raw-boned Scottish youth, with a freckled face, a hugefigure, and a taciturnity which nothing could penetrate. No questioncould discover where his{258} interests in psychic research might lie, andthe only positive thing obtained from him was that his name was Nicholl.Malone and Mailey 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 LordRoxton, who had become assiduous in his psychic studies, and was rapidlyprogressing in knowledge. There were nine in all, a mixed, inharmoniousassembly, from which no experienced investigator could expect greatresults. On entering the séance room Linden was found seated in thearm-chair, his wife beside him, and was introduced collectively to thecompany, most of whom were already his friends. Challenger took up thematter at once with the air of a man who will stand no nonsense.

“It is suggested that you and your friend, Mr. Nicholl, shall do so.There is a bedroom next door.”

Poor Linden was marched off between them in a manner which reminded himunpleasantly of his prison experiences. He had been nervous before butthis ordeal and the overpowering presence of Challenger made him stillmore so. He shook his head mournfully at Mailey when he reappeared.{259}

“I doubt we will get nothing to-day. Maybe it would be wise to postponethe sitting,” said he.

Mailey came round and patted him on the shoulder, while Mrs. Linden tookhis hand.

“It’s all right, Tom,” said Mailey. “Remember that you have a bodyguardof friends round you who won’t see you ill used.” Then Mailey spoke toChallenger in a sterner way than was his wont. “I beg you to remember,sir, that a medium is as delicate an instrument as any to be found inyour laboratories. Do not abuse it. I presume that you found nothingcompromising upon his person?”

“No, sir, I did not. And as a result he assures us that we will getnothing to-day.”

“He says so because your manner has disturbed him. You must treat himmore gently.”

Challenger’s expression did not promise any amendment. His eyes fellupon Mrs. Linden.

“I understand that this person is the medium’s wife. She should also besearched.”

“That is a matter of course,” said the Scotsman Ogilvy. “My wife andyour daughter will take her out. But I beg you, Professor Challenger, tobe as harmonious as you can, and to remember that we are all asinterested in the results as you are, so that the whole company willsuffer if you should disturb the conditions.”

Mr. Bolsover, the grocer, rose with as much dignity as if he werepresiding at his favourite temple.

“You are here not as our friend but as our enemy.{260} If you was to provefraud 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 of cheating?”trumpeted Challenger.

“Well, Professor, we are all accused of it in turn,” said Maileysmiling. “We all feel as indignant as you are at first, but after a timeyou get used to it. I’ve been called a liar, a lunatic—goodness knowswhat. What does it matter?”

“Well, sir,” said Ogilvy, who was a particularly pertinacious Scot. “Ofcourse, it is open to you to walk out of the room and leave us. But ifyou sit, you must sit under what we consider to be scientificconditions. It is not scientific that a man who is known to be bitterlyhostile to the movement should sit with us in the dark with no check asto what he may have in his pockets.”

“Come, come!” cried Malone. “Surely we can trust to the honour ofProfessor Challenger.”

“That’s all very well,” said Bolsover. “I did not observe that ProfessorChallenger trusted so very much to the honour of Mr. and Mrs. Linden.”

“We have cause to be careful,” said Ogilvy. “I can assure you that thereare frauds practised on mediums just as there are frauds practised bymediums. I could give you plenty of examples. No, sir, you will have tobe searched.”

“It won’t take a minute,” said Lord Roxton. “What I mean young Malonehere and I could give you a once over in no time.”

And so Challenger, like a red-eyed bull with dilat{261}ing nostrils, was ledfrom the room. A few minutes later, all preliminaries being completed,they were seated in the circle and the séance had begun.

But already the conditions had been destroyed. Those meticulousresearchers who insist upon tying up a medium until the poor creatureresembles a fowl trussed for roasting, or who glare their suspicions athim before the lights are lowered, do not realise that they are likepeople who add moisture to gunpowder and then expect to explode it. Theyruin their own results, and then when those results do not occur imaginethat their own astuteness, rather than their own lack of understanding,has been the cause.

Hence it is that at humble gatherings all over the land, in anatmosphere of sympathy and of reverence, there are such happenings asthe cold man of “Science” is never privileged to see.

All the sitters felt churned up by the preliminary altercation, but howmuch more did it mean to the sensitive centre of it all! To him the roomwas filled with conflicting rushes and eddies of psychic power, whirlingthis way or that, and as difficult for him to navigate as the rapidsbelow Niagara. He groaned in his despair. Everything was mixed andconfused. He was beginning as usual with his clairvoyance, but namesbuzzed in his etheric ears without sequence or order. The word “John”seemed to predominate, so he said so. Did “John” mean anything toanyone? A cavernous laugh from Challenger was the only reply. Then hehad the surname of Chapman. Yes, Mailey had lost a friend named Chapman.But it was years ago, and there seemed no reason for his presence, norcould he furnish his Christian name. “Budworth”—no; no one would own toa friend named Budworth. Definite messages came across, but they seemedto have{262} no reference to the present company. Everything was goingamiss, and Malone’s spirits sank to zero. Challenger sniffed so loudlythat Ogilvy remonstrated.

“You make matters worse, sir, when you show your feelings,” said he. “Ican assure you that in ten years of constant experience I have neverknown the medium so far out, and I attribute it entirely to your ownconduct.”

“I am afraid it is no use, Tom,” said Mrs. Linden. “How are you feelingnow, dear? Would you wish to stop?”

But Linden, under all his gentle exterior, was a fighter. He had inanother form those same qualities which had brought his brother withinan ace of the Lonsdale Belt.

“No, I think, maybe, it is only the mental part that is confused. If Iam in trance I’ll get past that. The physicals may be better. AnyhowI’ll try.”

The lights were turned lower until they were a mere crimson glimmer. Thecurtain of the cabinet was drawn. Outside it on the one side, dimlyoutlined to his audience, Tom Linden, breathing stertorously in histrance, lay back in a wooden arm-chair. His wife kept watch and ward atthe other side of the cabinet.

Quarter of an hour passed. Then another quarter of an hour. The companywas patient, but Challenger had begun to fidget in his seat. Everythingseemed to have gone cold and dead. Not only was nothing happening, butsomehow all expectation of anything happening seemed to have passedaway.

The medium stirred and groaned; he was waking up. Challenger gave anostentatious yawn.

Mrs. Linden was passing her hand over the medium’s head and brow. Hiseyes had opened.

“It is a great strain upon him under these adverse conditions,” remarkedOgilvy, looking angrily at Challenger.

“The conditions are bad,” said he. “The vibrations are all wrong. ButI’ll try inside the cabinet. It concentrates the force.”

The arm-chair was lifted inside the cloth tent and the medium followed,drawing the curtain behind him.

“No doubt,” said Challenger. “At the same time, in the interests oftruth, I must point out that the disappearance of the medium is mostregrettable.”

“For goodness sake don’t start wrangling again,” cried Mailey withimpatience. “Let us get some results, and then it will be time enough todiscuss their value.”

Again there was a weary wait. Then came some hollow groanings frominside the cabinet. The Spiritualists sat up expectantly.

“That’s ectoplasm,” said Ogilvy. “It always causes pain on emission.{264}”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the curtains were torn openwith sudden violence and a rattling of all the rings. In the darkaperture there was outlined a vague white figure. It advanced slowly andwith hesitation into the centre of the room. In the red-tinted gloom alldefinite outline was lost, and it appeared simply as a moving whitepatch in the darkness. With the deliberation which suggested fear itcame, step by step, until it was opposite the Professor.

There was a shout, a scream, a crash. “I’ve got him!” roared someone.“Turn up the lights!” yelled another. “Be careful! You may kill themedium!” cried a third. The circle was broken. Challenger rushed to theswitch and put on all the lights. The place was so flooded with radiancethat it was some seconds before the bewildered and half-blindedspectators could see the details.

When they had recovered their sight and their balance, the spectacle wasa deplorable one for the majority of the company. Tom Linden, lookingwhite, dazed, and ill, was seated upon the ground. Over him stood thehuge young Scotsman who had borne him to earth; while Mrs. Linden,kneeling beside her husband, was glaring up at his assailant. There wassilence as the company surveyed the scene. It was broken by ProfessorChallenger.

“Well, gentlemen, I presume that there is no more to be said. Yourmedium has been exposed as he deserved to be. You can see now the natureof your ghosts. I must thank Mr. Nicholl, who, I may remark, is thefamous football player of that name, for the prompt way in which he hascarried out his instructions.{265}”

“You did it very effectively. You have done public service by helping toexpose a heartless cheat. I need not say that a prosecution willfollow.”

But Mailey now intervened and with such authority that Challenger wasforced to listen.

“Your mistake is not unnatural, sir, though the course which you adoptedin your ignorance is one which might well have been fatal to themedium.”

“My ignorance, indeed! If you speak like that I warn you that I willlook upon you not as dupes, but as accomplices.”

“One moment, Professor Challenger. I would ask you one direct question,and I ask for an equally direct reply. Was not the figure which we allsaw before this painful episode a white figure?”

“You see now that the medium is entirely dressed in black. Where is thewhite garment?”

“It is immaterial to me where it is. No doubt his wife and himself areprepared for all eventualities. They have their own means of secretingthe sheet, or whatever it may have been. These details can be explainedin the police court.”

“I know nothing of the room. I can only use my common sense. The man isexposed masquerading as a spirit. Into what corner or crevice he hasthrust his disguise is a matter of small importance.”

“On the contrary, it is a vital matter. What you have seen has not beenan imposture, but has been a very real psychic phenomenon.”

“Yes, sir, a very real phenomenon. You have seen a transfiguration whichis the half-way state of materialisation. You will kindly realise thatspirit guides, who conduct such affairs, care nothing for your doubtsand suspicions. They set themselves to get certain results, and if theyare prevented by the infirmities of the circle from getting them one waythey get them in another without consulting your prejudice orconvenience. In this case being unable, owing to the evil conditionswhich you have yourself created, to build up an ectoplasmic form, theywrapped the unconscious medium in an ectoplasmic covering and sent himforth from the cabinet. He is as innocent of imposture as you are.”

“I swear to God,” said Linden, “that from the time I entered the cabinetuntil I found myself upon the floor I knew nothing.” He had staggered tohis feet and was shaking all over in his agitation, so that he could nothold the glass of water which his wife had brought him.

“Your excuses,” he said, “only open up fresh abysses of credulity. Myown duty is obvious, and it will be done to the uttermost. Whatever youhave to say will, no doubt, receive such consideration as it deservesfrom the magistrate.” Then Professor Challenger turned to go as one whohas triumphantly accomplished that for which he came. “Come, Enid!” saidhe.

And now occurred a development so sudden, so unexpected, so dramatic,that no one present will ever cease to have it in vivid memory.

Everyone else had risen to their feet. Only Enid remained in her chair.She sat with her head on one{267} 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. Your daughter, sir,is a powerful medium.”

“For God’s sake leave her! You may regret it all your life if you don’t.It is not safe to break abruptly into the mediumistic trance.”

Challenger stood in bewilderment. For once his presence of mind haddeserted him. Was it possible that his child stood on the edge of somemysterious precipice and that he might push her over?

“Have no fear. All will be well. Sit down! Sit down, all of you. Ah! sheis about to speak.”

The girl had stirred. She had sat straight in her chair. Her lipstrembled. One hand was outstretched.

“For him!” she cried, pointing to Challenger. “He must not hurt my Medi.It is a message. For him.”

“Victor speaks, Victor. He shall not hurt my Medi. I have a message. Forhim!”

“She says that she has been once before. That she came through thisgirl. It was after she was buried. She knock and he hear her knocking,but not understand.”

His great eyebrows were bunched over his suspicious, questioning eyes,and he glared like a beast at bay from one to the other of the facesround him. There was a trick—a vile trick. They had suborned his owndaughter. It was damnable. He would expose them, every one. No, he hadno questions to ask. He could see through it all. She had been won over.He could not have believed it of her, and yet it must be so. She wasdoing it for Malone’s sake. A woman would do anything for a man sheloved. Yes, it was damnable. Far from being softened he was morevindictive than ever. His furious face, his broken words, expressed hisconvictions.

“To him. The man who wanted to hurt my Medi. He must not hurt my Medi. Aman here—two men—wish to give him a message.”

“First man’s name is....” The girl’s head slanted and her ear wasupturned, as if listening. “Yes, yes, I have it! It isAl—Al—Aldridge.{269}”

Challenger sat down suddenly. He passed his hand over his brow. He wasdeadly pale. His face was clammy with sweat.

“We shall wait outside,” said Mailey. “Come, friends, let the Professorhave his message.”

They moved towards the door leaving the man seated in front of hisdaughter. An unwonted nervousness seemed suddenly to seize him. “Malone,stay with me!”

“Ask them then—ask them—how did they die?” His voice was broken andhis great frame was quivering with his emotion.

Challenger sank back in his chair with an immense sigh of relief. “MyGod!” 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 Tom Linden.He spoke like a shaken man whose pride for the instant was broken.

“As to you, sir, I do not presume to judge you. A thing has occurred tome which is so strange, and also so certain, since my own trained senseshave attested it, that I am not prepared to deny any explanation whichhas been offered of your previous conduct. I beg to withdraw anyinjurious expressions I may have used.”

Tom Linden was a true Christian in his character. His forgiveness wasinstant and sincere.

“I cannot doubt that my daughter has some strange power which bears outmuch which you, Mr. Mailey, have told me. I was justified in myscientific scepticism, but you have to-day offered me someincontrovertible evidence.”

“We all go through the same experience, Professor. We doubt, and then inturn we are doubted.”

“I can hardly conceive that my word will be doubted upon such a point,”said Challenger, with dignity. “I can truly say that I have hadinformation to-night which no living person upon this earth was in aposition to give. So much is beyond all question.”

“All right, dear. We will talk of that later. Come home with me now. Ihave much to think over. Perhaps you will come back with us, Malone. Ifeel that I owe you some explanation.”

When Professor Challenger reached his flat, he gave Austin orders thathe was on no account to be disturbed, and he led the way into hislibrary, where he sat in his big arm-chair with Malone upon his left andhis daughter upon his right. He had stretched out his great paw andenclosed Enid’s small hand.

“My dear,” he said, after a long silence, “I cannot doubt that you arepossessed of a strange power, for it has been shown to me to-night witha fullness and a clearness which is final. Since you have it I cannotdeny that others may have it also, and the general idea of mediumshiphas entered within my conceptions of what is possible. I will notdiscuss the question, for my thoughts are still confused upon thesubject, and I will need to thrash the thing out with you, young Malone,and with your friends, before I can get a more definite idea. I willonly say that 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 ofProfessor Challenger’ would be a triumph. I warn you that I have not gotso far.”

“We certainly would do nothing premature and your opinions may remainentirely private.”

“I have never lacked the moral courage to proclaim my opinions when theyare formed, but the time has not yet come. However, I have received two{272}messages to-night, and I can only ascribe to them an extra-corporealorigin. I take it for granted, Enid, that you were indeed insensible.”

“Quite so. You have always been incapable of deceit. First there came amessage from your mother. She assured me that she had indeed producedthose sounds which I heard and of which I have told you. It is clear nowthat you were the medium and that you were not in sleep but in trance.It is incredible, inconceivable, grotesquely wonderful—but it wouldseem to be true.”

“Crookes used almost those very words,” said Malone. “He wrote that itwas all ‘perfectly impossible and absolutely true.’”

“None will ever be asked for,” said Malone. “These people are not madethat way.”

“It is the second case which I would explain.” The Professor fidgeteduneasily in his chair. “It is a matter of great privacy—one to which Ihave never alluded, and which no one on earth could have known. Sinceyou heard so much you may as well hear all.

“It happened when I was a young physician, and it is not too much to saythat it cast a cloud over my life—a cloud which has only been raisedto-night. Others may try to explain what has occurred by telepathy, bysubconscious mind action, by what they will, but I cannot doubt—it isimpossible to doubt—that a message has come to me from the dead.

“There was a new drug under discussion at that time. It is useless toenter into details which you would be incapable of appreciating. Sufficeit that it was of the datura family which supplies deadly poisons{273} aswell as powerful medicines. I had received one of the earliestspecimens, and I desired my name to be associated with the firstexploration of its properties. I gave it to two men, Ware and Aldridge.I gave it in what I thought was a safe dose. They were patients, youunderstand, in my ward in a public hospital. Both were found dead in themorning.

“I had given it secretly. None knew of it. There was no scandal for theywere both very ill, and their death seemed natural. But in my own heartI had fears. I believed that I had killed them. It has always been adark background to my life. You heard yourselves to-night that it wasfrom the disease, and not from 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 his owndaughter. He pulled away his hand.

“I worked for science,” he said. “Science must take risks. I do not knowthat I am to blame. And yet—and yet—my heart is very light to-night.{274}”

CHAPTER XVII

WHERE THE MISTS CLEAR AWAY

MALONE had lost his billet and had found his way in Fleet Street blockedby the rumour of his independence. His place upon the staff had beentaken by a young and drunken Jew, who had at once won his spurs by aseries of highly humorous articles upon psychic matters, peppered withassurances that he approached the subject with a perfectly open andimpartial mind. His final device of offering five thousand pounds if thespirits of the dead would place the three first horses in the comingDerby, and his demonstration that ectoplasm was in truth the froth ofbottled porter artfully concealed by the medium, are newspaper stuntswhich are within the recollection of the reader.

But the path which closed on one side had opened on the other.Challenger, lost in his daring dreams and ingenious experiments, hadlong needed an active, clear-headed man to manage his businessinterests, and to control his world-wide patents. There were manydevices, the fruits of his life’s work, which brought in income, but hadto be carefully watched and guarded. His automatic alarm for ships inshallow waters, his device for deflecting a torpedo, his new andeconomical method of separating nitrogen from the air, his radicalimprovements in wireless transmission and his novel treatment ofpitchblende, were all moneymakers. Enraged by the attitude of{275}Cornelius, the Professor placed the management of all these in the handsof his prospective son-in-law, who diligently guarded his interests.

Challenger himself had altered. His colleagues, and those about him,observed the change without clearly perceiving the cause. He was agentler, humbler and more spiritual man. Deep in his soul was theconviction that he, the champion of scientific method and of truth, had,in fact, for many years been unscientific in his methods and aformidable obstruction to the advance of the human soul through thejungle of the unknown. It was this self-condemnation which had wroughtthe change in his character. Also, with characteristic energy, he hadplunged into the wonderful literature of the subject, and as, withoutthe prejudice 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 he could ever forone instant have imagined that such a consensus of opinion could befounded upon error. His violent and whole-hearted nature made him takeup the psychic cause with the same vehemence, and even occasionally thesame intolerance with which he had once denounced it, and the old lionbared his teeth and roared back at those who had once been hisassociates. His remarkable article in theSpectator began, “The obtuseincredulity and stubborn unreason of the prelates who refused to lookthrough the telescope of Galileo and to observe the moons of Jupiter,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 expressed hisconviction that his oppo{276}nents, “did not in truth represent the thoughtof the twentieth century, but might rather be regarded as mental fossilsdug from some early Pliocene horizon.” Critics raised their hands inhorror, as is their wont, against the robust language of the article,though violence of attack has for so many years been condoned in thecase of those who are in opposition. So we may leave Challenger, hisblack mane slowly turning to grey, but his great brain growing everstronger and more virile as it faced such problems as the future had instore—a future which had ceased to be bounded by the narrow horizon ofdeath, and which now stretched away into the infinite possibilities anddevelopments of continued survival of personality, character and work.

The marriage had taken place. It was a quiet function, but no prophetcould ever have foretold the guests whom Enid’s father had assembled inthe Whitehall Rooms. They were a happy crowd, all welded together by theopposition of the world, and united in one common knowledge. There wasthe Rev. Charles Mason, who had officiated at the ceremony, and if evera saint’s blessing consecrated a union, so it had been that morning. Nowin his black 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 combats andeager for more, stood beside his wife, the gentle squire who bore hisweapons and nerved his arm. There was Dr. Maupuis from Paris, trying tomake the waiter understand that he wanted coffee, and being presentedwith toothpicks, while the gaunt Lord Roxton viewed his efforts withcynical amusement. There, too, was the good{277} Bolsover with several ofthe Hammersmith circle, and Tom Linden with his wife, and Smith, thefighting bull-dog from the north, and Dr. Atkinson, and Mervin thepsychic editor 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 as hisearthly representative, Nurse Ursula, could fill his place. All theseand many more were visible to our two-inch spectrum of colour, andaudible to our four octaves of sound. How many others, outside thosenarrow limitations, may have added their presence and theirblessing—who shall say?

One last scene before we close the record. It was in a sitting-room ofthe Imperial Hotel at Folkestone. At the window sat Mr. and Mrs. EdwardMalone gazing westwards down Channel at an angry evening sky. Greatpurple tentacles, threatening forerunners from what lay unseen andunknown beyond the horizon, were writhing up towards the zenith. Belowthe little Dieppe boat was panting eagerly homewards. Far out the greatships were keeping mid-channel as scenting danger to come. The vaguethreat of that menacing sky acted subconsciously upon the minds of bothof them.

“Tell me, Enid,” said Malone, “of all our wonderful psychic experiences,which is now most vivid in your mind?”

“It is curious that you should ask, Ned, for I was thinking of it atthat moment. I suppose it was the association of ideas with thatterrible sky. It was of Miromar I was thinking, the strange mystery manwith his words of doom.”

“Once and once only. It was on a Sunday morning in Hyde Park. He wasspeaking to a little group of men. I mixed with the crowd and listened.It was the same warning.”

“No, indeed. But you don’t take it seriously, Ned, do you? Look at thesolid old earth of England. Look at our great hotel and the people onthe Lees, and the stodgy morning papers and all the settled order of acivilised land. Do you really think that anything could come to destroyit all?”

“No, no, it is the rebirth of the world—of the true world, the world asGod meant it to be.”

“It is a tremendous message. But what is amiss? Why should so dreadful aJudgment fall?”

“It is the materialism, the wooden formalities of the churches, thealienation of all spiritual impulses, the denial of the Unseen, theridicule of this new revelation—these are the causes according to him.”

“But never with the same advantages—never with the education andknowledge and so-called civilisation, which should have led it to higherthings. Look how everything has been turned to evil. We got theknowledge of airships. We bomb cities with them. We learn how to steamunder the sea. We murder seamen with our new knowledge. We gain commandover chemicals. We turn them into explosives or poison gases. It goesfrom worse to worse. At{279} the present moment every nation upon earth isplotting secretly how it can best poison the others. Did God create theplanet for this end, and is it likely that He will allow it to go onfrom bad to worse?”

“Well, I have myself been brooding over the matter, and all my thoughtsseem to justify his conclusions. I read a spirit message which CharlesMason wrote. It was: ‘The most dangerous condition for a man or a nationis when his intellectual side is more developed than his spiritual.’ Isthat not exactly the condition of the world to-day?”

“Ah, there I can only take Miromar’s word for it. He speaks of abreaking of all the phials. There is war, famine, pestilence,earthquake, flood, tidal waves—all ending in peace and gloryunutterable.”

The great purple streamers were right across the sky. A dull crimsonglare, a lurid angry glow, was spreading in the west. Enid shuddered asshe watched it.

“One thing we have learned,” said he. “It is that two souls, where reallove exists, go on and on without a break through all the spheres. Why,then, should you and I fear death, or anything which life or death canbring?”

APPENDIX

The scenes in this chapter are drawn very closely either from personalexperience or from the reports of careful and trustworthy experimenters.Among the latter are Mr. Tozer of Melbourne, and Mr. McFarlane ofSouthsea, both of whom have run methodical circles for the purpose ofgiving help to earthbound spirits. Detailed accounts of experienceswhich I have personally had in the former circles are to be found inchapters IV and VI: of my “Wanderings of a Spiritualist.” I may add thatin my own domestic circle, under my wife’s mediumship, we have beenprivileged to bring hope and knowledge to some of these unhappy beings.

Full reports of a number of these dramatic conversations are to be foundin the last hundred pages of the late Admiral Usborne{282} Moore’s “Glimpsesof the Next State.” It should be said that the Admiral was notpersonally present at these sittings, but that they were carried out bypeople in whom he had every confidence, and that they were confirmed bysworn affidavits of the sitters. “The high character of Mr. LeanderFisher,” says the Admiral, “is sufficient voucher for theirauthenticity.” The same may be said of Mr. E. G. Randall, who haspublished many such cases. He is one of the leading lawyers of Buffalo,while Mr. 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 subjective andhave no relation to real facts. Dealing with this the Admiral says: “Imade enquiries as to whether any of the spirits thus brought tounderstand that they had entered a new state of consciousness had beensatisfactorily identified. The reply was that many had been discovered,but after several had been verified it was considered useless to go onsearching for the relatives and places of abode in earth life of theremainder. Such enquiries involved much time and labour, and alwaysended with the same result.” In one of the cases cited (op. cit. p.524) there is the prototype of the fashionable woman who died in hersleep as depicted in the text. In all these instances the returningspirit did not realise that its earth life was over.

The case of the clergyman and of the sailor from the “Monmouth” bothoccurred in my presence at the circle of Mr. Tozer.

The dramatic case where the spirit of a man (it was the case of severalmen in the original) manifested at the very time of the accident whichcaused their death, and where the names were afterwards verified in thenewspaper report, is given by Mr. E. G. Randall. Another example givenby that gentleman may be added for the consideration of those who havenot realised how cogent is the evidence, and how necessary for us toreconsider our views of death. It is in “The Dead Have Never Died” (p.104).

“I recall an incident that will appeal to the purely materialistic. Iwas one of my father’s executors, and after his dissolution and thesettlement of his estate, speaking to me from the next plane, he told meone night that I had overlooked an item that he wanted to mention to me.

“I replied: ‘Your mind was ever centred on the accumulation of money.Why take up the time that is so limited with the discussion of yourestate. It has already been divided.’

“‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘I know that, but I worked too hard for my money tohave it lost, and there is an asset remaining that you have notdiscovered.’

“‘Well,’ I said, ‘if that be true, tell me about it.’

“He answered: ‘Some years before I left I loaned a small sum of money toSusan Stone, who resided in Pennsylvania, and I took from her apromissory note upon which, under the laws of that State, I was entitledto enter a judgment at once without suit. I was somewhat anxious aboutthe loan, so, before its maturity, I took the note and filed it with theprothonotary at Erie, Pennsyl{283}vania, and he entered judgment, whichbecame a lien on her property. In my books of account there was noreference to that note or judgment. If you will go to the prothonotary’soffice in Erie, you will find the judgment on record, and I want you tocollect it. There are many things that you don’t know about, and this isone of them.’

“I was much surprised at the information thus received, and naturallysent for a transcript of that judgment. I found it entered Oct. 21,1896, and with that evidence of the indebtedness I collected from thejudgment debtor seventy dollars with interest. I question if anyone knewof that transaction besides the makers of the note and the prothonotaryat Erie. Certainly I did not know about it. I had no reason to suspectit. The psychic present at that interview could not have known about thematter, and I certainly collected the money. My father’s voice wasclearly recognisable on that occasion, as it has been on hundreds ofothers, and I cite this instance for the benefit of those who measureeverything from a monetary standpoint.”

The most striking, however, of all these posthumous communications areto be found in “Thirty Years Among the Dead,” by Dr. Wickland of LosAngeles. This, like many other valuable books of the sort, can only beobtained in Great Britain at the Psychic Bookshop in Victoria Street, S.W.

Dr. Wickland and his heroic wife have done work which deserves the veryclosest attention from the alienists of the world. If he makes hispoint, and the case is a strong one, he not only revolutionises all ourideas about insanity, but he cuts deep also into our views ofcriminology, and may well show that we have been punishing as criminalspeople who were more deserving of commiseration than of censure.

Having framed the view that many cases of mania were due to obsessionfrom undeveloped entities, and having found out by some line of enquiry,which is not clear to me, that such entities are exceedingly sensitiveto static electricity when it is passed through the body which they haveinvaded, he founded his treatment with remarkable results upon thishypothesis. The third factor in his system was the discovery that suchentities were more easily dislodged if a vacant body was provided fortheir temporary reception. Therein lies the heroism of Mrs. Wickland, avery charming and cultivated lady, who sits in hypnotic trance besidethe subject ready to receive the invader when he is driven forth. It isthrough the lips of this lady that the identity and character of theundeveloped spirit are determined.

The subject having been strapped to the electric chair—the strapping isvery necessary as many are violent maniacs—the power is turned on. Itdoes not affect the patient, since it is static in its nature, but itcauses acute discomfort to the parasitical spirit, who rapidly takesrefuge in the 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, and finallydismissed either in the care of some minister{284}ing spirit whosuperintends the proceedings, or relegated to the charge of some sternerattendant who will hold him in check should he be unrepentant.

To the scientist who is unfamiliar with psychic work such a baldstatement sounds wild, and I do not myself claim that Dr. Wickland hasfinally made out his case, but I do say that our experiences at rescuecircles bear out the general idea, and that he has admittedly cured manycases which others have found intractable. Occasionally there is verycogent confirmation. Thus in the case of one female spirit who bitterlybewailed that she had not taken enough carbolic acid the week before,the name and address being correctly given (op. cit. p. 39).

It is not apparently everyone who is open to this invasion, but onlythose who are in some peculiar way psychic sensitives. The discovery,when fully made out, will be one of the root facts of the psychology andjurisprudence of the future.

Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. Frank L. Packard.
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. A. Conan Doyle.
Affair at Flower Acres, The. Carolyn Wells.
Affinities and Other Stories. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
After House, The. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Against the Winds. Kate Jordan.
Alcatraz. Max Brand.
Alias Richard Power. William Allison.
All the Way by Water. Elizabeth Stancy Payne.
Amateur Gentleman, The. Jeffery Farnol.
Amateur Inn, The. Albert Payson Terhune.
Anna the Adventuress. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Anne’s House of Dreams. L. M. Montgomery.
Anybody But Anne. Carolyn Wells.
Are All Men Alike, and The Lost Titian.Arthur Stringer.
Around Old Chester. Margaret Deland.
Arrant Rover, The. Berta Ruck.
Athalie. Robert W. Chambers.
At the Mercy of Tiberius. Augusta Evans Wilson.
At Sight of Gold. Cynthia Lombardi.
Auction Block, The. Rex Beach.
Aunt Jane of Kentucky. Eliza C. Hall.
Awakening of Helena Ritchie. Margaret Deland.

Bab: a Sub-Deb. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Bar 20. Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar 20 Days. Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar-20 Three. Clarence E. Mulford.
Barrier, The. Rex Beach.
Bars of Iron, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Bat Wing. Sax Rohmer.
Beasts of Tarzan, The. Edgar Rice Burroughs.
Beautiful and Damned, The. F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Beauty. Rupert Hughes.
Behind Locked Doors. Ernest M. Poate.
Bella Donna. Robert Hichens. (Photoplay Ed.).
Beloved Traitor, The. Frank L. Packard.
Beloved Vagabond, The. Wm. J. Locke.
Beloved Woman, The. Kathleen Norris.
Beltane the Smith. Jeffery Farnol.
Betrayal, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Beyond the Frontier. Randall Parrish.
Big Timber. Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Black Bartlemy’s Treasure. Jeffery Farnol.
Black Buttes. Clarence E. Mulford.
Black Cæsar’s Clan. Albert Payson Terhune.
Black Gold. Albert Payson Terhune.
Black Is White. George Barr McCutcheon.
Black Oxen. Gertrude Atherton. (Photoplay Ed.).
Blue Circle, The. Elizabeth Jordan.
Bob, Son of Battle. Alfred Olivant.
Box With Broken Seals, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Brandon of the Engineers. Harold Bindloss.
Breaking Point, The. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Bridge of Kisses. Berta Ruck.
Bring Me His Ears. Clarence E. Mulford.
Broad Highway, The. Jeffery Farnol.
Broken Barriers. Meredith Nicholson.
Brown Study, The. Grace S. Richmond.
Buck Peters, Ranchman. Clarence E. Mulford.
Bush-Rancher, The. Harold Bindloss.

Cabbages and Kings. O. Henry.
Cabin Fever. B. M. Bower.
Calling of Dan Matthews, The. Harold Bell Wright.
Cape Cod Stories. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Dan’s Daughter. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Eri. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Warren’s Wards. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Carnac’s Folly. Gilbert Parker.
Cat’s Paw, The. Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
Cattle. Winnifred Eaton.
Certain People of Importance. Kathleen Norris.
Chief Legatee, The. Anna Katharine Green.
Cinema Murder, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
City of Lilies, The. Anthony Pryde and R. K. Weehes.
City of Peril, The. Arthur Stringer.
Clipped Wings. Rupert Hughes.
Clue of the New Pin, The. Edgar Wallace.
Colorado Jim. George Goodchild.
Coming of Cassidy, The. Clarence E. Mulford.
Coming of the Law, The. Chas. A. Seltzer.
Communicating Door, The. Wadsworth Camp.
Comrades of Peril. Randall Parrish.
Conquest of Canaan, The. Booth Tarkington.
Contraband. Clarence Budington Kelland.
Court of Inquiry, A. Grace S. Richmond.
Crimson Blotter, The. Isabel Ostrander.
Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. Rex Beach.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
Monsieur Forte, sub-editer=> Monsieur Forte, sub-editor {pg 199} “And you, monsieur?” addressing the representative of theMatin.=>“And you, monsieur?” addressing the representative of theMatin. {pg209} practicing Spirtualists=> practicing Spiritualists {pg 216} unerring insinct=> unerring instinct {pg 232} Profesor Challenger has had=> Professor Challenger has had {pg 242} But about Professer Challenger=> But about Professor Challenger {pg 251} raison d’etre=> raison d’être {pg 280}

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Movatterモバイル変換

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe land of mist

The Land of Mist

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

IN WHICH OUR SPECIAL COMMISSIONERS MAKE A START

CHAPTER II

WHICH DESCRIBES AN EVENING IN STRANGE COMPANY

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION

CHAPTER IV

WHICH DESCRIBES SOME STRANGE DOINGS IN HAMMERSMITH

CHAPTER V

WHERE OUR COMMISSIONERS HAVE A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH THE READER IS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH THE NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL GETS WHAT THE BRITISH LAW CONSIDERS TO BE HIS DESERTS

CHAPTER VIII

IN WHICH THREE INVESTIGATORS COME UPON A DARK SOUL

CHAPTER IX

WHICH INTRODUCES SOME VERY PHYSICAL PHENOMENA

CHAPTER X

DE PROFUNDIS

CHAPTER XI

WHERE SILAS LINDEN COMES INTO HIS OWN

CHAPTER XII

THERE ARE HEIGHTS AND THERE ARE DEPTHS

CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GOES FORTH TO BATTLE

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH CHALLENGER MEETS A STRANGE COLLEAGUE

CHAPTER XV

IN WHICH TRAPS ARE LAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH CHALLENGER HAS THE EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFETIME

CHAPTER XVII

WHERE THE MISTS CLEAR AWAY

APPENDIX

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

CHAPTER		PAGE
I	In Which Our Special Commissioners Make a Start	11
II	Which Describes an Evening in Strange Company	21
III	In Which Professor Challenger Gives His Opinion	40
IV	Which Describes Some Strange Doings in Hammersmith	46
V	Where Our Commissioners Have a Remarkable Experience	77
VI	In Which the Reader Is Shown the Habits of a Notorious Criminal	98
VII	In Which the Notorious Criminal Gets What the British Law Considers to Be His Deserts	116
VIII	In Which Three Investigators Come upon a Dark Soul	131
IX	Which Introduces Some Very Physical Phenomena	155
X	De Profundis	166
XI	Where Silas Linden Comes into His Own	184
XII	There Are Heights and There Are Depths	198
XIII	In Which Professor Challenger Goes Forth to Battle	212
XIV	In Which Challenger Meets a Strange Colleague	230
XV	In Which Traps Are Laid for a Great Quarry	243
XVI	In Which Challenger Has the Experience of His Lifetime	257
XVII	Where the Mists Clear Away	274
	Appendix	280

Movatterモバイル変換

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe land of mist

The Land of Mist

CONTENTS

CHAPTER IIN WHICH OUR SPECIAL COMMISSIONERS MAKE A START

CHAPTER IIWHICH DESCRIBES AN EVENING IN STRANGE COMPANY

CHAPTER IIIIN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION

CHAPTER IVWHICH DESCRIBES SOME STRANGE DOINGS IN HAMMERSMITH

CHAPTER VWHERE OUR COMMISSIONERS HAVE A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE

CHAPTER VIIN WHICH THE READER IS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL

CHAPTER VIIIN WHICH THE NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL GETS WHAT THE BRITISH LAW CONSIDERS TO BE HIS DESERTS

CHAPTER VIIIIN WHICH THREE INVESTIGATORS COME UPON A DARK SOUL

CHAPTER IXWHICH INTRODUCES SOME VERY PHYSICAL PHENOMENA

CHAPTER XDE PROFUNDIS

CHAPTER XIWHERE SILAS LINDEN COMES INTO HIS OWN

CHAPTER XIITHERE ARE HEIGHTS AND THERE ARE DEPTHS

CHAPTER XIIIIN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GOES FORTH TO BATTLE

CHAPTER XIVIN WHICH CHALLENGER MEETS A STRANGE COLLEAGUE

CHAPTER XVIN WHICH TRAPS ARE LAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

CHAPTER XVIIN WHICH CHALLENGER HAS THE EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFETIME

CHAPTER XVIIWHERE THE MISTS CLEAR AWAY

APPENDIX

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

CHAPTER I

IN WHICH OUR SPECIAL COMMISSIONERS MAKE A START

CHAPTER II

WHICH DESCRIBES AN EVENING IN STRANGE COMPANY

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GIVES HIS OPINION

CHAPTER IV

WHICH DESCRIBES SOME STRANGE DOINGS IN HAMMERSMITH

CHAPTER V

WHERE OUR COMMISSIONERS HAVE A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH THE READER IS SHOWN THE HABITS OF A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH THE NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL GETS WHAT THE BRITISH LAW CONSIDERS TO BE HIS DESERTS

CHAPTER VIII

IN WHICH THREE INVESTIGATORS COME UPON A DARK SOUL

CHAPTER IX

WHICH INTRODUCES SOME VERY PHYSICAL PHENOMENA

CHAPTER X

DE PROFUNDIS

CHAPTER XI

WHERE SILAS LINDEN COMES INTO HIS OWN

CHAPTER XII

THERE ARE HEIGHTS AND THERE ARE DEPTHS

CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER GOES FORTH TO BATTLE

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH CHALLENGER MEETS A STRANGE COLLEAGUE

CHAPTER XV

IN WHICH TRAPS ARE LAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH CHALLENGER HAS THE EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFETIME

CHAPTER XVII

WHERE THE MISTS CLEAR AWAY