Eleven Possible Cases

  V.

  The writing in the little water-soaked book became entirely illegible.Indeed, the last few lines were very indistinct, and showed the failingof mental and physical strength. I sat staring at the yellow page andthen looked up at Judson. He was gazing intently at me.

  "Well, go on; go on," he said impatiently.

  "That's all," said I.

  He seized the book from my hands, and turned the leaves feverishly."Yes, yes. That is all. Why man, we're not much wiser than we were.We've got something, but we haven't solved the mystery of the headlessskeletons."

  "No, nor are we likely to," said I.

  "Not likely to? We must!" said Judson, in a sharp, strained voice. Heseemed to be much excited. I looked at my watch.

  "It's Sunday morning," said I, and luckily Sunday, I thought. Judsonwouldn't be good for much in a trial after such an evening as this. Asfor myself, I was tired and hungry, and I said so.

  "So am I," said Judson, dropping the excited air, but with an effort."Sit still a moment." He came back soon with a tray on which were coldmeat, and bread and butter, and crackers, and Rochefort cheese, and abottle of Macon Vieux.

  "You evidently know what a hungry newspaper man wants in the middle ofthe night," said I.

  "I know what a hungry lawyer wants," and he drew the cork.

  "Now," said he, after we had taken the edge off our appetites and wereenjoying the Burgundy, "we must know the rest of that story."

  "Easier said than done."

  "Why so? Does it seem more difficult to get a message directly fromArthur Hartley than to get that journal from the bottom of the ocean? Ido not think so. This night's experience has given me a confidence inthe power of will over nature that nothing can shake. There is but oneobstacle that stands in the way of our success. The woman whom you callthe medium was thoroughly prostrated, as you saw. She seemed badlyfrightened, too. She said that she had never had such an experience:that she felt that she could not live through another. As she expressedit, she felt that she had been the battle ground where two great forceshad met and contended. I soothed her as best I could and sent her home.I did not tell her that I thought that she was right. She was. She wasthe unconscious medium through which will overcame the forces of nature.This evening she must be the medium through which, in obedience to ourwill, the Spirit of Arthur Hartley shall speak with us."

  "Suppose she refuses."

  "She will obey me, or rather my will," said Judson quietly. "It's merelya question of whether it is safe to subject her to the ordeal. But as itwill be nothing compared with that she has just been through I shallattempt it, if she is at all able to bear it. I must have that mysterysolved."

  I slept very late that morning and joined the family at the Sundayafternoon dinner; and then went with Judson to the library to smoke.

  "It's all right," he said, as soon as we were seated. "She will comethis evening."

  "Will all those other persons be here?" I asked.

  "Oh, no. You and I and the woman only."

  It was ten o'clock that evening when Judson entered the library, where Isat reading before the glowing grate, and said:

  "She's here. Come into the parlor."

  It was with more than ordinary emotions that I followed him. The mediumwas the only person in the room. The cabinet still stood where it hadstood twenty-four hours before. She looked the picture of ill health.Great hollows were beneath the tired eyes, and she moved feebly. Shebowed gravely to me, and entered the cabinet. Judson turned the gas downlow.

  "If you will remain entirely passive," he said softly, "I think we shallget the communication without trouble." There was a calm confidence inhis voice, quite different from the intensity of his manner the nightbefore. We sat quietly for many minutes, until I began to grow uneasy. Itried to think of nothing with very poor success, but while I was makingthe effort strenuously there came from the cabinet a clear, firm voice.Its tones were something like those in which the woman the night beforehad said: "What do you wish?" but as the voice proceeded it took on amanlier tone, with that indescribable accent we call "English." Thesewere the words:

  "Since you wish it, I will finish the story of my life on earth. Listen.When I ceased writing in my book on the _Albatross_ it was because I hadlost control of my pen, and of my mind as well. I managed to crawl tothe deck. Helen was lying motionless in the shadow of the companionhatch. I threw myself down by her side. She put out her hand and graspedmine, and a flush crossed her face. I was too weak to speak, and thushand in hand we lay for I don't know how long. Gradually I lostconsciousness, perhaps in sleep. At all events, my spirit was not free.The frail body still had strength enough to retain it. I was aroused bysomething dropping on my face. As consciousness came back I saw that thesky had become overcast; that a cool breeze was blowing, and that agentle rain was falling. Helen was sitting erect and with parted lipsdrinking in the grateful rain-laden air. I tried to rise, but could not.She was much stronger than I, and at my direction went below and broughtblankets and clothes, which she spread on the deck that they might catchthe falling drops. She seemed quite vigorous, and already I felt my ownstrength coming back. Soon she was able to squeeze water from a blanketinto a small can which stood by the mast. We were in too great agony ofthirst to think of small matters of neatness. She offered the can to me.

  "'Drink, yourself, Helen,' I said.

  "'No,' she answered, with a smile. 'No, you need it most.' And kneelingby my side, she slipped her arm under my head, and with her other handheld the water to my lips.

  "I drank eagerly. The draught was life to me. Never had water suchstrength-giving power. I hardly noticed that it left a queer taste uponmy lips. I sat erect. Helen, with her arm still around my neck, drankwhat remained in the can. Then she looked me full in the face. There wasa new expression in the lovely eyes; the old vague, calm look had gone.A deep flush was on her brow as she spoke:

  "'Arthur,' she said, and there was a tremor in the rich, deep voice.'Arthur, my memory has come back. No, do not speak, but hear me. Thepast all returned the night after that awful day when we buried thosedead bodies in the sea. I now remember and understand all that you andthe dear doctor said to me. I remember our parting in England; Iremember John Bruce; I remember why I set out for India so suddenly. Iheard that he was wounded. I thought duty called me. For I did not lovehim, Arthur. How could I? I had not seen him since we were children, andour fathers betrothed us. But, Arthur, a higher power than hate or lovehas given us to each other, and I can tell you, dear, that I love you.Oh, I love you! My darling; my noble, faithful darling! Oh, Arthur,Arthur!'

  "She threw herself upon my breast with burning face and streaming eyes.The blood leaped through my veins. She raised her sweet face and ourlips met for the first time.

  "There was an awful crash, and our freed spirits took their happy flighttogether. We had drank from the can that had contained Uncle John'sexplosive. A little of the powder had clung to the can, floated on thewater, and adhered to our lips when we drank. The impact of that firstecstatic kiss had exploded the compound and our heads were blown fromour shoulders. That's all. Good-by."