The Soul Stealer

They saw the sharp outlines of the olive trees, immemorially old, as a fringe to the picture. The sun was shining, the white domes and roofs were glistening, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre loomed up large in this vista, seen through a temperament, and through a memory, and seen from a hill.

For a brief space, they all caught their breath and shuddered at the marvellous revelation of the power and magnificence of thought which was revealed to them at that moment. And then they watched the changing, shifting phantom, which was born from the thought of this good man, with a chill and shudder at the incredible wonder of it all.

The afternoon, as it has been said, was thunderous and grim. While the representatives of the world that matters had been listening to Sir William, the forces of nature had been massing themselves upon the frontier-line of experience and thought. And now, at this great moment, the clouds broke, the thunder stammered, and in that darkened place the white and amethyst lightning came and flickered like a spear thrown from immensity.

The gong of the thunder, the crack and flame of the lightning, passed. There was a dead silence. Still the spectators saw the mapped landscape of the Holy City shining before them, glad, radiant and serene.

And then, old Lady Poole dropped her fan – a heavy fan made of ebony and black silk. It clattered down the tier of seats and brought an alien note into the tension and the darkness of the laboratory.

Everybody started in the gloom. There was a little momentary flutter of excitement. And, as they all watched the gleaming circle of light upon which the brain of the Bishop had painted his memories so truthfully and well, they saw a sudden change. The whole, beautiful picture became troubled, misty. It shook like a thing seen through water at a great depth.

Then the vision of the City where God suffered went straight away. There was no more of it. It vanished as a breath breathed upon a window clouds and vanishes.

The concentration of mind of the Bishop must then – as it was said afterwards – have been interrupted by the sudden sound of the falling fan, for all those celebrated men and women who sat and watched saw dim grey words, like clouds of smoke which had formed themselves into the written symbols of speech, appear in the light.

And these were the words —

"God will not allow – "

At that moment the silence was broken by a tiny sound. It is always the small sound that defines blackness and silence.

Sir William, who perhaps had realized where the thoughts of the Bishop were leading him, who had doubtless understood the terror of the naked soul, the terror which he himself had made possible, switched on the light. The whole laboratory was illuminated, and it was seen that the people were looking at each other with white faces; and that the folk, who were almost strangers, were grasping each other by the wrist. And the Bishop himself was sitting quietly in the chair, with a very pale face and a slight smile.

At that moment the people who had come to catch the visual truth of this supreme wonder, rose as one man. Voices were heard laughing and sobbing; little choked voices mingled and merged in a cacophany of fear.

It was all light now, light and bright, and these men and women of the world were weeping on each other's shoulders.

The Bishop rose.

"Oh, please," he said, "please, my dears, be quiet. This is wonderful, this is inexplicable, but we have only begun. Let us see this thing through to the very, very end. Hush! Be quiet! There is no reason, nor is there any need, for hysteria or for fear."

The words of the Churchman calmed them all. They looked at him, they looked at each other with startled eyes, and once more there was a great and enduring silence.

Then Sir William spoke. His face was as pale as linen; he was not at all the person whom they had seen half-an-hour ago – but he spoke swiftly to them.

"His Lordship," he said, "has given us one instance of how the brain works, and he has enabled us to watch his marvellous memory of what he has so lately seen. And now, I will ask some one or other of you to come down here and help me."

Young Lord Landsend looked at Mrs. Hoskin-Heath and winked.

"I shall be very pleased, Sir William," he said in the foolish, staccato voice of his class and kind, "I shall be very pleased, Sir William, to think for you and all the rest of us here."

Lord Landsend stumbled down from where he sat and went towards the chair. As he did so, there were not wanting people who whispered to each other that a penny for his thoughts was an enormous price to pay. The cap was fitted on his head; they all saw it gleaming there above the small and vacuous face; and then once more the lights went out.

The great circle of white light upon the screen remained fixed and immovable. No picture formed itself or occurred within the frame of light and shadow. For nearly a minute the circle remained unsullied.

Then Mrs. Hoskin-Heath began to titter. Every one, relieved from the tension of the first experiment, joined her in her laugh. They all realized that young Lord Landsend could not think, and had not any thoughts at all. In the middle of their laughter, which grew and rose until the whole place was filled with it, the young man, doubtless spurred on by this unaccustomed derision, began to think.

And what they all saw was just this – some one they had all seen before, many times, after dinner.

They simply saw, in rather cloudy colour, Miss Popsy Wopsy, the celebrated Gaiety girl, alertly doing things of no importance, while the baton of the conductor made a moving shadow upon the chiffon of her frock.

And so here was another brain, caught up, classified and seen.

CHAPTER XXIV

MR. WILSON GUEST MAKES A MISTAKE

Mr. Wilson Guest had seen all this many times before. The actual demonstration would have given him amusement and filled him with that odd secret pride which was the only reward he asked from that science which he had followed so long under different conditions than the present.

If Sir William Gouldesbrough had not absolutely prohibited the use of any alcohol upon that day, Guest might have been normal and himself. It was in this matter that Sir William made a great mistake. In his extreme nervousness and natural anxiety, he forgot the pathology of his subject, and did not realize how dangerous it is to rob a man of his drug, and then expect him to do his work.

Guest's assistance had been absolutely necessary in the first instance, in order to prepare the various parts of the Thought Spectrum, and to ensure the proper working of the machinery.

But now, when all that was done, when the demonstration was actually going on and everything was working smoothly and well, there was no immediate need at the moment for Guest's presence in the laboratory.

Accordingly, while Lord Landsend was vainly trying to secrete thought, Wilson Guest slipped out by the side-door in the dark. He was in a long passage leading to the other experimental rooms, and he heaved a great sigh of relief. High above in the air, the thunder could still be heard growling, but the corridor itself, lit by its rows of electric lights and softly carpeted, seemed to the wretched man nothing but an avenue to immediate happiness.

He shambled and almost trotted towards the dining-room in the other part of the house, where he knew that he would find something to drink quicker than anywhere else. He crossed the big hall and went into the dining-room. No one was there.

It was a panelled room with a softly glowing wood fire upon the hearth, and heavy crimson curtains shutting out the dying lights of the day. On a gleaming mahogany sideboard were bottles of cut-glass, ruby, diamond, and amber; bottles in which the soft firelight gleamed and was repeated in a thousand twinkling points.

A loud sob of relief burst from the drunkard, and he went up to the sideboard with the impish greed and longing that one sees in some great ape.

And now, as his shadow, cast upon the wall in the firelight, parodied and distorted all his movements, there seemed two obscene and evil creatures in the rich and quiet room. It was as though the man with his huge hairless face were being watched and waited for by an ape-like ambassador from hell.

Guest clutched the mahogany sideboard and, his fingers were so hot that a greyness like that of damp breath on frosted glass glowed out upon the wood – it seemed as if the man's very touch brought mildew and blight.

Guest ran his eye rapidly along the decanters. His throat felt as though it was packed with hot flour. His mouth tasted as if he had been sucking a brass tap. His tongue was swollen and his lips were hard, cracked, and feverish. He snatched the brandy bottle from a spirit-case, and poured all that was in it into a heavy cut-glass tumbler. Then, looking round for more, for the tantalus had not been more than one-fourth part full, he saw a long wicker-covered bottle of curaçao, and he began to pour from it into the brandy. Then, without water, or mineral water, he began to gulp down this astonishing and powerful mixture, which, in a fourth of its quantity, would probably have struck down the ordinary man, as a tree snaps and falls in a sudden wind.

It had been Guest's intention to take enough alcohol to put him into something like a normal condition, and then to return to the laboratory to assist at the concluding scenes of the demonstration, and to enjoy it in his own malicious and sinister fashion. But as the liquor seemed to course through his veins and to relieve them of the intolerable strain, as he felt his whole body respond to the dose of poison to which he had accustomed it, thoughts of returning to the laboratory became very dim and misty.

Here was this large comfortable room with its panelled walls, its old family portraits in their massive gilt frames, this fire of wood logs in a great open hearth, sending out so pleasant and hospitable an invitation to remain. Every fibre of the wretch's body urged him to take the twilight hour and enjoy it.

Guest sat down in a great arm-chair, padded with crimson leather, and gazed dreamily into the white heart of the fire.

He felt at peace, and for five minutes sat there without movement, looking in the flickering firelight like some grotesque Chinese sculpture, some god of darkness made by a silent moon-faced man on the far shores of the Yang-tze-Kiang.

Then Mr. Guest began to move again; the fuel that he had taken was burning out. The man's organism had become like one of those toy engines for children, which have for furnace a little methyl lamp, and which must be constantly renewed if the wheels of the mechanism are to continue to revolve.

Mr. Guest rose from the arm-chair and shambled over to the sideboard again. The bottle of curaçao was still almost full, though there did not appear to be any more brandy.

That would do, he thought, and he poured from the bottle into his glass as if he had been pouring beer. The wretched man had forgotten that, in his present state – a state upon the very verge of swift and hidden paroxysm and of death – the long abstention of the morning and afternoon had modified his physiological condition. Moreover, the suddenness of these stealthy potations in the dining-room began to have their way with him. He was a man whom it was almost impossible to make intoxicated, as the ordinary person understands intoxication. When Guest was drunk, his mind became several shades more evil, that was all.

But at this moment the man succumbed, and in half-an-hour his brain was absolutely clouded and confused. He had forgotten both time and occasion, and could not think coherently.

At last he seemed to realize this himself. He rose to his feet and, clutching hold of the dining-room table, swayed and lurched towards the dining-room door. There was a dim consciousness within him of something which was imminently necessary to be done, but which he had forgotten or was unable to recall.

"What was it?" he kept asking himself with a thick indistinctness. "I knew I had somethin' to do, somethin' important, can't think what it was."