The Fiery Wheel

by Jean de La Hire

  “Yes, yes…you uncork the bottle under your nose…or you pour it on to a handkerchief that you attach like a gag…and off you go...”

  “When you don’t love me anymore,” said the little fool, laughing, “I’ll buy some chloroform...”

  “They won’t sell it to you...”

  “You think not!” And with a shrug of her shoulders, the girl turned to her lover. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Did you see that?”

  “What?”

  “Like an electric spark that flew past, there, over the American’s head.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “It did, I tell you.”

  “Indeed, Monsieur,” said an earnest man standing beside the student. “I saw a spark too.”

  “Where? Where?” The crowd stopped, people pausing forward and interrogating one another. At the balustrade, the student, the seamstress and the earnest gentleman resisted the pressure and gazed at the Englishman’s cadaver.

  Suddenly, the seamstress uttered a shrill screech and extended her arm, howling in a distressed voice: “His mouth! His mouth! Look! There! There!”

  “Eh! What? It’s true...”

  “The eyes now! The eyes!”

  Pale and trembling, the young woman stood up straight, nailed to the balustrade by surprise and terror. Behind her, the crowd swelled; cries emerged from it, and oaths...

  “They’re open,” said the earnest gentleman. Turning round, he tried to flee, but the crowd crushed him against the balustrade.

  “Ah! Ah!” howled the young woman, in a heart-rending tone. “He’s getting up!”

  A long cry of horror burst out beneath the vaults of the peristyle. The people who had seen the cadaver open his eyes and slowly sit up were trying to run away, and struggling against those who were arriving from outside and had not seen anything. There were crazed screams, exchanged blows and terrified sobs. The young woman collapsed on to the floor in a faint and was trampled, while the crush carried her frightened lover away. As if broken in two, the earnest gentleman, paralyzed by horror, his eyes wide, felt the balustrade digging into his midriff. There was a panicked stampede of people trying to get away, clashing with those who wanted to see.

  And the curiosity-seekers who had not turned their backs of the window were obliged not to miss any detail of the terrifying spectacle.

  The cadaver of the Englishman, before whom all the people of Paris had filed, who had been ion the icy slab in the Morgue for six days, had suddenly moved his lips, opened his eyes and gently agitated his limbs. Now he was getting up, slowly, as if stiffened by his long immobility.

  He sat on the edge of the slab and looked around, fearfully. With his right hand he touched the body lying next to him. Again his gaze described a semicircle. Then, his eyes, widened by astonishment and an inexpressible emotion, came to rest on the crowd behind the glass, displaying faces contracted and discolored by horror, bodies convulsed by the struggle, legs, arms and heads mingled together...

  The resuscitated cadaver was staring at all that when an imperious voice behind him called out: “Arthur Brad!”

  A sudden resolution animated him then. He leapt down to the ground, turned his back on the frightened crowd, went around the slab and walked toward an open door. When he had gone through it, the door closed again, shut by Dr. Ahmed Bey.

  “Monsieur Torpène,” said Ahmed Bey, “may I introduce Arthur Brad, in his new mortal coil.”

  Pale and extremely emotional, the Prefect of Police bowed.

  “Monsieur Brad, I’m Dr. Ahmed Bey, whom you have known on Venus and Mercury in the various forms that he was obliged to take on.”

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance thus,” Brad replied, with a pronounced English accent.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Well enough in myself,” said Brad, looking down at himself, “but I’m very cold, and I’m hungry.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” said Torpène, who had recovered his presence of mind. “You’ve been under the influence of the refrigeration apparatus for six days—obviously, you’ve had nothing to eat during that time.”

  “Where are Paul de Civrac, Lolla Mendès and Francisco?”

  “In my house,” said the Doctor. “They’re not yet reincarnated. You’ll witness...”

  “Good, good!” Arthur Brad interrupted. A wrinkle of anxiety striped his forehead. He looked around and opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Torpène.

  “You might think it childish,” stammered Brad, “but I’d like to see my face. It’s quite important…you’ll understand…is there a mirror here?”

  “You’ll find one at my house, Monsieur Brad,” said the Doctor, laughing. “But don’t let your face worry you. I’ll modify it for you in such a way that it will be similar in every respect to the one you had before your disincarnation—assuming that you want to resemble your previous form...”

  “No, it’s all the same to me. I don’t have any family, and I don’t care whether my friends think I’ve changed…but I don’t want to be too ugly, you see!”

  The three men burst out laughing.

  “Are you going to come with us, Monsieur Torpène?” asked the Doctor.

  “No—I have to stay here, to carry out certain formalities necessitated by the unexpected resurrection of Edward Penting...”

  “Edward Penting?” said Arthur Brad, raising his eyebrows.

  “Yes, that’s the name of the body you’re presently using, Monsieur Brad. The Doctor will tell you all about it. When the formalities are completed, I’ll come to your house, Doctor, in order to get you and Brad to sign formal statements. And we’ll draft a note to give to the journalists. Don’t let anyone interview you!”

  “Don’t worry, my dear friend,” the Doctor replied. “My automobile is just outside, and my chauffeur is skilful. We’ll avoid the reporters, if any have already arrived.”

  “Until later, then!”

  “Monsieur Brad,” said Ahmed Bey, “let’s go to lunch.”

  “With pleasure, Doctor.”

  After shaking Monsieur Torpène’s hand, the two men went out of the office. They were stopped under the peristyle by a policeman accompanied by several town sergeants. The public corridor had been cleared and the crowd was massed outside on the sidewalk. At the sight of Edward Penting, the attendant, who was beside the policeman, leapt backwards shouting: “That’s him! That’s him!”

  “The Prefect of Police is waiting for you inside, Officer,” said the Doctor, immediately. “Will you lend me four men to clear the way for my automobile—we’re in a hurry.” That was said in a voice of such imposing authority that the officer did not hesitate for a moment to obey. He gave his orders to a brigadier and disappeared into the building. Accompanied by four men, the brigadier went to clear the road in front of the automobile, and, when the crowd had parted, the vehicle moved off, soon disappearing around the corner of the quay.

  Chapter Three

  In which Dr. Ahmed Bey keeps

  his fantastic promises

  Four hours after the extraordinary scene at the Morgue, the evening edition of the Universel, Parisian section, was being hawked all over the city by noisy vendors. Its front page bore the following headline:

  MYSTERY OF THE HÔTEL FULTON

  Exciting Developments

  Edward Penting resuscitated! He was only asleep! “It was a simple experiment,” he says. He knows where his jewels and valuables are. He is giving 20,000 francs to the poor of Paris. “The file is closed,” concludes the Prefect of Police.

  There followed a long article recounting the story of the resurrection in detail, but in the manner that Dr. Ahmed Bey had decided that it should be told. And in the stop press, the following item relating to “the mystery of the Hôtel Fulton” could be read:

  We are assured that Edward Penting, the individual mysteriously resuscitated, in a friend of Dr. Ahmed Bey, whose extraordinary science and competence in the
field of seemingly-supernatural events are known throughout the world. That explains a great many things!

  On leaving the Morgue, Monsieur Ahmed Bey, who had witnessed the “resurrection,” returned to his house at the Parc Monceau in company with Edward Penting. The eminent doctor and the mysterious resuscitee have refused to give any interview. Nevertheless, Dr. Ahmed Bey has promised us that, in a matter of weeks, he will personally explain the entire mystery, in order that the press can communicate that explanation to the entire world.

  There is, in consequence, nothing to do but wait. We shall wait.

  The front-page article and the stop press item were reproduced by all the evening papers in Paris, and, the following morning, by all the newspapers in the world. During the night, the currents of all the telephonic, telegraphic and transatlantic wires flowed without interruption, and the wireless telegraphy stations of both hemispheres remained on the alert. And it was during that night that what was perhaps the most moving scene of the entire adventure was enacted in Dr. Ahmed Bey’s house.

  At midnight, the five people who had witnessed the disincarnation of Dr. Ahmed Bey—to wit, Monsieur Torpène, the astronomer Constant Brularion, Abbé Normat, Dr. Payen and Professor Martial—were sitting on the divans in the laboratory. They had been escorted there by Ra-Cobrah, who left them there after telling them that his master would not be long in coming.

  They waited impatiently, for, with the exception of Monsieur Torpène, none of them had seen the Doctor. They had only been made aware of his return to Earth by the allusions made by the evening newspapers to the presence of Ahmed Bey at the scene of the resurrection in the Morgue. The impatience and emotion of the five individuals was such that none of them was able to speak.

  In front of them, beneath the bright light of the chandeliers, three bodies were laid out on marble slabs. One of them, alone on an isolated slab, was the corpse of a young woman, clad in a luxurious white silk peignoir; her feet were shod in red leather slippers; she had a beautiful coral necklace around her neck, and her beautiful black hair was elegantly combed.

  The second slab supported two male bodies; the costume of one was finished off by a smoking jacket, the other with a blue waistcoat; they had both been carefully shaved, but the former wore a moustache while the second had none.

  Suddenly, one of the laboratory doors opened and Ahmed Bey’s voice was heard.

  “Come in, Captain, and don’t be astonished by anything.”

  “Very well, Monsieur—I’ve seen so many extraordinary things...”

  The “Captain” who had pronounced those words with a strong Spanish accent immediately appeared in the glare of the laboratory. Ahmed Bey followed him, taking him by the arm in a familiar fashion and bringing him to meet the five guests, who had all risen to their feet.

  “Messieurs,” he said, “I have the honor of presenting to you Captain José Mendès, the father of Mademoiselle Lolla, whose soul I have brought back from the planet Mercury!”

  And the Doctor introduced each of the five scientists to the Captain. Then, he added: “Yesterday evening I telephoned the military headquarters in Barcelona, where the Captain is in service. I was able to speak to him. I only said a few words, but they were sufficient for the Captain to take the train immediately. He arrived two hours ago. I’ve brought him up to date with my operations and my actions, past and imminent. That’s why I’m late in coming to met you, Messieurs...”

  Everyone bowed, and then sat down again, and the Captain, whose hands were tremulous with emotion and who was paler than the corpses lying on the slabs, took his place beside Monsieur Torpène.

  Only then did Professor Martial, Abbé Normat and Dr. Payen feel able to speak. They all began to do so simultaneously.

  “But Doctor...”

  Realizing that they were all speaking at the same time, however, they said no more.

  “Don’t interrogate me, Messieurs!” said Ahmed Bey, smiling. “I’ll tell you about my adventures later. You’ve seen my soul quit my body, so you have, I’m sure, observed its cadaverous condition following my departure. Now, you can see that same body alive before you. Be satisfied for the moment, I beg you, with regard to myself, and observe in silence the prodigies that will be accomplished before your eyes. You shall be their witnesses and guarantors, and your testimony will be precious when I judge that the time has come for me to reveal my power and my actions to the public.”

  The five men nodded their heads.

  “Captain,” Ahmed Bey went on, in a graver tone, “will you suppress the natural emotion that is agitating you, and consider closely the cadaver of this young woman...”

  José Mendès got up, and, his features drawn, but firm and composed, he went to the slab. He gazed down at the marmoreal face and said: “This is the body into which you’re going to put my Lolla’s soul?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I silence my paternal preferences,” the Captain continued, “I recognize that she’s a beautiful young woman…certainly more beautiful than my daughter was, although her beauty was famous in Barcelona. But those eyes, which must be dark, will they have my Lolla’s gaze?”

  “They will, Monsieur, for the gaze is merely the expression of the soul.”

  “Will those lips have her smile?”

  “You’ll be able to judge for yourself,” said the Doctor. “In any case, you know that by means of androplasty, whose effects I’ve explained to you. I can model the face to the point of rendering it exactly similar to the one in which you represent your daughter. But it’s a long and delicate operation, which isn’t without pain for the patient. I’ll only carry it out if Lola’s soul, speaking through that mouth, expresses the desire and you give me the formal instruction...”

  “Whatever Lolla wants,” the Captain replied, simply, “I want...”

  As José Mendès went to sit down again, a door opened and a stout silhouette appeared in the doorway.

  “Messieurs,” said Ahmed Bey, “I present to you Arthur Brad, under the auspices of Edward Penting.”

  At these words, an ardent curiosity caused Brularion, Martial, Abbé Normat and Dr. Payen to stand up abruptly. Only Torpène remained seated.

  Arthur Brad advanced tranquilly, and the eyes of the four scientists, with those of José Mendès, studied intently the man who had been abducted by the Fiery Wheel, whose original body was mummified on the planet Venus and whose present body had, a few hours earlier, been the cadaver of a mysteriously-murdered Englishman. Such associations of ideas would have rendered many men mad, but the scientists were not among those who would allow their minds to be upset by facts or ideas. As one, they offered their hands to Arthur Brad, who took them one by one and shook them vigorously. As for the Captain, he had sat down again; he was thinking about his daughter.

  “And now, Messieurs,” said Ahmed Bey, when everyone had resumed their places on the divans facing the marble slabs, I ask you to observe, and not to speak.

  He went into the dressing-room and came out again shortly afterwards wearing a long linen robe. As he went past a column he flicked a switch, and the chandeliers went out. Only one small electric lamp above the slabs, fitted with green glass, remained alight.

  Ahmed Bey raised his arms toward the ceiling—and three white sparks were now visible, which were seen to descend in a flash and stop a meter above the three cadavers.

  Rigid with emotion, Captain Mendès had got to his feet. He had taken a step forward, and he was standing motionless, his eyes fixed on the spark floating above the young woman.

  Ahmed Bey had commenced his incantations and sacred gestures, however. His voice swelled, rising until it stopped dead with a long, harrowing cry—and then the spark shone more brightly, swiftly changed position, hovered momentarily over the lips of the dead woman, and suddenly disappeared.

  Immediately, the Doctor murmured incomprehensible words in a low voice, and his hands made magnetic passes over the young woman’s head.

  Holding their breath,
all the spectators had risen to their feet. They saw the pale young face take on a pink tint, and saw the throat gently rise and fall.

  “Lolla!” Ahmed Bey suddenly cried. “Lolla Mendès, can you hear me?”

  “I can hear you,” sighed the resuscitated young woman.

  “Do you remember the planet Mercury, Lolla?” the Doctor went on.

  “I remember…oh, what horror!” An expression of suffering, contracted the lovely features.

  “Lolla!” said the Doctor, again. “I willed that your soul be brought back to Earth.”

  “Is that possible?” moaned the sleeper.

  “It is! You’re asleep now, but you’re going to wake up. Although you’ll have a face and body different from those you had before...”

  “Ah!” sighed the young woman. “How can that be?”

  “Everything will be explained. But listen carefully...”

  “I’m listening!”

  “You’ll see before you, when you wake up, Captain José Mendès...”

  “My father!” A stifled sob resounded in the solemn silence that followed the young woman’s exclamation. Captain José Mendès was weeping.

  “Yes,” said Ahmed Bey, “your father.” Then, after a further pause, he went on: “Now, Lolla, I enjoin you to remember everything that I’ve just told you.”

  “I’ll remember!”

  “That’s good. I’m going to wake you up!” And he added, in a softer tone, turning toward the spectators: “Now, I’m certain that the emotions that will strike her when she wakes up won’t do her any harm...”

  With his arms extended, he made magnetic passes, and Lolla Mendès opened her eyes—widened, frightened eyes, still full of the mysteries of the beyond.

  “Get up, Lolla!” Ahmed Bey ordered, quietly.

  The young woman sat up on the edge of the slab, and looked around indecisively.

  “Lolla! Lolla!” cried the Captain—and he came forward, arms extended.