SEARCHING THE FILES
Seventy-five years!
For a moment both men stood breathless, stupefied. A groan was stifled
upon Kearns’ lips and he leaned heavily upon the table for support. The
Professor stared blankly at the speaker, then put both hands to his
face and dropped back in his chair.
Was this some grim and ghastly joke; some hideous vagary of delirium,
or the night?
Alas, no!
The events through which they had passed; the unfamiliar scenes
encountered; the appurtenances of the very room in which they sat;
the manner of the Colonel--all proclaimed the absence of illusion and
confirmed the existence of stern reality.
Seventy-five years!
Truly, only a brief span in the cycle of time, in the relentlessly
automatic passage of the ages, but how much in the individual life of
man. Seventy-five years ago--who inhabited the house, the spot, in
which we live? What was our particular ancestor doing; what was he
like; what were his thoughts, ideas, aspirations, hopes, ambitions,
this day just seventy-five years ago? How many hustling, bustling,
hoping, fearing, aspiring men and women who have since passed away and
of whom to-day there is not a human being who knows that they ever were
on earth. And--seventy-five years hence! Who will then occupy the
house, the spot where we to-day live? Who then, as the days sweep by,
will ever give a passing thought to us, or perchance even remember we
ever existed?
So, then, three-quarters of a century had passed and with the passage
of time surroundings and conditions had also changed! And these two
fortunate, or unfortunate, derelicts of the past--what of them? They
were as relics of a bygone age; a species of human flotsam and jetsam
cast up upon a foreign shore.
A sort of homesickness, a deadly nostalgia, was upon them.
Instinctively they turned to each other for sympathy.
Kearns, with his stronger vitality and naturally high spirits, was
the quicker to recover from the shock. He glanced down at his strong,
knotted arm and wrist resting on the table. Even if he had been dead
to the world for all these years, even if he was over a century old,
his muscles were as strong as ever and the flow of life within him
apparently unimpaired. And if a man’s nerves have the courage and his
heart beats strong and full as at thirty, what matter how many years
have passed over his head! Such was the thought which surged through
Kearns’ mind. “A woman is as old as she looks, a man is as old as he
feels,” was the inconsequent and frivolous idea which kept jangling
through his brain. How strange it is that in the most critical moments
of our lives, the incongruous and the odd will persist in obtruding
themselves upon our mental perception.
From the chaos of emotion the announcement had developed in Kearns,
curiosity began to grow. He roused himself and turned to question the
Colonel. But the latter proved obdurate.
“Not another word will I tell you,” he declared; “not another word
until medical advice is at hand. You can understand the loss to the
world and to science should anything happen to you at this stage. I’ve
sent for the doctor. He’ll be here shortly.”
As the Colonel spoke there came a rap on the door and the servant
announced the arrival of the Doctor.
“Show him in at once,” ordered the Colonel. An instant later a very
brisk little man, with red cheeks, black moustache and side whiskers,
entered the room.
“Doctor Robinson O’Hanlenne,” announced the Colonel, who proceeded
to explain briefly the circumstances to the new arrival. From the
Colonel’s narrative it appeared that two of his workmen had been
felling trees and laying out certain ground in a distant and hitherto
unused portion of his estate. While thus engaged they had found the
cave with the two inanimate forms carefully wrapped in rugs lying
within. The Colonel told graphically the terror of the men as the
supposed corpses revived, and their flight when a horse and carriage
were demanded by Kearns.
“A horse and carriage!” exclaimed the Doctor, with a smile.
“Precisely; a horse and carriage!”
And both laughed.
“The two men,” continued the Colonel, “ran to the foreman. Fortunately
I happened to be with him. At the men’s story I hurried to the cave.
The peculiar and elaborate appointments of it astonished me. In a
little side recess I found some curious notes and papers bearing on
the subject of mesmeric forces and suspension of animation. From the
ground I picked up a piece of money. It bore the date eighteen hundred
and seventy-six. ‘Come,’ said I to myself, ‘this piece of money must
have been coined at the time of the Presidency of the famous soldier,
General Grant. Such money is surely not in general circulation now!’
All of these strange occurrences began to give me a faint hint of the
truth. Such cases are not entirely unknown to our modern science, I
believe, although the duration of the sleep in this instance exceeds
anything yet reported.”
“Quite so,” commented Dr. O’Hanlenne.
“I started on a hunt for my involuntary guests,” continued the Colonel,
with a smile at Kearns and the Professor. “On the Pemberton road I
luckily encountered Mrs. Merriweather and her daughter, who had met
two men who asked after strange places. These men had actually made
inquiries for a horse and carriage.”
Both the Colonel and the Doctor broke into a guffaw.
“Oh, yes,” interjected the Professor. “I remember the old woman--a
queer sort of person who talked about fourteen and fifteen o’clock and
had never heard of a Presidential election.”
Again the Colonel and the Doctor laughed.
“So you thought her language queer, did you?” exclaimed the Colonel.
“Fourteen and fifteen o’clock sound strangely to your ears? Well; since
your day we have changed the nomenclature of time somewhat and I think
I may say without vanity we have improved upon your methods. Instead of
your A. M. and P. M., which we moderns find awkward and cumbersome and
likely to lead to confusion in certain instances, we divide the day and
night into a straight twenty-four hours. Thus we count from midnight
to midnight. One hour after noon is with us thirteen o’clock and the
day closes at the last stroke of midnight, which we name twenty-four
o’clock. Thus it would appear that old Mrs. Merriweather was not so
much out of the way, after all.”
“Oh, I see,” replied the Professor, “but may I inquire how it was that
she had never heard of the village of Averill and why so much anger on
her part, and merriment on yours, over our very innocent inquiry for a
conveyance?”
“What kind of a conveyance was it you asked for?” inquired the Colonel,
with a merry twinkle in his eyes.
“A horse and carriage, sir,” answered the Professor with dignity.
The Doctor coughed a discreet professional cough and pressed his
handkerchief to his lips in an all too evident attempt to conceal his
merriment. The Colonel laughed outright.
“Averill,” said he, “as I happen to know from certain old documents I
have had occasion to examine, was an old-time village long ago absorbed
by the town of Pemberton. Its very name has disappeared from local
memory. I am not astonished that Mrs. Merriweather could not recall
it. As for your demand for a horse and carriage--why, my dear sir, it
is many, many years since horses were used. With charging stations in
every direction and our systems of drawing electricity from the clouds,
no man could afford to deal with so slow, expensive and antiquated an
object as a horse. They are still used for the purposes of racing and
His Majesty, the King, on certain state occasions sits in the royal
chariot drawn by four horses, but for all ordinary uses the horse has
entirely disappeared. You might as well have called for a sedan chair.”
“Oh!” said the Professor blankly. “I suppose I should have asked for a
_voiter_. What, by the way, _is_ a _voiter_?”
“Simply a modernized name for vehicle,” replied the Colonel.
“Do you happen to have a public official named Waring?” asked Kearns.
“Yes,” answered the Colonel. “He is the Imperial and Royal Commissioner
of Highways, and the best man for the post we have ever had! How did
you come to know of him?”
“I saw him stuck up on the sign-board,” said Kearns absently.
“Stuck up on the sign-board!” exclaimed the Colonel, somewhat puzzled.
“Yes; his name was signed to the notice to travelers,” explained Kearns.
“Oh, I see!” replied the Colonel.
“Well,” said Kearns regretfully, “I’m rather sorry to learn about the
retirement of the horses. I was always very fond of them.”
“You will find a good phaeromobile much more effective,” answered the
Colonel with a smile. “But,” he continued turning to the Doctor, “I
must continue my story. I followed our two friends along their course
and the trail they had left was a pretty broad one. I finally traced
them to the station-house.”
“The station-house!” exclaimed the Doctor.
“Yes,” answered the Colonel; “there on a charge of seditious
utterances--in the position of conspirators against the peace and
dignity of His Majesty, the King.”
The Doctor laughed.
“I rescued them from their perilous situation,” continued the Colonel,
“and then came the most startling disclosure of all.”
“Which was?” inquired the Doctor.
“They then informed me,” said the Colonel solemnly, “that they had
entered the cave and had been there since June the tenth, nineteen
hundred!”
“Since June the tenth, nineteen hundred!” exclaimed the Doctor.
“Extraordinary! Marvelous! Still the case is not without some
precedents. The famous Doctor Fredicus, of Berlin, reports a case of
suspended animation lasting for ten months, but anything like the lapse
of time in this case is certainly without parallel.”
“I trust that you do not doubt our word,” said Kearns with dignity.
But the Professor turned upon him.
“Doubt our word!” he exclaimed. “Who could credit such a preposterous
statement without some tangible evidence to support it. We must appear
in the light of either falsifiers or lunatics!”
“Doubt your word!” exclaimed the Colonel impulsively. “I beg you not to
think of such construction. There may be some mistake, some possible
inaccuracy; but, if so, I am convinced it is entirely unintentional.”
“Thank you,” said the Professor gratefully; “I’m unable to think
clearly just now owing to this very perplexing situation in which we
find ourselves, but is there not some way by which our statement could
be effectively tested and either proved, or disproved?”
“A good idea!” exclaimed Kearns. “Yes; surely there must be many ways.
The newspapers, for instance; they must certainly have reported our
disappearance. In your public libraries there are undoubtedly bound
copies of the newspapers of that period. That is,” he added, turning
doubtfully to the Colonel, “if public libraries have not ceased
to exist in these times, like the horse, the high ball, and other
cherished institutions.”
“No,” answered the Colonel, laughing, “we still have public libraries,
and noble ones, thanks to numerous karnegians on the part of wealthy
decedents.”
“Numerous what, did you say?” inquired Kearns.
“Karnegians,” repeated the Colonel. “Oh, perhaps that’s a new
word to you. ‘To karnegy’ is a verb meaning the acquirement of a
mania for post-mortem advertising and for leaving one’s wealth to
public institutions, to the disappointment of one’s heirs. The noun
‘karnegian’ is defined as the gift of such character. But,” continued
the Colonel, “we need not resort to the public libraries. Here in my
own library, which you will find a very fair one, there are bound
newspaper files stretching back over a period of many years. The
collection was begun by my grandfather and I have hoped I might
complete it to a full century of newspapers.”
“Might we inspect the files at once?” asked the Professor.
“Do you think it would be safe?” asked the Colonel, turning to the
Doctor. “Would it not be better to postpone this until later and
examine your patients at once?”
“Having slept seventy-five years,” replied Kearns, “I assure you we are
thoroughly rested and quite up to the test.”
“When I do begin my examination,” said the Doctor, “I shall want to
make it a very thorough one. I suspect I shall find that animation
has been absolutely suspended during this period and that nature will
simply resume where she left off--just as after a night’s sleep. If
I refuse my patients’ request it is likely to act upon the nervous
system and possibly throw them into an irritated and excited condition.
I think we might safely look into the matter now, provided they will
first partake of a little light nourishment.”
“Quite so,” exclaimed the Colonel. “They must be fairly starved.”
Under Dr. O’Hanlenne’s directions, a light but nutritious meal was
promptly served, which the two partook of with relish.
The repast over, the Colonel, followed by his guests, led the way
across the hall to the elevator. He touched an electric button and they
quickly ascended two stories. The Colonel then conducted them down the
hall and into a magnificent library. Books lined the four walls from
floor to ceiling.
“We’ll find what we want here,” said the Colonel, crossing to one
corner of the library. “The files for that period are bound in four
volumes to the year. Let me see--we want June, nineteen hundred. That
will be the second volume of that year. Ah, here it is.”
The Colonel picked out a big volume and laid it on one of the polished
library tables.
“June the tenth is the date, I believe? By the way,” he added, turning
to Kearns, “may I ask the names?”
“My name is Thomas Kearns and I am, or rather was----”
“What!” exclaimed the Colonel, with a start, “not Thomas Kearns, the
famous Director of Police, the great Vidocq of that period, whose
name has figured so often in the sensational romances of the writer,
Branderhurst?”
“Well,” replied Kearns modestly, “I believe I was pretty well known in
connection with police matters in my day, but you do me altogether too
much honor. As for Branderhurst: I’m sorry, but I never heard of him!”
“True,” said the Colonel, “he wrote after your day. What the French
authors did for Vidocq, Branderhurst has done for you. You are known to
our girls and boys, and readers of sensational literature generally,
as a Fouché and a Vidocq rolled into one. In a word, as the great
American Director of Secret Police.”
“They didn’t quite style it that way in my day,” answered Kearns, “but
I suppose it’s all right. A rose under any other name would smell just
as sweet! As for Branderhurst, I’m sure I’m obliged to him for acting
as a gratuitous post-mortem press agent. What can I do to repay him, I
wonder!”
“Not much, I fear,” replied the Colonel, “inasmuch as poor
Branderhurst, who was really a very talented poet and novelist, died in
delirium tremens nearly a quarter of a century ago.”
“Ah, I see,” said Kearns apologetically; “it used to be much the same
thing with writers in the old days.”
“And now,” inquired the Colonel, turning to the Professor, “may I ask
your name?”
“Walter Stuart Dean,” answered the Professor. “And,” he added with a
smile, “I fear I cannot lay any claim to distinction such as possessed
by my friend here, for in my period I was nothing but a poor pedagogue
and----”
But the Professor stopped abruptly, for both the Colonel and the Doctor
had turned toward him with faces flushed and eager.
“Walter Stuart Dean!” repeated the Doctor.
“Walter Stuart Dean!” echoed the Colonel. “Are you the famous writer on
political economy; the distinguished inventor and scientist?”
“Gentlemen,” urged the Professor deprecatingly, “I beg you not to
fall into any error. There is some mistake here. It is true I wrote
a work on political economy, but far from making me famous, it cost
me my position as one of the Faculty at the Chicago University. As
for my investigations in science, whatever might have been the
result, practically it was nothing, since at the critical moment I--I
disappeared!”
“Mistake, eh!” cried the Colonel, eagerly interposing; “we will see
about that!” And he hurried away to another part of the library,
returning a moment later with a big encyclopedia.
“What do I find here?” he asked, consulting the index and rapidly
turning over the pages. “Ah, here it is! ‘Walter Stuart Dean, political
economist, scientist and inventor; born at Springfield, Illinois,
1857, of poor but honest parents. Studied in the public schools and
afterward at the University of Bonn, Germany, from which he graduated,
1880, with high honors. Filled the Chair of Professor of Sciences at
the University of Chicago, 1890-1900, from which he retired owing
to political persecution. Wrote several famous works on political
economy and the economic conditions of the period; also a number of
notable scientific treatises. His mysterious disappearance in 1900 was
one of the sensations of the day. The date of his death and place of
burial are unknown.’ Now, sir, what do you say to that?” exclaimed the
Colonel, tapping with his index finger upon the page before him. “Do
you still think there is any mistake?”
“Hooray!” cried Kearns triumphantly, waving his hand in the air.
“This is indeed a case of a man waking up to find himself famous. I
congratulate you, Professor.”
“Let me add my felicitations,” said Dr. O’Hanlenne.
“And mine!” declared the Colonel.
“Thank you,” replied the Professor, with the air of a man somewhat
dazed.
“And now,” exclaimed the Colonel, “having solidly ensconced you in
your respective niches of fame, let us continue our original line of
research. Let us see if in these newspapers there is any account of
your mysterious disappearance.”
“Quite so,” said Dr. O’Hanlenne.
“June tenth,” began the Colonel, turning the paper, “no use looking on
that date. June the eleventh. Ah! here we are. Phew! your disappearance
did make a stir and your papers of that day understood the art of
working up a sensation. See the great black headlines: ‘Triple Tragedy!
Death Amid the Lightning and the Storm. Mysterious Disappearances of a
Famous New Yorker and his Companion. The Whole Countryside engaged in
Organized Search for the Missing Ones.’ Well, well, well, gentlemen!
What more could you ask than that?”
All bent eagerly over the Colonel’s shoulder and read. There was
the whole story set forth; how Kearns and the Professor had been
temporarily sojourning at Dr. Belden’s well-known Sanatorium; how in
the early afternoon of June tenth they had started out in company with
Dr. Jaquet; their failure to return; the search which had followed and
the finding of the dead body of Dr. Jaquet by the wayside, under the
great oak, blasted and riven by the lightning stroke. The article went
on to describe how all search for the Doctor’s companions had so far
proved utterly without result. Then followed biographical sketches of
the missing men.
They turned over the files and saw how day after day the papers had
kept up the sensation; how rewards were offered by the many friends
of Thomas Kearns for any information as to his whereabouts, living or
dead. Then came the news of a monster subscription for the purpose of
thoroughly dragging the rivers and otherwise continuing the search.
Next came theories as to the causes of the disappearance. Had they
become deranged and wandered away? This theory was discussed at length,
but it hardly seemed tenable that two men should have simultaneously
become mentally afflicted. Another theory was advanced that Kearns
and his companion had been made away with by an organized band of
malefactors, who either sought revenge upon Kearns or feared certain
discoveries he might have made. Thus the news of the search and the
various theories advanced kept up edition after edition, until the
articles grew shorter and shorter and at last stopped altogether. The
nine days’ wonder had ceased longer to be a wonder; the mystery had
passed into the long list of unsolved tragedies with which the past
teems.
“What a queer thing it is,” commented Kearns with a laugh, glancing
over his biography, “that a man has to be dead before the world finds
out how good and great he was.”
“I think you will find that has been the case in all generations,”
replied the Colonel.
“And poor Dr. Jaquet!” remarked the Professor. “To think that he should
have come to his end so tragically and so suddenly after leaving us!”
“Yes,” answered Kearns moodily; “our setting out that June day would
seem to have been an unfortunate event for all three of us!”
“Come, cheer up!” retorted the Colonel; “thank your lucky stars you
are still alive and living in a world which I think you will find
materially improved in many respects as compared to that of your time.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Kearns doubtfully, “tell us then, of this new world
of yours.”
“Not now,” answered the Colonel; “your strength and nerves have
already been sufficiently tried. For the moment, I insist upon turning
you over to the Doctor.”