The Soul Stealer

by Guy Thorne

  CHAPTER XXV

  AT LAST!

  When the sounds of amused laughter at Lord Landsend's unconsciousrevelation had passed away, and that young nobleman, slightly flushedindeed, but still with the imperturbability that a man of his class andkind learns how to wear on all occasions, had regained his seat, a fireof questions poured in upon Sir William Gouldesbrough.

  The famous scientists of the party had all risen and were conferringtogether in a ripple of rapid and exciting talk, which for theconvenience of the foreign members of their number, was conducted inFrench.

  Marjorie Poole, who had not looked at Sir William at all during thewhole of the afternoon, was very pale and quiet.

  Gouldesbrough had noticed this, and even in the moment of supremetriumph his heart was heavy within him. He feared that somethingirrevocable had come between him and the girl he loved, and her palloronly intensified his longing to be done with the whole thing, to bealone with her and to have the explanation which he desired so keenlyand yet dreaded so acutely. For what Lord Malvin had said to him hadstabbed him with a deadly fear, as each solemn, significant word rangthrough the room.

  "Could it be," he asked himself, "could it possibly be that these peoplesuspected or knew anything?"

  His quick brain answered the question in its own swift and logicalfashion. It was utterly impossible that Lord Malvin _could_ knowanything. His words were a coincidence and that was all. No, he need notfear, and possibly, he thought, the long strain of work and worry hadhad its influence upon his nerves and he had become morbid and unstrung.That fear passed, but there was still in his heart the fear, andstrangely enough an even greater fear, that he would never now makeMarjorie his own.

  His outward face and demeanour showed nothing of the storm and riotwithin. He was calm, self-possessed, and smiling, quick to answer and toreply, to explain this or that point in his discoveries, to be adequate,confident and serene.

  In reply to a question from Dean Weare, Sir William leant upon one ofthe cases which covered the thought-transforming mechanism and gave alittle lecture.

  "Quite so, Mr. Dean," he said; "it is exactly as you suppose, the form,power, and vividness of the pictures upon the screen correspond exactlywith the strength of the intellect of the person whose thoughts aremaking these pictures. You will find your strongly imaginative man, oryour man whose brain is much turned inward upon himself, and who, forthis very reason takes little part in the action or movement of life,will give a far more complete and vivid picture than any other. Forexample, assuming that the Bishop's valet is an ordinary servant andaccompanied his Lordship to Palestine a few months ago, and saw exactlywhat his Lordship saw, that man's memories would not be thrown upon thescreen with such wonderful vividness as his Lordship's were. He wouldnot be able, in all probability, to produce a picture, a generalimpression, which is a real picture and not a photograph, and which soconveys the exact likeness of a place far more than any photograph couldever do. His thoughts would probably be represented by some specialincident which had struck his fancy at the time and assumed a proportionin his mind which a cultured and logical faculty of thought would atonce reject as being out of due proportion. And finally, in a preciseratio to the power of the brain--I do not mean to its health, orill-health, its weight or size, I mean its pure _thinking_ power--soare the thoughts, when transformed into light, vivid or not vivid, asthe case may be."

  Mrs. Hoskin-Heath turned to Lord Landsend, who was sitting beside her.Her pretty face wore a roguish smile as she whispered to him.

  "Billy, what an awful donkey _you_ must be."

  Lord Landsend looked at her for a moment. Then he answered--

  "Well, you know, I am not at all sure that it is not a jolly good thingto be sometimes. I would not be that fellow Gouldesbrough for anything."

  She looked at him in amusement. There was something quite serious in theyoung man's face.

  "Why," she said, in a whisper, "what do you mean, Billy?"

  "I may not be clever," said Lord Landsend, "but I prefer to spend mylife doing what amuses me, not what other people think I ought to do. Atthe same time I know men, and I know that scientific Johnny over therehas got something on his mind which I should not care to have. PoorTommy Decies had that look in his eyes the night before Ascot last year,poor Eustace Charliewood had it just before he went down to Brighton andshot himself; and you may take it from me, Mrs. Hoskin-Heath, that Iknow what I am talking about."

  "And now," said Sir William, looking up and down the rows of facesopposite him. "And now, which of you will submit himself to the nextexperiment?"

  Then Lord Landsend spoke. He was determined to "get his own back," as hewould have put it, if possible.

  "Why don't you have a try yourself, Sir William," he said, with a notvery friendly grin; "or won't what d'you call 'em work for its master?You had my thoughts for nothing, I'll give you twopence for yours."

  There was an ill-suppressed titter from the more frivolous portion ofthe spectators; but Lord Malvin turned round and looked at the young manwith a frown of disapproval. There was something in that leonine headand those calm wise eyes which compelled him to silence.

  Then Herr Schmoulder, a famous savant from Berlin, spoke.

  "It would an interesting demonstration make," he said, "of der statementof der relative power that the strong and weak brain possesses if wecould see der apparatus in operation upon der thought vibrationstransformed of an intelligence which not equal to our own is."

  Mrs. Hoskin-Heath chimed in, her beautiful, silvery notes coming, afterthe deep, grave, guttural, like a peal of bells heard in the lull of athunderstorm.

  "What a _good_ idea, Sir William!" she said. "I wish you would let mesend for my footman. He is sure to be in the servants' hall. It would beso interesting to know his real opinion of me and my husband; and hecertainly is a most consummate fool, and would be a thoroughly goodsubject for such an experiment. I brought him out of Gloucestershire.You know, he was one of the under-footmen at my brother's place, and Ihave been trying to train him, though with little success. I mean thathe is too stolid to be shy, and, therefore, won't object at all, as somemen would, to put the cap on and sit down here in the dark. He won't befrightened, I am sure."

  "By all means, Mrs. Hoskin-Heath," Gouldesbrough said with a smile. "Nodoubt one could not have a better subject, and I really shall be able toillustrate the difference between the relative values of brain-power bythis means. You will all be able to notice the difference in thevividness and outline of the pictures or words that will appear."

  Sir William turned round for Wilson Guest, whom he proposed to send uponthe mission, but could not find him.

  "I will ring for the butler," he said, "and tell him to fetch your man,Mrs. Hoskin-Heath."

  "Oh! don't do that," a voice said upon the second tier."I--I--am--er--not feeling very well, Sir William, and I was going toask your permission to go and sit down in the hall for a few minutes; Iwill tell one of your servants, they are sure to be about."

  The voice was the voice of Donald Megbie. He did not look at all ill,but he stepped down with a smile and went out of the laboratory, whileeverybody waited for the advent of Mrs. Hoskin-Heath's footman.

  Once more Sir William looked round to see if Wilson Guest had returned.

  The actual projecting apparatus by which the transformed light rays werethrown upon the screen required some attention. The delicate apparatuswhich focussed the lens of the projector, in order to bring it into thenearest possible co-ordination with the light which it had to magnifyand transmit, needed some little care.

  "Will you excuse me for a moment," he said to everybody there, "if Ileave you in darkness again, until the man comes? I wish to attend to aportion of the mechanism here, and I can only do so by turning off thelights."

  There was a chorus of "Oh, please do so, Sir William," and suddenly thelaboratory was once more plunged into utter blackness.

  Nobody talked much now, curiously enough. For a moment there
was nothingheard but the regular beating of Lady Poole's fan, and one whisperingconversation which might, or might not, have been carried on betweenLord Landsend and Mrs. Hoskin-Heath.

  Then the thunder, which had been quiet for a little time, began tomutter once more. The dark air became hot and full of oppression. And inthe dark Lord Malvin took the hand of Marjorie Poole in his own. "Bebrave," he said into her ear. "I know what you must suffer, believingwhat you believe."

  She whispered back to him.

  "I have known it ever since I have been in this place," she said. "Oh!Lord Malvin, I have known it quite certainly, _Guy is in this house_!"

  "Donald Megbie has gone out, as you saw just now," he answered. "Bebrave! be strong! I believe that God is guiding you. I too have felt thepsychic influence of something strange and very, very terrible in theair of this house."

  In a moment more the beginning of the end came. The great twelve-footcircle of light flashed out upon the screen, but now with anextraordinary brightness and vividness, such as the spectators had notseen before during the course of the experiments. For a space of,perhaps, ten seconds, there was no sound at all. Nobody quite realizedthat anything out of the ordinary was happening, except possibly thescientists, who had a complete grasp of the mechanical methods of theexperiments and realized that in this room, at any rate, no one waswearing the cap.

  There was a loud cry of astonishment, and, so it seemed, of alarm.

  Sharply outlined against the brilliant circle, sharply outlined in agigantic shape, and standing full in the screen of the light thatstreamed from the lens of the projector, the spectators saw that SirWilliam Gouldesbrough was standing. They caught a glimpse of his face.It was a face like the face of a dead man. His arms were whirling in theair like mills, and then as a cry died away in mournful echoes in thehigh roof of the laboratory, there was a dead sound as the figure of thescientist disappeared and fell out of the circle of light upon thefloor.

  Upon the screen itself there came a picture. It was the picture of agirl, but of a girl with a face so sweetly tender and compassionate, soirradiated with utter confidence and trust, so pained and yet so tender,that no painter had ever put so wonderful a thing on canvas, and noMadonna in the galleries of the world was more beautiful or more kind.

  And the face was one that they all knew well and recognized in a moment.It was the face of one of them, the face of Marjorie Poole, and it wasso beautiful because it was painted by an artist whose pictures havenever before appealed so poignantly to human eyes--it was painted bydespairing Love itself.

  At that marvellous sight, a sight which none of those present everforgot in after life, a strange cry went up into the high-domed roof. Itwas a cry uttered by many voices and in many keys. There was a gasp ofexcitement and of fear, shrill women's tones, the guttural of theTeuton, the bass of the startled Englishmen, the high, staccato cry ofthe Latin, as the French savants joined in it.

  But in whatever key the exclamations were pitched, they all blended intosomething like a wail, a composite, multiple thing, the wail of acompany of people who had seen something behind the Veil for the firsttime in their lives.

  The picture glowed and looked out at them in all its ineffabletenderness and glory, and then grew dim, trembled, dissolved, and meltedaway.

  Then upon the screen came words, terrible, poignant words--

  "MARJORIE, MARJORIE DEAR, I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NEAR ME, NOW IN BODY AS YOU ARE ALWAYS NEAR ME IN THOUGHTS. I FEEL IT, I KNOW IT, AND EVEN IN THIS CRUEL PRISON, THIS HOPELESS PRISON, WHERE I AM DYING, AND SHALL SHORTLY DIE, I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NEAR ME IN BODY, AND IN THAT SPIRIT YOU ARE ALWAYS MINE AND I AM ALWAYS YOURS. LOVE, IF THE THOUGHTS THAT THEY ARE ROBBING ME OF, IF THE THOUGHTS THAT FILL MY MIND, AND WHICH THOSE TWO FIENDS ARE PROBABLY LOOKING AT AND LAUGHING OVER, HAVE ANY POWER AT ALL, THEN I SEND THEM TO YOU WITH MY LAST EFFORT, IN ONE LAST ATTEMPT TO REACH YOU AND TO SAY THAT I LOVE YOU AND TO SAY GOOD-BYE."

  The circle of white light grew dimmer. Faint, eddying spirals ofsomething that seemed like smoke rose up and obscured the words. Theysaw an ashen vapour of grey creep over the circle, as the shadow of themoon creeps over the sun at an eclipse. Then the circle disappearedfinally, and they were left once more in the dark.

  In the dark, indeed, but not in silence. A tumult of agonized voicesfilled the laboratory. And over them all a brave voice beat in upon thesound with the strong and regular assurance of a great bell, a bell likethe mighty mass of metal which hangs in the ancient belfry of Bruges.

  Lord Malvin was calling to them to be calm and silent, was telling themthat he knew what all this meant and that they must be of courage andgood cheer.

  Then some one struck a match. It was Lord Landsend, his face very whiteand serious. He held it up above his head and called to Lord Malvin.

  "Here you are, Sir," he said. "I will get down to you in a second. Thenwe can find the switch to turn on the electric light."

  He stumbled down to where Lord Malvin sat,--showing the value of thepractical man and polo player in a crisis--and together the two peers,the famous and honoured scientist and the wealthy young man whom theworld flattered and called _dilettante_ and a fool, went their way tothe switch-table in the guiding light of this small torch.

  Suddenly a blaze of light dispelled the darkness and showed a company ofghosts looking at each other with weeping faces.

  It showed also the figure of a girl sunk upon its chair in a deadlyswoon. And it showed also the body of Sir William Gouldesbrough lyingupon the floor between the series of machines and the screen upon theopposite wall. The dead face was so horrible that some one ran upimmediately and covered it with a handkerchief.

  This was Lord Landsend.

  The tumult was indescribable, but by sheer power of authority and wisdomLord Malvin calmed them all. His hand was raised as the hand of aconductor holds the vehemence of a band in check.

  In a few short trenchant sentences he told them the history of thestrange occurrence which Donald Megbie and Mrs. Poole had brought to hisnotice; and even as he told them, Sir Harold Oliver and Lady Poole werebringing back the unconscious girl to life and realization.

  "The man is here," Lord Malvin said, "the man is here. Guy Rathbone liesdying and prisoned in this accursed house. Sir Harold Oliver, I will askyou to remain with these ladies while I will go forth and solve thishorrid mystery."

  He looked round with a weary, questioning eye, seeking who should be hiscompanion, and as he did so young Lord Landsend touched him on the armand smiled.

  "Come, my dear boy," the old man said with a melancholy smile ofkindness, "you are just the man I want; come with me."

  Then, before he left the laboratory, he spoke a few rapid words inFrench to one or two of the foreign scientists.

  Upon that, these gentlemen went down among the strange and fantasticapparatus upon the tables and lifted up That which but a few minutes agohad held the soul and the personality of Sir William Gouldesbrough. Theycarried the long, limp, terrible dead Thing to the other end of theroom, where there was a screen.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  TWO FINAL PICTURES

  There are two things to record--

  (1)

  His hair was quite grey, his face was old and lined. His body wasbeginning to be ravaged by the devilish drugs with which it had beeninoculated.

  But he lay upon a couch in the study, and Marjorie bent over him kissinghim, calling to him and cooing inarticulate words of belief and of love.

  Lady Poole was there also, motionless and silent, while Lord Malvin andthe doctor, who had been hastily summoned from Baker Street, watched bythe head of the couch.

  The doctor looked at Lord Malvin and nodded his head.

  "He will be all right," he whispered. "Those devils have not killed himyet. He will live and be as strong as ever."

  The tears were rolling down Lord Malvin's face and he could not speak,but he nodded back to the doctor.

  And then they saw the face of G
uy Rathbone, who lay there so broken anddestroyed, begin to change. The gashes, which supreme and long-continuedagony had cut into it, had not indeed passed away. The ashen visageremained ashen still, but a new light came flickering into the tiredeyes, and in an indescribable way youth was returning.

  Youth was returning, youth!

  It came back, summoned out of the past by a supreme magic--the suprememagic of love.

  The girl who loved him was kissing him, he was with her at last, and allwas well.

  * * * * *

  (2)

  "It is a grave thing and much considered to be," said Herr Schmoulder.

  It was late at night.

  They had taken Wilson Guest to the hospital, where the doctors wereholding him down, as he shrieked and laughed, and died in deliriumtremens.

  Lord Malvin, Sir Harold Oliver, and the other scientists were gatheredtogether in the laboratory, that recent theatre of such terrible events.

  "It is a very grave thing indeed, Herr Schmoulder," Lord Malvinanswered; "but I have not ventured to propose it without a consultationin the highest quarters. Decies will be here at any moment, and thenupon his decision we shall act. He has been to see the King."

  The distinguished men waited there silent and uneasy. All round themstood the marvellous instruments by which the late Sir WilliamGouldesbrough had obtained a triumph unknown before in the history ofthe world.

  The yellow radiance of the electric light poured down upon the gleamingmahogany, brass, vulcanite and steel.

  On the opposite wall was the great white screen--just an ordinarystretch of prepared canvas upon steel rollers, a dead, senseless thing,and no more than that. Yet as the least imaginative of them therechanced to turn his head and see that great white sheet, he shuddered tothink of the long agony it had pictured while the two monsters had satand taken their amusement from it, as a man takes a glass of wine.

  There was a rap upon the principal door of the laboratory. Lord Malvinstrode to it and opened it. The butler, a portly man on the morning ofthis day, but now seeming to have shrunk into his clothes, and to havelost much of his vitality, stood there.

  Beside him was a gentleman in evening dress, with a keen clean-shavenface and grey hair which curled.

  The gentleman stepped quickly into the laboratory. It was the HomeSecretary.

  He shook Lord Malvin by the hand, and his face was very troubled.

  "You are quite right, my Lord," he said. "I may say that His Majesty isat one with you and with me in this matter. His Majesty is muchdisturbed."

  Then Lord Malvin turned round to the other gentlemen.

  "Come, my brethren," he said in a sad voice, "come and let us do what wehave to do. The Bishop of West London was wiser than any of us when hesaid that God would never allow this thing to continue, and he wasright."

  Lord Malvin turned to the frightened servant.

  "Go into the kitchens," he said, "or send one of the other men, andfetch a large hammer, such a hammer as you use for breaking up coal."

  In a minute or two the butler returned, and handed a formidableimplement with a wedge-shaped iron head on a long ash shank to LordMalvin.

  The Home Secretary stood by, and the great men of science clusteredround him, watching Lord Malvin's actions.

  The peer went to the silent, soulless machines, which had been themedium through which such wonder and terror had passed, and raising thehammer about his head, he destroyed each one severally, with a sort ofritual, as some priest carries out the ritual of his Faith.

  This old man, whose name and personality stood so high, so supremeindeed, in the modern world, was like some ancient prophet of the Lord,who, fired with holy zeal, strode down the pagan avenues of the ancientworld and tore and beat the false idols from their pedestals in thefrenzy of one who kills and destroys that truth may enter and the worldbe calm.

  It was done, over. The politician shook hands with Lord Malvin, andresumed his dry, official manner, perhaps a little ashamed or frightenedat the emotion which he had exhibited.

  "Good-bye, Lord Malvin," he said. "This terrible business is now over. Ihave to return to the palace to tell His Majesty that this--this_devilish_ invention is destroyed. Good-night, good-night."

  Then a tall man with a pointed beard came into the laboratory, salutingthe Home Secretary as he was leaving, with several of the otherscientists who had witnessed the whole thing from first to last and nowfelt that they must go home.

  The man with the beard was the man who had been sent from Scotland Yard.

  He walked up to Lord Malvin and saluted.

  "I think, my Lord," he said, "that everything requisite has now beendone. I have all the servants in my charge, and we have fifteen ortwenty men in the house, seeing that nothing is disturbed until officialinquiry is due."

  By this time nobody was left in the laboratory but the detectiveinspector, Lord Malvin, and Herr Schmoulder.

  "Oh! and there is one other thing, my Lord, I have to ask you. Mr.Donald Megbie, the writing gentleman is here, and begs that he may beallowed to see you. Should I be right in admitting the gentleman?"

  "Certainly, certainly," Lord Malvin replied. "Bring him in at once,please inspector."

  In less than a minute a plain-clothes policeman ushered Donald Megbieinto the laboratory.

  He went up to Lord Malvin, and his face was bright and happy.

  "It is all right, my Lord," he said, "Rathbone is recovering swiftly.Miss Poole is with him, and the doctors say, that though they feared fora short time that his reason would go, they are now quite satisfied thathe will recover. He is sleeping quietly in a private room at MaryleboneHospital, and Marjorie Poole is sitting by his side holding his hand."

  Then Megbie looked at the wreck upon the floor.

  "Ah!" he said, "so you have destroyed this horrid thing?"

  "Yes," Lord Malvin answered; "I discussed it with Decies, and Decieswent to see the King. It was thought to be better and wiser for thesafety of the commonwealth--for the safety of the world indeed--that SirWilliam Gouldesbrough's discovery should perish with Sir WilliamGouldesbrough."

  "Ah!" Donald Megbie answered; "I felt sure that that was the bestcourse. It would have been too terrible, too subversive. The world mustgo on as it has always gone on. I have thought, during the last fewhours, that Sir William Gouldesbrough was not himself at all. Is it notpossible that he himself might have died long ago, and that _something_was inhabiting his body, something which came out of the darkness behindthe Veil?"

  "That, Mr. Megbie," said Lord Malvin, "is the picturesque thought of theliterary man. Science does not allow the possibility of such sinisterinterferences. And now, I am going home. You will realize, of course,that your supreme services in this matter will be recognized, though Ifear that the recognition can never be acknowledged publicly."

  Donald Megbie bowed.

  "My Lord," he said, "they have been recognized already, because I haveseen how love has called back a soul into life. I have seen MarjoriePoole sitting by the bedside of Guy Rathbone. And, do you know, LordMalvin," he continued in a less exalted tone, "I never wish to seeanything in my life here more utterly beautiful than that."

  "Come," said Lord Malvin, "it is very late; we are all tired andunstrung."

  The two men, arm in arm, the young writer and the great man, movedtowards the door of the laboratory.

  The detective inspector stood watching the scene with quiet andobservant eyes.

  But Herr Schmoulder surveyed the wreckage of the Thought-Spectroscope,and as he turned at length to follow Lord Malvin and Donald Megbie, heheaved a deep Teutonic sigh.

  "It was der most wonderful triumph that ever der unknown forces occurredhas been," he muttered.

  Then the three men crossed the vast, sombre hall, now filled withfrightened servants and the stiff official guardians of the law, andwent out through the path among the laurel bushes to the gate in thewall, where their carriages were waiting.

  And D
onald Megbie, as he drove home through the silent streets of theWest End, heard a tune in his heart, which responded and lilted to theregular beat of the horse's feet upon the macadam. And the burden of thetune was "_Love_."

  _Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._