by E. F. Benson
“Sobbing?” I asked.
“Yes. What he said tonight is, or was, perfectly true. He used to be devoted to dogs and, indeed, all animals, especially cats.… Now last night, out in the garden, he was in his dressing-gown. Well, when he came down to breakfast this morning he said his nose had been bleeding rather severely. He was uneasy about it, and I went up to his bedroom and found a good deal of blood in his sloppail. His dressing-gown was lying on his bed, and there, too, was more blood and a quantity of cat’s hairs. I told him not to think about it any more; there was nothing in the least alarming, and when he had gone out, in order to make quite sure, I dug up the Michaelmas daisies for the second time. Below, I found the body of my poor cat. He had cut its throat.… He would kill Fifi if he could; he is longing to.”
“But the fellow is a fiend!” said I.
“For the present he is a fiend, or something very like it. He used not to be until the day on which he broke his arm. Pray God he will cease being what he is.”
“Till the day he broke his arm?”’ I asked.
“Yes. Now do you want to hear the wildest and most extravagant tale, which I believe to be literally and awfully true?”
“Concerning this?” I asked.
“Of course. Also, are you disposed to sit up late tonight? There may be some confirmatory evidence about my story. I expect Reid, the medium, here at twelve. There is time for me to give you my theory before he comes.”
“Till any hour,” said I.
“Good. Then listen.”
He spoke slowly, putting his hands over his eyes, as he so often does when he wants to shut out all external disturbances and concentrate himself on the history of a case.
“Two months ago,” he said, “as you may possibly remember, a man called James Rolls was hanged at Beltonborough for the most atrocious murder of his wife. The deed apparently was quite objectless; there had been no quarrel, and after it was done he seemed sometimes to be distressed at the crime, sobbing and crying, sometimes to gloat over it, recounting it with gusto. There was no question whatever about his guilt, only about his sanity, and with regard to that these fits of remorse and enjoyment might be assumed in order to produce the impression that he was not accountable for his actions. He was examined by a Government expert, who asked me to come down with him and form my conclusion. We could neither of us find any other symptom of insanity about him. But there was a certain conjecture in my head about what we call the history of the case, and I stopped down at Beltonborough for a day or two in order to make further observations.
“As I was having an interview with him, I suddenly asked him this question, ‘Did you begin by killing flies?’ Usually he was rather sullen and silent, and often would not answer; but when I asked him this, his eye brightened, and he said, ‘Yes, flies first, and then cats and dogs.’ After that I could get nothing further out of him, but I had got what I expected to get. In all other respects he was, as far as I could judge, perfectly sane, and it was scarcely possible to call him a homicidal maniac, for he had never before shown signs of wanting to take human life. As it was, he had committed an atrocious murder, and had he been shut up as a homicidal maniac, I do not think there is any doubt that by this time he would have killed a warder.
“Now no man in a fit of rage is altogether sane, and yet we do not commute the sentence of those who have killed another when beside themselves with passion, and James Rolls had not even that extenuation. He was hanged.… But I feel convinced that Frank is suffering from an early stage of James Rolls’s malady; I feel convinced also that the hanging of James Rolls infected him with it.”
“The hanging of James Rolls caused it?” I asked.
“I do not doubt it, as you will see when I state my theory. But I hope to prove that my theory is correct, and I hope to cure my cousin.”
Roupert sat up and looked at me while he said this; then he sank back in his chair again, and, as before, covered his eyes with his hands.
“Now for the theory,” he said. “There is a very steep hill in Beltonborough with a sharp, dangerous corner just outside the prison gate. Practically at the moment when James Rolls was being taken to the scaffold, Frank came tearing down this hill on his bicycle to catch an early train to town. He skidded and fell just outside the prison, and sustained compound fracture of his right arm. It was important that he should be moved as little as possible, and they carried him straight into the prison infirmary, where chloroform was administered and the prison surgeon set his arm. It was a very bad fracture, and he was under the anaesthetic for a considerable time. And when he came ’round, he was changed.… It seemed as if another spirit had taken possession of his body. He was not the same person: from being a charming boy, he had become something hellish.”
Roupert sat up again and looked at me.
“There is a theory,” he said, “that in certain conditions, such as deep mesmeric trance, or under the stupefaction of some complete anaesthetic, the bonds that seem so indissolubly to unite a man’s spirit to his mind and his body are strangely loosened. The condition approaches to that of temporary death: often under an anaesthetic the beat of the heart is nearly suspended, often the breathing is nearly suspended, and this happened to Frank under chloroform that morning. The connexion between his spirit and his body was loosened.…
“There is another theory which you must consider also. It is proved, I think, beyond all doubt, that at the moment of death, particularly of sudden and violent death, the spirit, though severed from the body which it has inhabited, does not at once leave its vicinity, but remains hovering near to its discarded tenement, from which it has been expelled. Well, at that hour when Frank’s spirit was maintaining but a relaxed hold on his body, another spirit, violent and strong, was close at hand—a spirit that had just been disembodied.… And I believe the spirit of James Rolls entered and took possession.”
I felt then what I have felt before and since, namely, some stir of horror in my head that made my hair move. You can often see it in dogs (I had seen it tonight in Fifi) when terror or rage erects their hackles. But the experience was only momentary, and the flame of this thing, its awful and burning quality, licked hotly ’round me.…
“And how is Reid to help?” I asked.
“He may be able to test for us part, at any rate, of my theory,” said Roupert. “He is an extraordinarily powerful medium in the way of producing materialized forms of spirits, and I believe him to be honest and high-minded. Now if Frank’s body is possessed by this murderous spirit, it is at least possible that Frank’s own spirit, now unhoused and evicted, will be hovering near its rightful habitation. We will ask if the spirit of Frank Hampden is here. We will ask if it can assume material form. If Reid can produce this materialization, it will doubtless wear the appearance of Frank. We will try, anyhow.… Ah, no doubt that is Reid.…”
A very gentle tapping sounded on the front door just outside the room, and Roupert got up.
“I told Reid not to ring,” he said, “for fear that Frank should hear. I will let him in.”
He left the room, and in another moment came back with the medium, a small, perfectly commonplace looking man, smug and prosperous. Then I met his eyes and thought him commonplace no longer. They seemed to look out and through and beyond.
In a few minutes Roupert, who had often sat with Reid before, explained what was wanted. He told him that we wished to know if the spirit of Frank Hampden was about, and, if so, whether we could communicate with it, or see it. That was all.
Reid asked only one question.
“Has Frank Hampden’s spirit been long out of his body?” he said.
Roupert hesitated for a moment.
“I believe it to have been out of his body for about two months,” he answered.
The electric light was put out, but the glow from the fire was bright enough to make a red twilight in the room. I could clearly see the profile of the medium, black against that illumination, the back of the chair in which he
sat, the full face of Roupert, glints of reflected light on the glass of pictures, and, with perfect distinctness, Fifi, who had curled herself up on the hearthrug. Almost immediately the medium went into trance, and I saw his head bowed over his chest, and heard his breathing, which had been short and panting, as he passed into unconsciousness, grow quiet again. How long we sat there in silence, without anything supernormal occurring, I do not know, but it appeared to me not to be many minutes before a very loud rap sounded from the table, which began to quiver under our hands. Then Roupert asked:
“Is the spirit of Frank Hampden here?”
There was the assent of three raps.
“Shall we be able to see you?” he asked.
There were two raps, and, after a pause, a third.
Again we sat in silence, this time for a much longer period, and I think the clock on the mantelpiece twice chimed the quarter-hour. Then from the direction of the door there blew across the room a very cold current of air, and the curtains in the window stirred with it. Fifi, I imagine, felt it too, for she sat up, sneezed, and drew herself a little nearer to the fire. Simultaneously I was inwardly aware that there was something, somebody in the room which had not been there before. It had not entered through the door, for when the current of air began to blow I looked at it, and certainly it had not opened.
Then Roupert whispered.
“Look; it is coming.”
The medium’s head had fallen back, and over his chest, in the region of the heart, there appeared a faint, luminous area, inside which there was going on some energy, some activity. Whorls and spirals of grey, curling and intertwining and growing thicker and extending, began building themselves up in the air. For some little while I could not make out what it was that was thus taking shape in the red twilight; then as the materialization progressed, it defined itself into a human form swathed in some misty and opaque vesture. At the top, above shoulders now quite formed, there rose the outline of a head; features growing every moment more distinct fashioned the face of it, and, pallid and silent, fading into darkness below, stood the head and torso of a human being.
The face was clearly recognizable; it was scarce an hour since I had looked on those features, but it wore so heart-broken an anguish in the curves of that beautiful mouth and in the tortured eyes, that my throat worked for very pity and compassion.
Then Roupert spoke.
“Frank,” he said.
The head bowed, the lips moved, but I heard nothing.
“Why are you not in your body?” he asked.
This time there came a whisper just audible.
“I can’t, I can’t,” he said. “Someone is there; someone terrible. For God’s sake, help me!”
The white agonized face grew more convulsed.
“I can’t bear it,” it said.… “For God’s sake, for God’s sake!…”
I looked away from that face for a moment to the hearthrug where a sudden noise attracted my attention. Fifi was sitting bolt upright looking eagerly upwards, and the noise I heard was the pleased thumping of her tail.
Then she came cautiously forward, still gazing at the image which an hour before had driven her frenzied with rage and terror, uttering little anxious whinings, seeking attention. Finally she held out a paw, and gave the short whisper of a bark with which she demands the notice of her favourites.… And if I had been inclined to doubt before, I think that I would now have been convinced that here in some inscrutable manifestation was the true Frank Hampden.
Once more Roupert spoke.
“I will do all that man can do, Frank,” he said, “and by God’s grace we will restore you.”
The figure slowly faded; some of it seemed withdrawn back into the medium, some to be dispersed in the dusk. Before long Reid’s breath again grew quick and laboured, as he passed out of trance, and then drenched with sweat he came to himself.
Roupert told him that the séance had been successful, and then, turning on the light again, we all sat still while the medium recovered from his exhaustion. Before he left, Roupert engaged him to hold himself in readiness for a further séance next day, in case he was telephoned for; and when he had gone, we drew up our chairs to the fire, while Fifi went nosing about the room as if searching for traces of a friend. For a long time Roupert sat in silence, frowning heavily at the fire, asking me some question from time to time, to satisfy himself that our impressions had been identical. Then he appeared to make up his mind.
“I shall do it,” he said; “at least, I shall make the attempt. That was Frank whom we saw just now; up to that point my theory is confirmed. Of course, there’s a risk—there’s an awful risk. But, Archdale, wouldn’t anybody take any risk to cure the anguish we looked upon? That was a human spirit, man, disembodied but not dead, and it knows that its earthly habitation is being defiled and profaned by that murderous occupant. It sees the horrors that its own hands work; the brain that was its pleasant servant is planning worse things yet. I can’t doubt that this is so. No reasonable man can doubt so incredible and so damnable a thing. But if the struggle that there must be is too much for the body that we seek to free, good Lord, what a tale for a coroner’s inquest!”
“You mean that you risk your cousin’s death?” I asked.
“Necessarily; who can tell what will happen? But that is not all. For of what nature is the spirit which we hope to expel from that poor lad’s body? A strong and a desperate one, or it could never have taken possession of it. It will cling with all its force to the tenement which it has usurped, and if we drive it out, if God helps us to do that, what awful and evil power will once more be abroad! But we can’t help that. There is holy justice and reparation to be done, and we can’t count the cost. Now, let me think again!”
He got up and began pacing up and down the room, now muttering to himself, now speaking aloud as if in argument with me.
“It’s a terrible risk for Reid, too,” he said, “for Reid most of all, for he will be in deep trance; such power of faith as we can exert must defend him first of all.… Yet, we can’t get at Rolls, I tell you, without the medium.… I must, of course, tell Reid everything, and ask him if he will take the risk.… He may refuse, though I don’t think he will, for there’s the courage of a saint in that man.… Then there’s Frank, Frank’s body, I mean. That must be absolutely unconscious when the operation takes place; no human nerves could stand it, nor with that fiend in possession would he consent to it.… Deep, the deepest possible unconsciousness.… By Jove, there’s that new German drug, which appears safe enough, and it certainly produces a sleep that comes nearest of all to death; it seems to stupefy the very spirit itself.… Hyocampine, of course; don’t tell me vou haven’t heard of it.… Tasteless too; it’s a good thing that the criminal classes can’t get hold of it.… Well, there we are.… Prayer and faith in an Almighty power.… Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord.… He does too, if our motives are right; that’s one of the few facts we can be quite sure about.… You can run a lot of risks if you utterly believe that.”
Suddenly the whole burden of perplexity and anxious thought seemed lifted off his mind.
“I’ll go and see Reid tomorrow morning,” he said. “I believe he will consent when he knows all. And you? Do you want to see the end of it? And look on the glory of God? Come if you like, but if you come, you must be strung up to the highest pitch of trust and serenity that you are capable of. Yes, do be here. You believe that all evil, however deadly and powerful, is altogether inferior in calibre and fighting power to good. Also I shall like a friend at my elbow. Perhaps I oughtn’t to urge that as a reason, for I don’t want any personal feeling to influence you. Only come if you want to witness the power of God, not Reid’s, not mine; we are nothing at all except mere mossy channels.”
For one moment he paused, and I knew that he was wavering himself, in the weakness of the flesh; but instantly he got hold of himself again.
“There’s only one power that can’t fail,” he said. “H
ell crashes into fragments against it.”
** * * *
Next morning I got a note from Roupert, saying that Reid consented and asking me to come in to his house punctually at half-past two if I had decided to be with him. When I arrived, I found Roupert and Frank Hampden sitting over their coffee in the study. Hampden had just drunk his.
“Isn’t there a home for cats somewhere in Battersea?” he was asking. “I’ll go and find a new one for you, as yours appears to have vanished entirely.” He yawned. “It’s a feeble habit to go to sleep after lunch,” he said, “but I really think I shall have a nap. I’ve got an astonishing inclination that way. Give me half an hour, will you, and then we’ll go down to the cats’ home and get a large fat cat.”
I guessed that Roupert had already given his cousin the dose of hyocampine, but just as the latter was pulling a chair ’round so that he need not face the light, he spoke.
“Make a proper job of it, Frank,” he said, “and lie on the sofa. One always wakes feeling cramped if one goes to sleep in a chair.”
Hampden’s eyelids were already drooping, but he shuffled heavily across to the sofa.
“All right,” he mumbled, “sorry for being so rude, Mr.—Mr. Archdale, but I must have just forty—I wonder why forty—”
And immediately he went to sleep.
Roupert waited a moment, but Hampden did not stir again. Then he went out, and returned with Reid, who had been waiting in his bedroom. All explanations had already been made, and in silence we darkened the room by drawing the thick curtains across the window. Only a little light came in from their edges, but, as last night, the firelight flickered on the walls. Then Roupert locked the door, and we took our places ’round the table.
“Into Thy hands, O Lord, we commend our spirits,” he said.
Before many minutes were over the medium’s head dropped forward, and after a little struggle he went into trance.
“The spirit of James Rolls,” said Roupert.
In the silence that followed I could hear the slow breathing of Hampden as he slept in that remote unconsciousness. A chink of light from the window fell full on his face, and I could see it very distinctly. Then, I heard him breathing quicker, and a shudder passed through him, shaking the sofa where he lay. His face, hitherto serene and quiescent, began to twitch.