Front matter (continued 4)

"'There is no death, what seems so is transition, This life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life Elysian Whose portal we call death.'

"The saying of the ancients, 'Mors janua vitae' (Death is the gate of Life) is a solemn truth which runs like a golden thread through the entire creative fabric. He that loseth his life shall save it, is not a paradox but an eternal fact. 'Follow me,' said the Master, 'and I will point out the way of life. I will lead you through the valley of death to victory.' 'Death ends all' cries a despairing world, but the Spirit throughout the ages answers 'Nay, it ends nothing, for thou, O Nazarene, hast conquered death for evermore.'

"Wonders upon wonders will unfold themselves before us, this world cannot hold our spirits prisoners, and other worlds will become as accessible to us then as the suburbs of this town are at present."

So striking was the personality of the professor, and the conviction which his words carried, that the effect on his hearers was electric, and for a brief space of time each one held his breath.

"Don't you believe in a hell and eternal damnation?" asked Riche, who never believed in anything outside his own profession.

"There is neither hell nor damnation for anyone—there never was, and there never will be," Delapine answered. "The only hell that exists is the one that man creates for himself, and he can create a heaven just as easily as a hell. There are no limitations in the future life. Life was meant to be enjoyed, not endured, both in this world and the next."

"And what is your opinion about it all?" said Riche to Marcel.

"Oh, for my part I agree with the fellow who said that life was just one damn thing after another."

Villebois burst into a hearty laugh, in which he was joined by Delapine.

"I think," said the professor, "that it is about time we woke up our esteemed friend Payot. It is now five minutes to ten. Will you set your watches to agree with mine, and then all three of you go and stand beside his couch while I stay here. Precisely at ten o'clock I will tell him to wake up. But mind it must be distinctly understood, and you must promise me, that you will do nothing except carefully look at your watches."

All three left the room and crept quietly up to where Payot lay in a deep sleep, and took their stand around the insensible figure in front of them, each with his watch in his hand.

"Mon Dieu," whispered Marcel to Riche, "this is like 'waking' a corpse, as they say in Ireland. It is positively creepy."

They looked at their watches—it was two minutes to the hour.

"Well, the old boy is fast enough asleep now at any-rate," said Riche in a half whisper. "I wonder whether Delapine will be able to do it? Hadn't we better rouse him up?" and as he spoke he leaned over the prostrate figure.

"No, for God's sake, no," said Villebois in a hoarse whisper. "Remember what Delapine said, and our promise not to touch him."

Silently the three men stood round the couch watching the second hands of their time-pieces rotating in the little circles.

"Half a minute yet," whispered Villebois. Twenty seconds. Fifteen seconds. The suspense was beginning to tell upon their nerves. The silence in the large room was so great that even the ticking of the watches could be heard in the furthest corner.

Ten seconds. Five seconds. Two seconds. And then—the financier gave a violent sneeze. One second and he opened his eyes. A moment later and all the watches pointed exactly to the hour. Ten o'clock had at last arrived.

Payot sat up on the couch and stared round him.

"Where am I?" he exclaimed. "What are you gentlemen doing here, you, Villebois, and you, Riche? Tell me what does it all mean, and what am I doing here? I cannot remember anything; have I been ill, or what has happened?"

"Oh, no, my dear sir," replied Villebois, "you are quite well. Don't you remember you said that you felt sleepy. You must have had a little too much wine, which no doubt made you drowsy, eh?"

"Hullo, Marcel, you there too. Give me your hand. My dear fellow I am delighted to meet you again," said Payot. "I suppose I must have supped a little too freely," he continued; "I remember having dinner—a very good one it was, Villebois, but what happened afterwards I have not the remotest recollection. Well, anyhow, I feel quite refreshed. If you do not mind, I will get ready to come downstairs."

The three watchers then left after shaking hands with him, and returned to the library.

"Well," said Delapine, "and did our friend wake up?"

"Precisely on the stroke of ten," they all replied together.

"And did he say anything to you, Marcel?"

"Oh, he shook me by the hand and said he was delighted to meet me again."

"Did he refer in any way to his fight with you?"

"Not one word on the subject, professor. I am perfectly convinced that he has not the slightest idea that he ever had a quarrel with me."

"This is perfectly incomprehensible," said Riche. "'Pon my word, Delapine, you make me afraid of you."

A moment later Payot, looking none the worse for his enforced sleep, entered the room.

"Hullo, here you all are," he cried. "I have just been looking for you. And pray, where is madame?" he continued, as he sat down, while Villebois handed him a liqueur.

"My wife had a bad headache and retired to bed," said Villebois, "and Céleste went to look after her with a plentiful supply of vinaigre and smelling salts."

"And Renée?"

"Oh, Renée, I don't know where she is. I think she has gone to practice some music."

"My dear Marcel, what is the matter with your eye?" said Payot. "It looks as if you had received a blow there. You have not been fighting with anyone surely?"

"Oh dear, no. As a matter of fact I slipped as I was going down the steps of the house and struck my eye against the corner of the balustrade."

"I hope it is nothing serious, my dear Marcel? It is your duty to see to him, Villebois, these little accidents sometimes become serious. Anyhow, you could not be in better hands than under the care of my excellent friend here. I would not have been the cause of this accident for worlds, is that not so, my good friend Marcel? I only wish I could have been in time to prevent it."

Marcel looked up at Riche, who winked significantly.

"He will be all right to-morrow morning," said Villebois.

"I remember once when I was a young man in the army," Payot remarked, "a rude fellow stood in my way as I was walking along the pavement with a young lady on my arm. I promptly hit him on the head with my stick, when he replied by giving me a terrible black eye with his fist. I ran after him, but the rascal was too quick for me, and he escaped. I had arranged to go to a fancy dress ball that night, attired as Romeo, and I had the costume specially made for me. Of course the costume had to be discarded, as I could not very well appear as a Romeo with a black eye. So what do you think I did? I got the costumier to white-wash my face all over, and dress me up as a pierrot. And a very handsome pierrot I made, I assure you. Ah! I was an uncommonly fine fellow in those days. Hullo," he added, looking at his watch, "Good gracious me, it is past ten. What have you three been doing since dinner?"

"Oh, we have been entertained by the professor," said Marcel, smiling in spite of himself. "He has been giving us a discourse on spiritualism."

"Ah, most interesting, most instructive I am sure," replied Payot. "M. Delapine knows the immense interest I take in those things. You know I have always maintained there is a great deal of truth in it, haven't I, Marcel?"

"Oh, Lord, deliver us," said Marcel aside to Riche. "Melted butter isn't in it. I wonder what he'll say next. My word, isn't he coming round. Surely he's growing dotty," and Marcel screwed his monocle into his left eye and gazed at old Payot with a dubious smile.

"Don't you remember Delapine's words when he hypnotised him?" asked Riche in a whisper.

"Oh yes, of course I do. How very extraordinary! Everything Delapine says seems to come true to the letter. Well, who would have thought it," and then he added sotto voce, "It beats Alice in Wonderland."

Delapine shut his eyes and placed his finger-tips together.

"What are you thinking of, my dear professor?" asked Villebois.

"Capital, capital," replied Delapine, rousing himself at the question and smiling with great satisfaction. "This is better than I expected. We shall have a great séance to-morrow—a great séance. Now I am sure of success," he continued as he watched the mental transformation of Payot. "The only discord I feared is removed. Harmony will prevail."

"Will you take some more whisky, professor?" asked Villebois.

"No, thanks, I am rather tired."

"I shall 'whisky' to bed," interposed Marcel. "If I don't lie down, I shall soon have to lie up," he added with a laugh. "I feel bruised all over, like a cake of dough that has been pounded with a rolling-pin."

Payot looked at him in astonishment, wondering what he referred to, and turned to Villebois for an explanation.

"Oh, don't pay any attention to Marcel. I think at times he does not know himself what he means. You see," he added, "poets are quite different from ordinary mortals like us."

"That is why they require a licence, I suppose," said Riche. "We only hesitate to believe him when he is speaking the truth."

"You are very unkind to rob a poor poet of his character," said Marcel.

"Impossible in your case," said Riche laughing. "You have none to lose."

"Upon my soul, you will be trying to rob me of my shadow next."

"Then we shall begin to believe you without the shadow of a doubt."

"Well, gentlemen, what do you say to our all going to bed?" asked Villebois. "Good-night, Monsieur Payot, and may fortune smile on to-morrow's séance. And now, my dear professor," he continued, turning to Delapine, "I am sure that you will need a good rest before you start your task of calling up the spirits from the vasty deep."

"Upon my word, I am almost afraid to go to bed," said Marcel, as they passed upstairs to their rooms which were next to each other. "I shall be dreaming of ghosts and goblins all night, and imagining that I see the portraits walking out of their frames."

"Believe me you will see more wonderful things than that, my boy, before you are a day older," said Villebois as he shook hands with him.

CHAPTER XII

THE SEANCE

"It is the unexpected which always happens." D'Israeli. "Le passage est bien court de la joie aux douleurs." Victor Hugo.

At last the long-looked-for day of the promised séance arrived, and in the evening after dinner Madame Villebois, anxious to carry out Delapine's instructions down to the most minute particular, busied herself in preparing all the details for the arrangement of the room. A sound sleep the previous night had completely restored the good lady's nerves, and the professor's assurance that M. Payot had not the slightest recollection of what had occurred had quite allayed her fears.

"My dear, I assure you that Marcel and Payot are now the best of friends," said the doctor, "and everybody is in the best of spirits."

"But how could that have possibly been brought about?" asked madame a little dubiously.

"Ah, I see you don't know Delapine yet," replied her husband. "He is a marvel. I really believe that he could tame a Bengal tiger with a single gesture, and as for M. Payot, he is just like wax in the professor's hands. You need not have the slightest fear about our friend Marcel either. He has not only forgiven Payot, but has made him positively forget that there ever was a difference between them."

Madame merely shrugged her shoulders, but a glance at the beaming face of the poet who happened to enter the room at the moment, entirely reassured her.

As for the other members of the house party, needless to say they were all on the tip-toe of expectation, not unmixed in the case of Renée with a certain amount of anxiety.

Delapine returned from the Sorbonne rather earlier than usual, in order to see that all the necessary arrangements were made in strict accordance with his wishes.

At his suggestion his host had given up for the séance a large room opening into the conservatory, and it was here that Delapine found Madame Villebois busy getting everything in readiness. All the blinds had been closely drawn down, and only a solitary paraffin lamp threw a subdued light over the apartment.

A heavy circular oak table had been placed in the centre of the room, and round this table were set some eight or nine chairs. The walls had been bared of all pictures and curtains, and with the exception of the table and chairs and a short grand piano, the only piece of furniture occupying the room was a large lightly built cabinet, which had been specially constructed of laths nailed together, and the whole surrounded by a green baize curtain. This curtain was so arranged that it reached the entire height of the cabinet, and it was simply folded in front so that its edges could be hooked back and aside, thus allowing the contents of the cabinet to be clearly visible. The result of this arrangement of the green curtain was that there was only one opening, where its edges nearly met in the middle line facing the audience.

This idea had been insisted upon by Delapine in order to obviate all possibility of fraud or collusion, so that before he went to sleep in the cabinet, every one of those present at the séance might have an opportunity of examining every nook and corner. As a further precaution, Delapine himself had seen that all the doors and windows were securely fastened on the inside, with the exception of the single entrance from the dining-room. And to crown all, a camera was fixed in position at one end of the room under the special care of Riche to enable him to take an indisputable record of any striking phenomena.

The first to arrive was Pierre, who in greeting his hostess, tendered his most profuse apologies for his unavoidable absence, explaining that nothing but a most urgent call to an appointment at his office could have taken him away at such a moment from his charming friends. And then, after a few words to each of the other guests, he quietly sat down next to Riche.

A moment later M. Payot, fresh and jaunty as if nothing had happened, came in beaming and wearing a large floral decoration in his button-hole, from behind the shelter of whose foliage he showered smiles on everybody.

Villebois nudged his better half and entreated her with a look not to broach the subject of the previous evening's quarrel, but she failed to take the hint.

"Ah, delighted to see you again, my dear madame," said the financier, as he shook hands in the most friendly manner. "I trust you have fully recovered from your indisposition of the last evening?"

"Thank you, my dear M. Payot," replied the good lady smiling, "and I also hope that you have recovered from your fight."

"My fight, madame. What do you mean? I have not fought anyone since my justly celebrated duel with M. Camembert, editor of the Journal de Paris fifteen years ago."

"Why, I mean your fight with Marcel last evening."

"My fight with Marcel? My dear madame, surely you must be dreaming? I never had a quarrel with my little friend Marcel in all my life. Isn't it the truth, Villebois?" and Payot, completely mystified, appealed to his host for confirmation.

Poor Villebois looked terrified.

"For God's sake, my dear, do be quiet," he whispered, and then added in a louder tone, "Pray excuse my wife, she has been reading a dreadful account of a fight between the police and the Apaches. That, I fear, added to her nervous headache has completely confused her mind about the events of last evening."

The good lady was about to remonstrate with her husband, when Céleste with great tact soothed her feelings, and adroitly turned her thoughts in another direction.

Payot, apparently satisfied, accepted the explanation, and at length order and peace were established, and everyone sat breathlessly waiting for the professor.

Seeing that everything was at last quiet, and that all his audience were composed and ready, Delapine, who had been assuring himself that his instructions with regard to the cabinet had been properly attended to, moved towards the centre of the room and said:

"You must not imagine, my friends, that spiritualistic phenomena can always be produced at will, like a physical experiment in a laboratory. Often no phenomena take place at all, and still more often certain unknown influences modify or alter them, so that frequently we obtain only imperfect results, or phenomena entirely different from what we expected. You should remember that really we are here to observe and not to experiment. Let us now join hands round the table," and so saying the professor, having lowered the lamp, placed his hands wide apart with his fingers lightly resting on the table. The others proceeded to do the same in order to complete the circle.

At this moment Riche heard a slight movement, and quietly turning his head noticed Pierre getting up from his chair.

In spite of the dim light Pierre saw that Riche was watching his movements and walking up to the doctor on tip-toe whispered in his ear, "Please tell the company as soon as this performance is over, that I was obliged to go to my chambers at once on urgent business, and much as I regret it, it will be quite impossible for me to return to-night."

Riche squeezed his hand and nodding assent, Pierre unobserved by the others left the room.

Silently, and in a state of expectation bordering almost on excitement the eight members of the circle sat round the table; Delapine, Renée, Villebois, Madame Villebois, Payot, Céleste, Riche and Marcel, the latter completing the circle with Delapine.

The professor was the first to break the silence—

"I must request each one of you," he said authoritatively, "on no account to touch any one of the four legs of this table. I have specially tied tissue paper round each leg in such a way that if any one of you touches it the paper will be soiled or crumpled."

"Why did you put a red screen round the lamp, and turn the light down low like that?" asked Riche.

"For the same reason that you use a red light when developing a photographic plate," replied Delapine. "Because it is well-known that a white light would spoil the plate. And in the same way the vibrations of white light interfere with the intensely rapid vibrations which produce our phenomena. But hush," he continued in an audible whisper, "I feel the presence of some mysterious force."

"Can you perceive anyone besides us, professor?" asked Riche in an awed whisper.

"Yes," replied Delapine.

"The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms, nor hear the sounds I hear, He but perceives what Is; while unto me All that Has Been is visible and clear.

"Do you suppose for a moment," he continued, "that we are able to be in touch with everything that goes on around us, when all our knowledge of the outside world is obtained through the five kinds of vibrations which reach our senses? I assure you there are a thousand varieties of vibrations of which we are entirely unconscious, but they can be perceived by the soul when it is freed from its earthly environment. Now I will try whether I have the power to move matter by my will. All of you keep your hands lightly touching the table, and do not on any account break the circuit. Each one of you must endeavour to be perfectly convinced of my power."

For a few moments nothing happened, then gradually each one felt a tremor run through his fingers, and the table began to heave up and down first on one side and then on the other.

"The table seems to be alive," said Renée alarmed. "It moves in spite of all my efforts to keep it still."

"Yes," said Marcel, "I have been pressing down with all my might, but it is of no use. Look, look, it is rising up."

Slowly, but none the less surely, the table rose bodily, until at last the members of the circle were compelled to stand up in order to keep their hands still resting on it, as ordered by Delapine.

"Press, press with all your might," cried Delapine loudly, "and see if you can overcome my will."

All pressed heavily in their desire to carry out implicitly every command of the professor, but their efforts were in vain. At last the table rose to such a height that the whole company were compelled to stand on their chairs, but even then their united pressure was of no avail for the table steadily rose above their heads.

"Now, Riche, quick," called out Delapine, "take a stereoscopic photograph that all may see that the table is actually suspended in the air above the ground."

"Right," said Riche, as he quickly took a couple of snapshots with magnesium flashlight.

Immediately afterwards Delapine, who was standing on tip-toe on his chair, suddenly withdrew his hands from the table as it rested poised above his head.

"Stand back, stand back," shouted the professor, and as they all obeyed the instruction the table, weighing about half a hundredweight, fell with a tremendous crash, breaking one of its legs in two.

"Good God!" exclaimed Marcel, "what a smash. It nearly caved my head in. I was too much interested watching it to jump back when you shouted."

"Anyhow I shall have a couple of good stereo negatives to convince all unbelievers," said Riche.

"It just missed my toe," said Payot, laughing, "but all the same I am not yet convinced. The professor can make the table rise in spite of our united efforts to hold it down, but I defy him to keep it down when we all try to raise it up."

"I can do that with the greatest ease," said Delapine.

"The question before the House," said Marcel in English, "is that Professor Delapine do exercise his will to prevent us from raising up this table while we use all our strength in lifting it. Are the honourable members agreed? I think the 'Ayes' have it."

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, "let us put our fingers under the edge of the table. So—yes, that's right. Now then, one, two, three, and all together—up she goes," and the four men and the ladies strained until their arms ached, but the table refused to budge even the fraction of an inch.

Suddenly Delapine removed his hands before any of the circle had time to cease pulling, and called out loudly, "I retire, you have your way."

Such was the force exerted by the members of the circle that the table seemed to be thrown into the air.

The jerk was so great that it sent them all reeling, and Villebois was only just in time to save his wife from falling.

The guests stared at each other in amazement.

"I am sorry your table is broken," said Delapine to the host, "but really you must blame the sitters for pulling so hard."

"Oh, that is nothing, my dear Delapine. The carpenter can mend it to-morrow, and it will be as good as ever."

"By the way, ladies and gentlemen," said the professor, "what do you say to a little music? I think it will calm our nerves, and render us in a more favourable state of mind for some far more wonderful things which I think I shall be able to show you. Perhaps Mademoiselle Payot will favour us with some sweet melody with her violin."

Renée blushed, and the guests signifying their approval, she went and fetched her music.

"What shall I play, Monsieur Delapine?" she asked a little nervously.

"Let me see. I think Sarasate's 'Zigeunerweisen' is very charming, but no, let us have Schubert's 'Ave Maria' if you approve. It is a very sweet, soothing air. Or, if you haven't got that perfect, you might give us Chopin's 'Nocturne in E flat.' I think this haunting melody one of the most delightful refrains in the world. It is truly an inspired air."

Renée turned her violin, which was a very fine specimen of Villaume's skill, given her by Dr. Villebois on her last birthday.

"Won't you accompany her?" said Villebois, for Delapine with his acutely sensitive nature and remarkable talent had developed a technique on the pianoforte which was envied by many of the great artistes, and would have secured him a European reputation had he turned his gifts in the direction of music instead of physics.

Villebois opened the grand piano which stood at the end of the room.

"No," replied Delapine, "I will take a short sleep with your permission." And he folded his hands with his long sensitive finger-tips touching each other as was his habit, while he sank back in his chair. His face became suddenly transfigured, and changed to an almost death-like pallor. Gradually he appeared to go off into a kind of trance.

Renée, having tuned up her instrument, began playing.

Suddenly the guests were petrified with astonishment by hearing the piano accurately accompanying her all by itself. They could see the notes being struck as if by some invisible hand. What they particularly noticed was the exquisite touch, the perfect time, and the wonderful technique of the inconnu. They looked from the pianoforte to the professor, and observed his fingers rapidly twitching in perfect time with the corresponding notes on the piano.

"Do you notice Delapine's fingers?" whispered Riche to Villebois. "See, they are keeping time with the music."

"It's more than wonderful, it's marvellous," replied Villebois.

But the professor was in a profound state of coma. He never stirred, and they could only detect the nervous movements of his fingers, and a corresponding tremble of his lips.

Renée felt inspired. The fact that her adored fiancé was accompanying her, caused her to redouble her efforts, and she far surpassed her extreme powers. Even her teacher, who was very reserved in his compliments, would have been unable to have detected a fault had he been present.

The conversation which had begun in whispers stopped by common consent, and all listened enraptured.

At length the music ceased, and Renée observed the silent approval in the faces of all the guests, but the professor never woke. Villebois got up with the intention of awakening the professor, but Renée seized his arm, and putting her finger to her lips, bade him sit down quietly. All the guests remained sitting in profound silence.

Suddenly Renée walked over to where Delapine was sleeping, and clasped him by the hand. She evidently felt something, for she relinquished his hand and stole softly out of the room, leaving the door wide open.

Riche noticed Renée's departure, and whispered to Céleste, who silently left the room to look for Renée. The guests had been waiting in silence for about a minute when suddenly they heard the organ (which Villebois had erected at the end of the library) pealing out the air of the "Marche Funèbre." First came the prelude, then the solemn tones of death and the mourners and the funeral service, and gradually the Vox Celeste and the Vox Humana pealed forth the triumphant notes "Oh, Death, where is thy sting, oh, Grave, thy victory? For Death is swallowed up in Victory." The guests were entranced. The organ, which had a superb tone, was played as it had never been played before.

"Surely angels must be playing it," said Céleste to Riche, who had tracked her to the library, and found her working the bellows with all her might. But the keys and stops moved of their own accord. At length the air was finished, and the guests who had stood in awe just inside the door of the library returned to the séance. Delapine had just woken up.

"Well," he said to the astonished guests, "I have had such a curious dream. I dreamt that I was in heaven and that I was playing the 'March Funèbre' to a select crowd of angels."

"By Jove," said Marcel, "I would go to heaven to-morrow if I could hear music like that. Why, my dear professor, I never heard such music in my life, and I have heard some pretty good stuff, I assure you. You would make Paderewski weep with mingled envy and rapture. His music one can only compare to a school-girl strumming after yours."

"Oh, please, professor, give us one more piece," said Madame Villebois and Céleste in one breath.

"Well, if I can, you shall have one more, but I shall want a rest afterwards, as it fatigues me more than you have any idea of."

He whispered something to Renée, and she at once rose and tuned up her violin. Placing the piece of music in front of her, she began playing the prelude to 'En Sourdine' by Tellam. Then suddenly the piano took up the refrain.

Have you ever read Dumas Fils' 'La Dame aux Camelias'? If you have you will understand the piece. You remember where Marguerite has been forsaken by her lover owing to the pressure put on him by his good but mistaken father. Well, this piece reproduces the scene, and you can positively hear, and even feel the poor girl sobbing her heart out. And then comes the delightful refrain, and finally the exultant triumph of Love. Never was melody more rapturously poured forth. The guests hung on the refrain, and at the conclusion Madame Villebois was silently weeping.

"I propose," said Marcel, unconsciously imitating the speaker of the House of Commons on the conclusion of Sheridan's great speech during the debate on Warren Hastings, "that we do now adjourn to the smoking room to recover from the sublime effects of Delapine's and Renée's melodies."

The professor went to his room to obtain his much needed rest on the sofa, while the ladies chatted together.

"Dear ladies," said Marcel, when they had sat down, "what Tennyson wrote in the Chorus Song of the 'Lotus Eaters' is quite appropriate to what we have just heard:—

"There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies."

CHAPTER XIII

THE DEBACLE

La vie est vaine: Un peu d'amour, Un peu de haine, Et puis—bon jour. La vie est brève; Un peu d'espoir, Un peu de rêve, Et puis—bon soir. (Monte-Naken). Concurritis horae momento cità mors venit. (Horace, S. 1 1.7). "Amer sanz paine rien ne vault."—Old French Proverb.

"Professor," said Monsieur Payot after Delapine had had a good rest, and the guests had assembled in the room of the séance once more. "Did you really play the piano?"

"Of course," said Delapine, "and the organ too. Did you not see me send your daughter into the library to work the bellows?"

"Yes, I distinctly remember her tip-toeing out of the room, but I had no idea she went for that purpose. Besides she has never learnt to play the organ."

"But you remember, papa, I used to work the bellows in the old village church."

"That is true, Renée," said Payot, patting her on the head.

Renée looked up, surprised, and her eyes filled with tears, as this was the first time she had been caressed by her father since her mother died.

"What on earth can Henri have done," she asked herself, "to have effected such a wonderful change in my father? I really must ask him when we are alone."

"Can you explain how you managed to play?" asked Riche.

"Did you notice my fingers jerking?" replied Delapine.

"Yes," answered both Riche and Villebois together, "and we noticed that they kept time with the music."

"I think it would be more accurate to say that the music kept time with my fingers, eh?" said Delapine smiling.

"But that does not explain anything," said Riche.

"On the contrary," said Delapine, "it explains a great deal."

"In what way?"

"I will try to point it out to you.

"A nervous impulse or current is generated in my brain which flows along my nerves. This current, or series of waves, extends far beyond my body, and my will can influence its direction and force. Thus I can make it move in any direction I please. I can make it lift, or depress, or shift the objects lying in its path. Thus I can cause this wave-force to depress the keys of a piano, or an organ either softly or loudly. I can even cause it to give rise to taps and noises, and I can control these noises, and by generating supplementary overtones I can imitate any instrument I please. Since this nervous impulse passes down my nerves, it causes the twitching movements in my fingers which you observed, and these are synchronous with the movements of the keys of the instrument, or in popular language both my fingers and the keys move simultaneously."

"What is the nature of this impulse?" asked Riche.

"That I cannot tell you. I only know the vibrations are exceedingly rapid. Some people call it odic force, others magnetic fluid, others nervo-magnetic impulses. But these terms are worse than valueless, they are actually harmful, as they tend to mislead by giving rise to the idea that the impulse is known and explained, whereas we are profoundly ignorant of the nature of the waves. You will invariably find ignorant people ascribing these unknown impulses to magnetism or electricity, and calling it magnetic force, but it has nothing in common with magnetism, since no magnetic field is developed, nor has it, as far as we know, anything to do with electricity. People when they know nothing about a force give it a mysterious name, and imagine by so doing that they have explained it, whereas they have done nothing of the sort. If I guess rightly, this force which emanates from my will acts much in the same way that gravity does, by pulling two bodies towards each other. When I project the force in a strong current, or as we physicists call it an ethereal wave-motion, into the table, I can either make this force positive and draw the table away from the ground, or make it negative and thus neutralise the combined pulling force which you all exerted to raise the table. But this is merely a surmise. Future research may upset the theory altogether, or at any rate profoundly modify it. You see how ignorant I am. Nevertheless, although I cannot explain this force I have the power not only to move heavy bodies, but to cause instruments to play, and even apparently to create material bodies by causing the molecules of a body to leave it and to re-combine to form another body outside. Nor is this power confined to the immediate vicinity. I can affect bodies, and cause them to appear in phantom form at prodigious distances away. You may well shrug your shoulders and shake your heads and smile, but you will be compelled to repeat what Tertullian wrote seventeen centuries ago, 'Certum est quia impossibile est.'"[8]

"Are these wonderful phenomena described in books?" asked Riche.

"Certainly," replied the professor, "they have been recorded in innumerable books for thousands of years past."

"I should like to study the subject," added Riche. "Can you recommend me a good text book to commence my studies with?"

"Begin by reading the four Gospels, and the Acts of the Apostles," said Delapine with a smile.

"Are you serious, professor?" asked Riche.

"Never more so, I assure you. I know no better books to begin your studies with. Jesus Christ was not only endowed with the greatest amount of psychic power the world has ever known, but all his disciples (with one important exception) were specially chosen for their mediumistic power. They failed to select psychists to replace them, and as they could not transmit the power, the moment they died all miracles, i.e., supernormal phenomena ceased. And now, my dear Villebois, pray bring me another table and remove this broken one."

Villebois did as Delapine requested, and the guests sat down round it again.

"I feel the presence of some spirit," Delapine remarked. "Let us put our hands on the table and find out if it is so. Everyone present will please keep his feet at the back of the chair as no one must touch the table with his foot, even by accident."

Having assured himself that his instructions had been obeyed, he asked them all to join hands and to wait in silence.

After waiting patiently ten minutes a slight tremor shook the table.

"Three raps will mean 'yes,' two raps 'no.'

"Are there any spirits present?" asked Delapine.

Three knocks were heard and felt by all the sitters.

"What is your name?"

Slowly the raps spelt out M-a-r-i-a L-e-o-n-o-r-a.

"Maria Leonora, why, that is my dear mother's maiden name," whispered Renée to Villebois.

Again the raps spelt out M-a-r-i-a L-e-o-n-o-r-a.

The financier turned pale as death, while Renée trembled all over.

"I want Monsieur Delapine to retire to the cabinet, I think I can then collect power enough to appear and speak," was rapped out.

Delapine leaned over to Riche and whispered in his ear,

"Whatever you do, you must not disturb me nor touch any materialised form you may see without permission from the person. Get the camera ready and use your largest plate, and be prepared to expose by the magnesium light the instant when you get permission by the voice. Now put the red shade over the lamp and turn it down lower."

In the meantime Delapine entered the cabinet and lay down on the couch which was the sole piece of furniture inside it.

Immediately he fell into a kind of trance. The curtains were half open, and the guests could dimly observe him and hear his slow measured breathing.

Slowly a mist seemed to issue forth from the cabinet which gradually condensed into the outlines of a woman attired in a black silk dress with a white lace collar.

In a few seconds the form could be distinctly seen moving towards the guests. She approached Renée who recognised her in the dim light.

"Is that you, darling mother?" she cried, "you don't seem changed a bit."

"Yes, Renée, I am your mother, and you don't appear changed either, as I have seen you ever so many times since I passed over. I have often stood at your bedside and watched over you. Turn the lamp higher, I have power enough left to stand it for a few moments. But I must envelope myself in a white garment just to prevent the light from affecting me."

They turned the light up, and all the guests beheld the features of a beautiful woman with light golden-brown wavy hair, enveloped in a white gauze-like fabric.

"Pray don't touch me," she said to Payot, who tried to put his arms round her. "You will kill my medium if you do."

"What!" said Villebois, "Do you mean to say that it will injure M. Delapine?"

"Indeed it will," she replied, "but I cannot tell you the reason."

"Oh, my dear husband," she said, "promise me that you will be kind to my little Renée. Your conduct to her since I passed over has caused me such intense grief."

"I promise," said Payot, feeling heartily ashamed of himself.

"May I take a photograph with a flashlight?" enquired Riche.

"You may, but you will not see me any more, for it will cause my form to melt away. As it is, I can only stay a few minutes."

"Oh, mother dear," said Renée, "give me a kiss—just one kiss before you leave me."

"Do not be anxious, Renée. I shall see you again very soon. And now, sir, you may take my photograph as I am about to be called away."

Riche, having focused the camera, pressed the ball, and a dazzling light followed as the magnesium powder blazed up.

Everyone saw the figure of Renée's mother and Delapine asleep behind her in the cabinet.

As the smoke dispersed, the guests observed the figure slowly melting away in the air.

She was gone.

A female voice was heard behind the curtain, "Au revoir, Renée, my child, I shall soon see you again."

Villebois turned up the light and looked into the cabinet. Delapine was sleeping like a child. He stepped up to the professor as if to wake him, but Riche remembering his orders, sprang forward and pulled him back.

"Don't let anyone wake Delapine," he cried. "He warned me to allow no one to disturb him, but to let him wake up naturally."

Suddenly Marcel called out, "Riche, Riche come here quickly. Don't you smell something?"

"Yes," said Riche, "you are right, there is something burning, I can smell it."

They both ran into the next room, and on opening the door found the landing full of dense smoke. Hurrying back they each took one of the girls by the arm and rushed out of the room and through the conservatory into the garden, followed by Payot, while Villebois ran after them with Madame Villebois on his arm. But they were all too concerned about their own safety to bestow a thought on the professor, who remained in the cabinet.

Villebois and Marcel, having seen the ladies safe in the summer-house, ran round to the garden gate and hurried to the nearest fire alarm, while the others ran to the house to ascertain the cause of the fire. Renée looked round and missed her lover.

"Henri! Henri!" she cried, "where are you? They have left him in the cabinet. O God be merciful!"

She ran after Riche in an agony of fear, "Quick, doctor, come and help me and get the professor away, he is asleep in the cabinet."

"My dear child, I dare not wake him; he told me on no account to disturb him, but we can stand by and remove him as soon as there is any danger. It will only be the work of a minute to carry him out into the garden. You need not be alarmed, there is nothing to fear." At this moment Céleste joined them.

"What can have caused the fire?" she asked.

"Oh, pray don't discuss that now. Let us set to work to put it out," said Riche.

"Do you think Pierre has had anything to do with this?"

"How could Pierre have done it? He is not in the house," replied Riche, "He left some time ago; don't you remember his telling us that he had to go to his office at once, and asking us to apologise to Madame Villebois for him?"

"Of course I do," replied Céleste, "but I am not so sure that he did leave the house."

"What do you mean?" asked Renée, who had heard her sister's remark.

"I am afraid he wants to harm Professor Delapine," said Céleste.

"Nonsense," cried Renée, "you surely don't mean to say he wants to injure Delapine?"

"No, no," said Riche, getting alarmed in turn, "she didn't mean that exactly, she merely meant to say—that we must set to work to extinguish the fire if we want to save the house. Now, mademoiselle, you go back to the summer-house with Céleste, and don't stir until I come back, and I promise you no harm shall come to Delapine. Meanwhile I will walk round the house."

With these words he left the two girls, and proceeded to assist the others in tracing the source of the fire.

"I wonder if there can be any truth in Céleste's remark," muttered Riche to himself. "No, no, what Céleste is saying is all nonsense, I will never believe it. I feel convinced that Pierre is in his chambers by this time."

On the day before the séance, Pierre had purchased a quantity of shavings and a large bottle of naphtha together with some phosphorous which he dissolved in it.

"Ah," he said to himself, "this will make a famous blaze, and no one will be able to guess who did it."

On arriving at the house of Dr. Villebois some time after dinner on the evening of the séance, he availed himself of a favourable opportunity, at a moment when the servant was not looking, to deposit a small black bag in a corner of the hall. Just at the beginning of the séance, as will be remembered, he slipped out of the room and recovering his bag from its hiding place, went cautiously upstairs to Riche's bedroom, taking extra precautions that no one should see him enter. Quickly making a small heap of the shavings under the bed, he soaked them with the mixture of naptha and phosphorous. Then making sure that everything was in order for his dastardly purpose he left the room as stealthily as he had entered it, noiselessly locking the door behind him, and placing the key in his pocket. "Now," he muttered, "I must get back to the 'spiritualists' and watch their movements from my place of vantage, and then mon brave Delapine, we shall see."

Pierre returned to the room adjoining the séance room, which opened into the conservatory, and taking up a position behind a curtain from where he could see what went on without being observed, he cautiously opened the little phial containing some of the liquid he had stolen from Paul's laboratory on the evening of his visit to the analyst, and proceeded to fill a small hypodermic syringe with the fluid.

"Confound that fire," he muttered. "It seems an uncommonly long time in starting. I'll sneak back and see if anything has gone wrong." No sooner had he opened the door of the dining-room, when he perceived the strong odour of burning wood and naptha, and looking up the stairs he observed a bluish cloud of smoke slowly making its way along the ceiling, and spreading down the stairs.

"That seems to be all right," he said to himself, as he returned to his hiding-place.

In about five minutes' time the smoke began slowly to penetrate the room and make its way into the séance chamber.

"Keep calm, keep calm," he said to himself, as he heard a commotion among the guests in the adjoining room.

Peeping through the keyhole, Pierre saw the guests hurriedly rise up and rush out through the conservatory into the garden.

As soon as he had ascertained that the last person had left the room, he cautiously opened the door and crept into the séance room. He first adjusted the blinds of the conservatory window and door, so that no light could penetrate, and then turned up the lights sufficiently high to observe the professor in the cabinet. There he was, clear enough, sleeping as calmly as an infant.

Pierre cautiously looked round the room to make sure that no one was watching him, and when he had thoroughly satisfied himself on that point, he crept into the cabinet, and kneeling down beside the sleeping man, paused for a moment. A feeling of fear, almost amounting to terror, unnerved him for a few seconds, and then mentally upbraiding himself for his cowardice, he cautiously rolled back the professor's shirt sleeve and gently picked up a fold of the skin. Holding the injection syringe in his other hand, he thrust the point well home into the tissues.

The guests in the garden were suddenly startled by an exclamation from Riche.

"Look," he cried, pointing to his bedroom window out of which a wreath of dense smoke was curling.

"Follow me, there is the fire." The whole party ran round the garden into the house. Villebois flew to the telephone to hurry up the fire brigade, while the others hastened upstairs through the blinding smoke to the source of the mischief in Riche's bedroom. But the smoke was too suffocating to effect an entrance, and the guests stood on the landing half dazed with fear and excitement. They all tied handkerchiefs round their mouths, and following Riche's directions endeavoured to quench the flames.

Dr. Riche ran downstairs to obtain help, and passed Villebois, who was making his way to the bedroom through the smoke.

"Ma foi!" said Riche to himself, "I can't leave Delapine like this. I must get him out of the house in spite of what he said, whether he likes it or not," and putting his thoughts into practice he ran down into the dining room.

"I'll swear," he said to himself, "there is someone moving about in the séance room. I wonder who it can be. I thought everyone had gone into the garden. I must go and see who it is."

Pierre was just in the act of pushing the piston home when he heard someone walking towards the door of the séance room. In his hurry he became nervous and his hand shook, so that the needle of the syringe broke off abruptly at the neck of the shaft.

"Damn," said Pierre to himself, as he flung the needle on one side. "I have only been able to inject a third of the contents of the syringe into his arm."

He let the syringe fall in his haste, and flew to the door, and throwing all his weight against it, managed to close it before he could be seen by the person opening it. Quickly turning the key in the lock, he ran to one of the side windows. To open it and vault on to the garden path was the work of an instant, and while Riche was endeavouring to force the door, Pierre had gained the garden gate, and had passed outside into the street. Quickly running along close to the garden wall, he turned down the corner of the first cross street, first looking back to make sure that he had not been followed.

"Lucky for me that no one saw me leave the house," he said to himself. "Anyhow, I have a good start, and I shall be able to get clean away without being seen."

Hailing a passing fiacre, he shouted to the cocher to stop, and opening the door he jumped in.

"Where shall I drive to?" asked the coachman.

"Drive straight on, and I will give you an address later on. Mais vite, vite!" he shouted, as looking through the small window at the back of the coach he caught sight of Riche running after him some distance behind.

"See, here is ten francs, and you shall have ten more if you will drive quickly."

The cocher, delighted at the idea of so large a pourboire, lashed his horse into a gallop, and the cab rapidly out-distancing Riche, soon left him far behind and disappeared in the distance.

"Gee! that was a narrow shave, but no one recognised me, thank goodness. Another second and Riche must have seen me, but I was just too quick for him. I hope I have got that syringe about me." He felt in all his pockets, but could not find it anywhere.

"Oh! damn," he exclaimed, "that's awkward. I surely can't have left it in old Delapine's room. Yes, I must have dropped it when that fellow, whoever he was, came to the door. The worst of it is that someone is sure to find it. Well, never mind, it's got no needle in it, so they cannot see how it was used. Besides they might think it belonged to Riche or Villebois. Confound it. All this trouble comes through my helping the professor to see what the other world is like. On second thoughts I will call to-morrow and apologise for my having been obliged to run away to my chambers, and then I can find out how the land lies. I'll back my wits against theirs any day."

"Where shall I drive to now?" said the cocher, looking through the window.

"Oh! drive to the Café Américain. No, on second thoughts I prefer Maxim's."

The coachman turned his horse round and speedily found his way into the Rue Royale, where he drove to the place indicated.

"This is better," said Pierre to himself. "Jolly good thing I had the sense not to tell him to drive to my diggings, as they might have found out the cocher's number, and got to know where he drove me." Pierre paid the cocher, and pushed his way through the great wheeling door with its plate glass leaves into the well-known café. The musicians had just recommenced playing, and taking a seat he looked around him, scowling, and feeling as angry and miserable as he could be. A double stream of men and women kept constantly passing in and out through the revolving doors which reminded one of a Nile-steamer's paddle-wheel on end. A faint sickly smell of cigarette smoke mingled with violet powder and patchouli and the vinous breath of a hundred human beings filled the air. The whole room was a babel of voices. At one end of the room were a group of men and elegantly dressed ladies drinking their café noir or sipping iced drinks through straws.

An American with his companion—obviously a young Englishman—entered at this moment.

"What a scene," said the younger as he peered around him. "Why, it's nothing else but a beastly phallic temple. I feel absolutely ashamed to be here."

"Well, I guess I don't agree. See there," and he pointed to a respectable bourgeois citizen who had just sat down at one of the little marble tables with his wife and daughter on either side of him. "Why, they are only here for some music and coffee. They might be part of a Fifth Avenue congregation in a New York church. They certainly have no consciousness of immorality, and they seem ridiculously happy and contented. That sort of thing is quite impossible in my country, or yours either I guess. We are conscious of the presence of vice all the time, and console ourselves by feeling 'onco guid' as the Scotch say, whereas here in France they certainly make vice charming. No one observes anything immoral or improper in this place, and that is why everybody is happy and gay, and enjoys himself to the full. We Americans and Englishmen take our pleasures too seriously, and that is why we are nothing but a congregation of highly moral rakes. Virtue after all is merely a want of opportunity, and because the opportunity is to be found here, we set the place down as immoral. But we forget it is we who are immoral not the place. You English imagine that everybody will be damned who does not act or think exactly as you do. You forget that Paris has made pleasure and its pursuit a fine art. After six in the evening the entire town is engaged in nothing else. What do you suppose all these telegraph boys are hurrying around with 'petite bleus' for all day long except to enable Marie for four sous to inform her Alphonse that she is quite alone as her father has just left the house, or to warn Raoul or Charles that he must put off his visit to-night because her husband has unexpectedly returned from the country. My dear sir, I assure you that this great city is absorbed in toil all day long merely to procure the necessary money to purchase diamonds for Madame, to buy a new hat for Suzanne, or to pay the rent of Marguerite's flat in the Rue Pigalle."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed the young Englishman, "I had no idea that such shocking escapades went on."

"Perhaps that may be so, but it is all the more reason why you want to do them."

"But surely, my dear sir! you don't imagine for a moment that I would——"

"Yes, you may well say that, you old humbug," he interrupted, "but I can see by your eyes that you are just as bad as any of them," and the American nudged him and laughed heartily.

A pretty girl, charmingly dressed in evening costume, sided up to them at this moment, all laughter with sparkling eyes that beamed with merriment. "A bien venue mes enfants, allon boire un coup avec nous," and she dropped a little curtsey.

The American bowed politely and lead his companion away. But the younger one turned his head round and looked at her and smiled back.

"Oh, my dear fellow, do let's go and join her."

"I thought you were superior to all that sort of thing."

"Oh, well I've changed my mind."

"So soon!" said the elder, and shaking with laughter, yielded to his wishes. Immediately the two, arm in arm, turned round and followed her to her table as meekly as lambs.

"Say, sonny, we'll sit down right here with this little daisy and enjoy ourselves, I guess we'll have some fun presently."

The younger one blushed up to the roots of his hair, but did not apparently offer the slightest opposition.

The whole room glowed with the rosy light of countless electric candles which stood on every table. These were thronged with rows of fashionably dressed couples all talking, laughing, and drinking, between which waiters in evening dress struggled to force a passage, holding trays covered with dishes and iced drinks high above their heads.

Pierre cautiously glanced around and then sat down. In front of him were three men, evidently Frenchmen, who were talking simultaneously in very loud tones and laughing immoderately. At another table were four girls in evening dress drinking iced champagne, and turning their heads to gaze at every lady and gentleman who entered. A smartly dressed lady, whom he heard addressed as Julie by the other three sat with them. She was adorned with superb jewelry and had on a perfectly fitting gown. Undoubtedly very attractive, her finely cut features, brilliant eyes and marble-like complexion irresistably attracted Pierre, who seeing her glance boldly at him, bowed slightly as he held his glass to his lips. This was sufficient encouragement for her, so with a slight inclination of her head she gathered up her dress and came and sat opposite him.

He at once called one of the waiters and ordered a bottle of champagne. Julie tried to draw him into a conversation, but Pierre was too perturbed to pay much attention to her, and she could see that it was almost an effort for him to be polite.

A woman with a basket of flowers and chocolates done up in little packages with coloured silk ribbons, observed Pierre speaking to her, and immediately came up to them, and asked the lady if she would like a bunch of violets. Julie smiled and looked at the lawyer with one of those oblique seductive glances so characteristic of the born coquette.

Pierre tried to look interested and smiled back with a slight nod.

"The violets are only three francs each, lady, but then the lady must have a box of chocolates also."

Julie took up one bunch after another and apparently was delighted with their perfume, for she ordered the woman to collect the whole lot of bunches and wrap them up in a large paper parcel, and took one of the largest chocolate boxes as well. Julie thanked Pierre for the flowers, and leisurely opened the box and proceeded to eat a few of the creams.

Pierre, who had been too absorbed to follow what had been going on, was suddenly startled by the woman asking him to pay for the entire parcel of flowers, and chocolates.

"What!" exclaimed the lawyer as the woman demanded eighty-five francs, "I don't understand you. Do you expect me to pay over four louis for those worthless flowers? Do you take me for a damned fool or what?"

"That is the correct price, monsieur, I cannot accept less."

Pierre stared at her like a search-light, while his lips assumed an amused and sarcastic smile.

Julie looked at Pierre and tapped impatiently on the ground with her beaded slipper, as Pierre, putting his hand in his pocket, drew out a varied collection of gold and silver coins. He looked at them thoughtfully for a moment, and then apparently changing his mind, rose up and deliberately walked past her, without turning his head, to a table in another part of the room.

"Beast," hissed the siren, as she turned round and glared at him with clenched fingers. "I shall pay you out for this."

But the compliment was quite lost on Pierre.

He had no sooner sat down than the woman with the flowers went up to him.

"Monsieur has forgotten to pay for the flowers and chocolates that he bought for the lady."

"I never bought anything for her; just go and tell her to pay for them herself."

The flower seller went up to the manager, who straight-way came over to where Pierre was sitting.

"Pardon, monsieur, I understand that monsieur bought some flowers and chocolates for the lady over there."

"I did nothing of the sort. Look here, monsieur," he added, "if this woman gives me any more of her cheek I will inform the police."

Several people got up from their seats, and a crowd began to collect. The music which was in full swing suddenly ceased abruptly. Ultimately the lady, seeing that there was no help for it, settled the bill.

"Ah, coquin," she said, shaking her finger at Pierre, "you shall pay this little bill many times over before I have done with you, just wait and see."

Pierre settled down in one of the cosy corners, and ordering a petit verre of absinthe, became absorbed in a copy of Le Soir.

Julie's fit of temper caused a flush of colour to spread over her cheeks, which greatly increased her charms, and Pierre, who happened to glance up from his newspaper, could not help admiring her, and tried to attract her attention once more, but she disdainfully turned her head aside. After hesitating for a few moments Julie called one of the waiters, who was evidently on intimate terms with her, and whispered something in his ear. He gave a slight nod and returned to his work. Nearly an hour passed; and Pierre, feeling tired, put on his hat, and after waiting outside for a few minutes hailed a fiacre and drove to his chambers.

Had he looked back he would have seen a man running swiftly behind his carriage.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XIV

COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE

Chi rende alla meschina La sua felicità[9] Oh! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science self destroyed her favourite son! Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, She sowed the seeds, but death hath reaped the fruit. Byron, on the death of Kirke White. Concurritur: horae Momento cità mors venit. Horace, S. 1. 1. 7.

As Riche turned the handle of the drawing-room door it was violently shut in his face. He tried to turn the handle again, but the pressure behind was too great, and before he could force the door he heard the key click in the lock.

The doctor hurled himself against it several times, but the door was well made and would not yield.

"There is some mischief going on inside," he said to himself, and shouted to Villebois to come and help him. Fortunately with his assistance they managed to burst the door open. As he entered he looked round the room.

"I say, Villebois, this is a suspicious state of things. The conservatory blinds are down and the gaslights are burning, while the window is wide open. Evidently the bird has flown. Quick, follow me, we may catch the fellow yet," and so saying he dashed through the dining-room into the hall, and out of the front door into the street, followed by the rest.

Being the most active of them all, Riche arrived at the corner of the cross-street first, just in time to see the door of a fiacre shut, and to watch it drive off at a gallop.

"I saw the villain close the door of the fiacre," he said out of breath to Villebois and Marcel, who had caught him up, "but I was just too late to make out who he was. But no matter, we shall lay our hands on him yet."

Evidently it was quite impossible to overtake the fiacre, so after shaking their fists in the direction of the retreating vehicle they all retraced their steps to the drawing-room. They looked around and saw Delapine sleeping peacefully on his couch.

"I wonder," said Marcel, "why the conservatory blinds are drawn?"

"I can't imagine," replied Villebois. "But see, the window is wide open. The villain must have escaped through it."

"Mon Dieu, what is this?" said Riche, picking up a hypodermic syringe. "It is two-thirds full of some fluid. We will keep this liquid gentlemen, its contents may prove extremely useful."

Procuring a small empty phial, he poured the contents into it, and corking it up put it into his pocket. "Ah, here is the needle," he added, as he picked it up from the floor. "It is evidently broken too, and the fracture appears quite recent."

"Riche, come here," said Villebois, looking at Delapine, "do you notice anything unusual about him?"

Riche stood with folded arms, gazing silently at the professor. He gently shook him, but found that there was no responsive movement in the body. Delapine's face had the appearance of marble, and when Riche raised one of the arms it dropped down again motionless. No sign of pulsation could be detected at the wrist. Riche took up a match and waved it in front of the sleeper's eyes. He watched them carefully, but the pupils failed to respond.

Dr. Riche was completely nonplussed. Although he was accustomed to see death in all its varying forms, both in the hospitals and in the battlefield, without his professional calmness being in any way perturbed, a sudden horror at the awful fate of his friend seized him as he bent over the body. He became ashy pale, and trembling like an aspen leaf he cried out aloud, "Oh! my God, Delapine is dead."

Riche carefully examined the parts of the body which were exposed, and opened his shirt, but failed to discover any signs of injury. Just as he was about to relinquish his search he noticed a spot on one of the arms.

"Hullo," he cried, "what's this?" and pulling out a pocket magnifier he scrutinized a small red spot a short distance above the wrist. "Come here, Villebois, and tell me what you think of this."

Villebois took the magnifier out of Riche's hand, and carefully examined the spot. He looked up in an enquiring manner as if he expected Riche to speak for him.

"Well, what do you make of it?" said Riche as he looked at him with a peculiar expression and curl of the mouth which he always wore when he knew beforehand what the answer would be.

"Tell me, what is it?" he repeated as Villebois hesitated.

"I think it is a hypodermic puncture. Isn't that your opinion?"

"I don't think anything about it, I am sure of it; and what's more I feel convinced it was made with the needle found on the floor. The rascal was evidently injecting the poison at the very moment when we interrupted him as he was trying to open the door. Don't you agree with me?"

"Yes, you are perfectly right," said Villebois, nodding his head. "How fortunate you were to find the syringe, and half full of the poison too. Don't lose the fluid whatever you do. It appears to me to be the key to the whole mystery."

"You trust me," said Riche, "I am not going to let the matter drop, my little bottle will bring the scoundrel to the guillotine yet." Meanwhile the firemen had arrived, and as there was an abundance of water, the fire was soon under control. Although the contents of Riche's room were destroyed, no damage was done outside it except by the water. On entering the room the firemen smelt the pungent odour of burnt naphtha, and a few shavings still glowing with the heat were to be seen in a corner of the room.

"Ei! Ei! this is the work of an incendiary," said one of the firemen. "Regardez-la, monsieur," he said to Villebois whom he knew by sight, holding up some of the half-burnt shavings, "don't you smell the naphtha?"

"I do, but mon Dieu, this is terrible," said Villebois, "We must send for the police at once, there's a crime here. It must be investigated at all costs."

Villebois ran to the telephone and called for the police to come immediately, while the firemen, now satisfied that the fire was extinguished, proceeded to take the hose-pipe out of the house. In a few minutes they had departed, leaving Villebois and his guests alone in the house looking at one another and wondering what it all meant.

Meanwhile Renée and Céleste, unable to control their anxiety, disobeyed Riche's instructions and ran back into the séance room where they met Riche bending over the professor.

"What is the matter with Delapine?" they both cried with a look of terror on their faces.

Riche looked very sad and distressed, but said nothing.

"Oh! doctor, do tell me, is there anything the matter?" said Renée, staring at him with her great eyes wide open.

"I am afraid so," said Riche in a subdued voice.

"You don't surely mean—that he is dead?" Renée asked in a broken voice, becoming deadly pale. "Oh, doctor, tell me quickly, what is the matter?"

"My poor girl—he is dead," he replied very solemnly.

"What!—what did you say, doctor? Dead! no—no—it can't be true."

Renée looked at his face half doubting, half believing, and then turning her face towards Delapine she flung her arms round him, and covered his face with kisses in an agony of grief.

"Henri! Henri! come back, come back to me, oh my beloved!" and she burst into tears, while her whole frame shook convulsively.

Céleste sobbed in sympathy, and even Riche, usually so calm, wiped away a tear.

Villebois looked at Renée with a puzzled expression mingled with sadness.

"Come, my poor little Renée," he said at length. "Wake up, my child; this grief will do you no good;" and he gently patted her head and kissed her; but Renée never moved.

The professor lay before them in the calm sleep of death. He looked unearthly yet beautiful with his serene, peaceful smile, like some newly created being, quietly waiting for the breath of life to be transformed into a living soul. Those penetrating eyes of his seemed to be piercing through the Veil into the Unseen Universe. All traces of pain and sorrow had vanished. One might almost fancy him quietly biding his time for the Easter Morn with a sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection. Where was that noble spirit, that great master mind which for years had been unfolding the secrets of nature, and directing its unalterable laws into channels of usefulness for the benefit of untold generations to come? All around him the clang and din of life could be heard, the murmur of many voices sounding like some confused discord breaking through the leaves of the forest, while here he lay resembling some marble effigy carved by a master hand. Was his spirit gazing with a prophetic eye through the half-opened portal of death on the vista of heaven unfolded before him, or was he joining the music of an angelic choir, or listening to the clinging memories of some half forgotten tale of happy childhood? Dead to him were all the wranglings of jealousy, the bitterness of malice, the aching heart, and the ceaseless strife. That mighty unselfish soul overflowing with love and goodwill to all, cheerful amid despair, unconquered by obstacles, unfaltering in its duty—where was it now? And the answer, like the echo of death, came back, "Toll for the mighty dead, he is no more, his soul is gone for ever."

Céleste silently slipped out of the room, and then ran as quickly as she could and told the others. They all hurried into the chamber, Céleste leading the way.

"Oh, papa," she cried, "whatever shall we do, isn't it dreadful? My poor darling sister, it will kill her, I know it will. You don't know how she loved him," and she knelt down at the foot of the couch and sobbed convulsively.

Villebois looked at Payot who was nervously twisting his fingers, while at the same time his face betrayed the conflict of emotions struggling within him.

It was true the obstacle to Payot's scheme was at length removed, and for a moment a feeling of satisfaction thrilled him, but an instant after, the latent affection for his only daughter, which Delapine had succeeded in fanning into a feeble flame, awoke a better feeling in his heart, and the sight of her unutterable grief met with a speedy response in his better nature.

He bent down and tenderly kissed his daughter.

Renée turned her head up to her father with a look of surprise, as she was quite unaccustomed to receive any tokens of affection from him.

"Villebois, mon cher," said Payot looking at him, "I hear someone knocking loudly at the door of the house."

Villebois immediately went out of the room, and François ran up to him in an excited manner.

"Monsieur le Commissaire de Police with two sergeants have arrived, and demand admittance in the name of the law; what am I to do?"

"Show them immediately into the library, and tell them I will be with them in a moment."

When Villebois entered the library a little gentleman, faultlessly attired in black, with a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, walked up to meet him.

"I have the honour to address Monsieur le Docteur Villebois, I presume?" said the little man as he presented his card.

Villebois took the proffered card which bore the inscription:—

ADOLPHE BIRON, COMMISSAIRE DE POLICE.

"Monsieur le docteur," said the little man with a slight bow, "I have come in answer to the telephone message, from which I understand that there has been a fire here, and that it is probably the work of an incendiary."

"Pardon, monsieur, who told you that?"

"One of the firemen who assisted in extinguishing the flames—am I right in my suspicions?"

"Perfectly," replied Villebois, "but that is only a trifle."

"Only a trifle?" replied Monsieur Biron, astonished. "Arson is not regarded as a trifling matter by the law."

"That is so, but I fear a murder has been committed as well."

"Oh! oh!! oh!!!" cried the commissaire in an ascending scale, tapping his two fingers on the table.

He remained silent for a few moments, and then he called his two satellites. "You, Georges, go round to the front gate, and you, Raoul, go to the back of the house and see that no one passes out without my permission.

"Now, Monsieur Villebois, let us go together and see the victim."

They stepped carefully across the wet, slippery floor, and entered the séance room in silence.

Monsieur Biron went up to Delapine's body and carefully examined him.

"He is quite dead," he remarked; "as to that there can only be one opinion."

Then, turning to Villebois, he asked him the names and addresses of all the guests, and entered them in his official memorandum book.

"These are all guests of mine," said Villebois, "I will make myself responsible for them."

"Good," replied the commissaire. "Let them please retire into the next room, while we go into the matter privately here."

Dr. Riche took Monsieur Biron aside in order to acquaint him with the true facts of the case and of his struggle at the door, but the Commissaire of Police interrupted him impatiently.

"Pardon, monsieur, but I am on duty, and you will please excuse me if I listen to you later."

"Allow me to present my card, monsieur le commissaire. I am Dr. Riche. I was witness of——"

"I regret, monsieur le docteur, but I cannot allow you to interfere with me in my investigations."

"Excuse me, monsieur, I am the only person who saw——"

"Please do not interrupt me, monsieur le docteur."

"But time is of the greatest importance," said Dr. Riche, "and I can assist——"

"For the last time I shall be obliged if you will postpone your explanation," said the little man with an air of official importance, and he looked him up and down through his spectacles, until poor Riche felt half convinced that he himself must in some way or other have committed the crime.

"But, monsieur," interposed Villebois, "my friend, Dr. Riche, saw——"

"Pardon me, but I must request you to stop talking," he replied, becoming at length really angry; "you are here to answer questions and not to speak to me."

Villebois, somewhat nettled at being addressed in this style, was about to remonstrate, but the fierce glance of the commissaire took his breath away, and he stammered out something incoherently, and finally collapsed utterly cowed.

"Now I must request you all to be good enough to retire immediately into the next room, and not to move until I call you," said Monsieur Biron as he ordered the guests off with a majestic wave of the hand, "and you, Dr. Villebois, will remain here with me."

"Are you acquainted with the deceased?" he enquired of Villebois as soon as they were alone.

"He has been my guest for three months now, and is my most intimate friend."

"And his name?"

"Professor Henri Delapine."

"What!" he exclaimed, "Professor Delapine, the renowned professor at the Sorbonne?"

"The same."

"Mon Dieu! he was one of the most amiable men I ever had the good fortune to meet. What reason could anyone have to seek his death? But that we can go into later. How long has he been dead?"

"I cannot say. All that I know is that he was alive and well a little more than half an hour ago."

"Half an hour ago," said Monsieur Biron, astonished; "but what could have killed him?"

"That is what I want to know."

"This is a most extraordinary affair. Let us examine his body at once."

Villebois and the commissaire proceeded carefully to strip him, scrutinising each garment as they removed it with the utmost care.

"I see no marks of violence," said Biron as he examined the corpse from head to foot. "What makes you think that he has been killed? Can it not be a simple case of heart failure?" and the commissaire gave him a searching look.

"That is possible," replied Villebois, "but apparently not from natural causes."

"Then you mean to say that he really has been murdered?"

"I am sure of it."

"Be careful what you say, doctor. It is a very terrible statement to make, and you will have to be confronted with the Juge d'Instruction, who will compel you to prove it or suffer the consequences."

Dr. Villebois looked very frightened at the severe glances of Monsieur Biron, and twisted his fingers together nervously. "I have every reason to suspect it," he said in a tone of apology. "Have you examined his arms, monsieur?"

The commissaire looked at Villebois to see if he were joking with him, and being convinced of his earnestness, he took up each arm in turn and examined them with great care on all sides.

"I see nothing, nothing at all," he replied.

"Look here, monsieur," said Villebois, pointing to a little swollen spot just above the wrist of the left arm. "Do you see that?"

Monsieur Biron looked at it carefully, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Ce n'est rien, monsieur; it is only a mosquito bite."

Villebois examined it with a pocket magnifier, and gently squeezed it. A drop of glistening fluid came out tinged with blood. The commissaire at once became intensely interested. "Lend me the glass," he cried, and impatiently taking it from Villebois, he carefully examined the spot.

"H'm," he muttered, "the puncture is certainly too large for an insect to make. Can you account for it, doctor?" he said, relinquishing for the first time his authoritative tone.

"I can, but Dr. Riche whom you saw just now can tell you more about it than I can. It was Dr. Riche who told me that he had heard someone moving about the room, and when the doctor ran to the door, before he could open it wide enough to see who was inside, it was violently shut in his face and locked. Dr. Riche and myself together managed to force the door, only to find that the rascal had escaped. Riche raced after him, but the fellow was too quick, and before Riche could get near enough to recognise him, he had disappeared in a fiacre."

"Mon Dieu, but why didn't you tell me all this before?" asked M. Biron.

"Monsieur, I could not, as the whole affair has altogether unnerved me. Besides, Dr. Riche was about to tell you, but you stopped him, if you remember, and threatened to arrest him if he spoke."

The little man stamped on the ground with vexation and chagrin.

"Well, well," he replied somewhat mollified, "I trust it is not too late yet; bring him here at once."

Villebois opened the door and beckoned to him to come in. Riche had taken the commissaire's conduct so much to heart that at first he refused to answer.

"A thousand pardons, M. le docteur, for appearing so rude," said the commissaire in a very apologetic tone, "but I understand that you are able to give some clue to this assassination?"

Dr. Riche, seeing that M. Biron's apology was sincere, slowly thawed and became more amiable.

"Yes, monsieur," he replied, "I came downstairs during the fire to look after the professor, who was fast asleep on a couch, and just as I was about to enter the chamber, the door was shut in my face and locked. When I entered the room the bird had flown, but I picked up a hypodermic syringe half full of liquid, from the floor."

"But didn't you try to find the fellow?"

"Of course I did. I ran round the house into the street, and on arriving at the first corner I saw a man entering a cab, but he was half inside, and too far away for me to recognise who he was. I ran as hard as I could, and shouted to the cocher, but he lashed his horse into a gallop and disappeared. When I returned to the house I searched the room again, and found the broken injection needle on the floor, and guessing that there was some connection between this needle and Professor Delapine's condition, I examined him and discovered that life was extinct."

"Excellent, excellent," said the commissaire, delighted, and rubbing his hands together as if he had heard a good story.

"Parbleu," he cried, "but, mon ami, this is exceedingly interesting, perfectly romantic. Ah, mon cher docteur, our task grows more and more delightful. I must instruct my attendants this instant," and excusing himself he ran off as fast as his little legs could carry him. In the midst of his haste, however, a sudden thought struck him, and he returned to Dr. Villebois, and taking him on one side asked:

"Can you tell me, doctor, what was the cause of the fire?"

"It was undoubtedly a case of arson," replied Villebois and Riche together.

"Why do you think so?" enquired the commissaire.

"One of the firemen found a handful of half-burnt shavings in a corner of Dr. Riche's room which smelt strongly of petroleum, indeed the whole atmosphere reeked of it."

"Let us go to the room at once," said M. Biron.

On arriving at Riche's room they found the place in a terrible state. Everything was saturated with water, and all the contents were charred, and had been piled up by the firemen in a heap. As Dr. Villebois had said, the place reeked of naphtha and bore traces of having been intentionally set on fire.

"I understand it all," said Riche. "Someone has set fire to my bedroom in order to draw the guests away from the séance room, so that he might have a free hand to inject the poison unobserved into the arm of the sleeping professor."

"Ha, ha, you are a born detective, Dr. Riche. Nothing can be clearer," and the commissaire adjusted his spectacles to his entire satisfaction. "A sprat to catch a mackerel, eh?" and he positively beamed with professional pride.

M. Biron, having made his inspection of the house, and cross-questioned all the guests without obtaining any fresh information, cordially shook hands with the two doctors and departed, bubbling over with zeal, and feeling intoxicated with the importance of his mission.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XV

DR. RICHE MAKES A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY

Dal sonno a la morte è un picciol varco.[10] (Tasso Gerusalemme Liberata, ix. 18.) Perir non lascia chi perir non merita.[11] (Alfieri Fillipo, Act iv. Sc. 5.) "We are of such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."[12]

On entering the adjoining apartment Villebois and Riche ran to the assistance of Renée who was lying on the sofa in a dead faint. Madame Villebois was busy applying the usual restoratives, while Payot in a terrible state of excitement had just rushed out of the room to search for a bottle of brandy. On opening the door he literally fell into the arms of François and the other domestics, who had collected round the door to try and discover what was going on.

"Eavesdropping, Hein!" he cried. "How dare you leave your duties and gossip like this. Be off with you. Here, François, show me at once where you keep the brandy," and seizing him by the arm they ran to the cellar to fetch it.

Meanwhile Céleste, half scared to death, was kneeling beside Renée, chafing her cold bloodless hands, while she looked up through her tears at the other guests who were assembled round the couch, and conversing in excited tones.

Villebois and Riche gently pushed them aside, and taking Renée in their arms, carried her up to bed.

"We can do nothing more to-night," said Villebois, consulting his watch, "see how late it is, and we shall have a heavy day to-morrow."

At length one by one the tired guests departed to their respective rooms.

"Monsieur Payot," said Villebois, "I cannot let you leave to-night. If you don't mind I will make you up a bed in the library."

"Do you mind, colleague," said Riche, "if I sleep in the séance-room."

"My dear Riche, I cannot permit you to sleep in a room with a dead body. Why can't you go to your own room?"

"I am accustomed to be in the presence of death as you know; and my room is all burnt out."

"Oh yes, I forgot that. But won't you have a bed made up here?"

"No, please, doctor, come here a moment," and he drew him aside, "I have my reasons for sleeping in the room with Delapine," and he added something in a whisper.

Villebois opened his eyes widely and nodded.

"Oh! oh! I understand now," he said, looking very alarmed. "Yes, sleep there by all means."

Riche had a bed made up on the floor close by the side of Delapine's body, and turning down the light, got into bed.

In spite of the fact that he was dead tired with the excitement and horror of the recent events, his mind was so distracted that he could not sleep. Although his body was weary, his thoughts became abnormally active, and he kept tossing in bed, and turning over in his mind the strange events he had witnessed.

"Happy Delapine," he said with a sigh, "Death indeed is the only evil that can never touch us. When we are, death is not. When death comes, we are not, Yes, Cicero was right when he said, 'Death is an event either to be entirely disregarded, if it extinguish the soul's existence, or, much to be wished, if it convey it to some region where it shall continue to exist forever.' What then have I to fear, if after death I shall either not be miserable, or shall certainly be happy?"

His thoughts carried him back to the beautiful Greek conception of death with its white marble tomb, and the mourners dressed in pure white, carrying garlands of flowers, and chanting some soul-stirring refrain accompanied by maidens playing on the harp and lute. He compared it with a shudder to the gruesome pictures of the Middle Ages, which he remembered to have seen in the frescoes of Orcagna on the walls of the Campo Santo in Pisa, which depicted the dying souls of the damned thrust into the pit of Hell by devils, or the souls of the saved (!) writhing in the flames of Purgatory, and whose torments could alone be alleviated by donations deposited in the money box by their friends on earth.

The moon's rays shining through the window shed a soft light through the room, and illuminated the wax-like features of the professor.

Once or twice Riche raising himself up in bed thought he saw a faint twitching in Delapine's fingers, but after gazing intently at them he lay down again convinced that he had been deceived.

Strange thoughts flitted through his mind. How very different would have been his life during the past week, he said to himself, had Villebois not met him at the café at the corner of the Boulevard S. Michel. What would he be doing now? Perhaps sleeping in his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, perhaps risking a handful of louis on the green tables of the Casino, but almost certainly not tossing on a bed by the side of a corpse.

The room felt uncanny. He had long been familiar with death in all its forms. He had been surgeon in two campaigns in the north of Africa, and had seen his comrades die like flies around him from dysentery and cholera. He had seen their bodies thrown into pits a hundred at a time, but never had he felt such a feeling of awe and terror steal over him as he felt to-night. He could not account for it. Delapine would not needlessly hurt a fly, and now he was lying in the cold hands of death.

At length he could stand it no longer, and getting up he dressed himself and paced up and down the room.

Again he gazed intently on Delapine's face, and thought he detected a slight movement of the muscles. Was he mistaken? How could it be possible? Delapine was undoubtedly dead, he said to himself. Riche's face broke out into a cold sweat, and he attempted to cry out, but his voice died away in silence. No; he lifted up the professor's arms, but they fell down again by their own weight. The clouds flitting across the moon alternately hid and revealed her light, and the black shadows in the room seemed as if they formed themselves into imps and monsters. The stillness became awful. Would the morning never break? Only the clock on the mantel-shelf spoke. Tick-tack, tick-tack, it repeated in a monotonous tone, but no sound answered back. He heard a noise outside, and creeping up to the window, opened it and listened. Too-hoot, too-hoot, it sounded. "It is only the hooting of an owl in the garden," he said, as he shut the window and lay down on the sofa. Doctor Riche's thoughts wandered back again to the café and to Mademoiselle Violette and her ring. What was it she told him when she steadily gazed on it? "I must try and refresh my memory," he said to himself. "I think a sip of brandy might help me," and acting on the impulse he turned up the light, and entering the next room poured out a liqueur glass of the brandy which François had brought for Renée.

"Ah! That does one good," he said as he poured out a second glass. "I recollect perfectly now the very words she said. I remember her telling me that she saw a house in one of the suburbs of Paris.

"'Yes,' she said, 'I see a large room which opens into a smaller room. I see a number of people sitting down in a half circle. There are'—what was it she said? Oh! I remember—'there are five men and three ladies.' I recollect the number perfectly, because at the time it flashed across my mind that there were exactly the same five men and three women figures in a Noah's Ark I gave to my nephew last New Year's day. Ma foi! but that is curious. The number corresponds exactly to the number of guests who were at the séance last night. Let me see. There were Villebois, Payot, Delapine, Marcel, and myself—five men; and Madame, Céleste and Renée—three ladies."

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "that is a very curious coincidence, and I remember now she said one of the men had a pointed black beard, and they were putting him to sleep. And then someone suddenly cried out: 'Oh! God, he is dead.' Why, that fits Delapine like a glove. Oh yes, and I recollect now she spoke of a large envelope sealed with four or five seals—I forget which—in a drawer, or writing-table, or secretary or something, I must hunt around for it as soon as I have had breakfast. Céleste will be only too pleased to help me. Of course it is all nonsense—but still as the first part of her version fits so well, it is just worth while seeing whether any other part will prove true."

At length fatigue proved too much for him, and flinging himself down on his bed, he fell into a deep slumber.