AT THE END OF A TRAIL
Had there been occasion to mention my name in the course of the
narratives that have preceded mine, I doubt not that most of you would
have recognized the fact that in this company is one who has attained
distinction in one of the most important branches of the medical
profession. In short, my fame as a specialist in nervous diseases is
international. I am the author of works that are recognized as standard
authorities, and medals of honor have been bestowed upon me by several
of the most highly esteemed learned societies of the world.
In the course of my investigation of nervous diseases I have acquired
many extraordinary specimens of abnormal nervous organisms, and I may
say that this collection has constituted the principal hobby of my
life. In my museum are the brains of celebrated men and women, fibres
from the fingers of celebrated musicians, vocal cords of famous singers
and nerves taken from persons who were afflicted with extraordinary
forms of nervous diseases.
In my efforts to add to this wonderful collection I have spared no
time, trouble or expense. Even my conscience, occasionally, has been
gagged and bound in the interest of science, which has been my god, my
law, my wife, my daughter--everything.
Aware of this, it now will be easy for you to understand that when the
extraordinary mind-reading feats of Mr. Glyncamp were reported to me, I
should feel the most lively curiosity concerning his wonderful nerve
development. Indeed, I became so inordinately curious when I learned
of such strange powers that I determined to seek out the man, win his
friendship and, eventually, obtain his wonderful nerves for my museum.
All this I would do, be it remembered, strictly in the interest of
science.
Well, being distinctively a man of action, I did not long delay in
putting my project into execution. I caused myself to be introduced to
Glyncamp, and, as he was really a very approachable sort of a person,
I soon enjoyed all the privileges of his friendship. Of two things,
however, I was scrupulously careful. I said nothing to him concerning
my collection, nor did I ever, on any occasion, permit him to touch my
ungloved hands, or to lay a hand on my head. While in his presence I
was careful to restrain my thoughts if they showed any disposition to
wander to the real foundation of this strange friendship.
And Glyncamp trusted me. He was a man who had attained to the most
extraordinary degree of intelligence I had ever known. But, in certain
matters, he was unsophisticated. Though he was often most unscrupulous
himself, he placed too much reliance on the good intentions of others.
His cruelty was oftentimes amazing when he found it in his interest
to inflict pain, but I never have known a man who could be angered so
easily when someone else became a minister of cruelty.
Nearly all his life Glyncamp lived in the shadow of a great horror.
Whether this was the price he had to pay for his possession of his
wonderful mind-reading powers, he did not know, but he suspected this
was the case.
He was subject to attacks of catalepsy. These attacks were sometimes
so severe and prolonged that for several days at a time even a trained
eye might seek in vain for some evidence of life. He feared that, while
he was under the influence of one of these terrible attacks, persons
who did not know of his infirmity would cause him to be buried alive--a
most horrible fate, my friends, and one which all of us carefully
should guard against, for the means of doing this are very simple.
In order to reduce the possibility of such a terrible result, Glyncamp
always carried in one of his pockets a letter explaining his weakness,
and directing that under no circumstances should he be placed in a tomb
until certain absolutely unmistakable evidences of death should become
apparent to all who viewed his body. In addition to this letter, he
always had pinned to his undershirt a piece of parchment on which a
similar injunction was written with India ink.
Now so profoundly interested did I become in this strange case of Mr.
Glyncamp that, pretending to be wearied of my practice, I told him
I was preparing to go with him when he returned to Europe. Glyncamp
was delighted. He told me that so long as I was with him he would
breathe more freely, knowing that the terrible fate he dreaded would be
impossible.
His fame in Europe was already established, and he now went to Turkey
where he was paid a great sum each month for the detection of plans
that had for their object the death of the Sultan.
It was not long before this strange man honored me with his full
confidence, and this resulted in my learning some of the most
remarkable things that ever had been brought to my knowledge. More than
this, the revelations showed that my friend was a sort of knight-errant
in a wonderful realm that is peopled only by lofty intellects. He was
an idealist, who, having little interest in materialistic things, was
constantly concerning himself with extraordinary psychic conditions.
Nothing that was normal appealed to him. It was in abnormalities that
he sought that divine substance which Nature had engrafted in them
unawares. In short, the man who was stealing the thoughts of others was
always attempting to find even Nature off her guard.
It was while he was in Turkey that a Hindu came under his hands. By
his subtle art, Glyncamp learned that the Hindu was a spy who had been
instructed by the Rajah of Nauwar to watch an Englishman named Lord
Galonfield, who was supposed to have in his possession the diamond eyes
of the Rajiid Buddha--the most wonderful pair of diamonds ever known to
man.
Glyncamp promptly lost all interest in his Turkish employment, and,
masquerading as a European who had been converted to Buddhism, he went
to the court of the Rajah of Nauwar. There he learned the story of the
Rajiid stones.
I do not believe that Glyncamp cared any more for those diamonds
than if they had been the commonest kind of moss agates. The triumph
incident to getting them was all he sought, but he laid his plans
with marvelous care, and when he left India he knew how the diamonds
had been taken from the Buddha during the Indian Mutiny, and who was
suspected of having taken them. He knew, too, how the uncle of the then
living Earl of Galonfield had been captured and tortured and how his
effort to commit suicide had been frustrated in order that he might be
compelled to write a hundred letters, dated years ahead, to his father
and brother, urging them to restore the diamonds to their proper owner.
But what had become of the stones he had not learned. The acquisition
of this knowledge was to be his triumph. That the secret of their
hiding-place was in the possession of the Galonfield family was more
than probable. Accordingly, he went to England.
Glyncamp was on the point of wringing the secret from the dying Earl,
when the son appeared. The Earl died, and Glyncamp fled, but, within a
few hours, he had formulated a new plan.
The new Earl of Galonfield was young and unmarried. Glyncamp did
not doubt that he was more or less susceptible to female charms. He
would cause him to wed a woman through whom Glyncamp might obtain the
diamonds.
In Turkey Glyncamp had learned that among all the beautiful women who
were seen each week in the magnificent bathing rooms for women in
Constantinople, there was none who could compare with Pauline, the
daughter of Meschid Pasha, a well-known army officer. Like all sons and
daughters of the Orient, Meschid Pasha was a great lover of precious
stones and was known to have several noted gems in his collection.
Accordingly, Glyncamp visited Meschid Pasha and, formally proposing for
the hand of his daughter, he offered in exchange the diamonds known as
the “Lost Eyes of the Rajiid Buddha.” Meschid accepted the proposal.
Then Glyncamp told him how the diamonds might be obtained through
Pauline herself. Meschid gave his assent to the plan and forthwith
started for England with Pauline. Glyncamp, who, in the meantime, had
employed spies to watch young Lord Galonfield’s movements, accompanied
the Pasha and his daughter.
I met Glyncamp on his arrival in England and when he told me what he
had done, I gazed at him in astonishment.
“Do you so love the woman that you would give the diamonds for her?” I
asked.
He laughed heartily.
“Why, no,” he said. “She is certainly the most beautiful woman in the
world, but I have no idea of really marrying her. Through her I shall
get the diamonds--from Meschid. The man who is so base as to sell a
woman well deserves the punishment I shall inflict on Meschid Pasha!”
“But the woman!” I persisted. “What is to become of her?”
“She will scarcely mourn my loss, for it is my purpose to unite her in
marriage with the handsomest man in the world. The diamonds shall be
her dowry, on condition that I be godfather at the first christening in
the family.”
My eyes were wide with wonder and incredulity. Glyncamp, watching my
face, laughed heartily.
“Come, come, Doctor, you are not a fool,” he said reprovingly. “What
use would I, who care nothing for such baubles, have for such stones
as these? I am a victim of chronic wanderlust. Where would I keep
them? Why should I keep them? My friends have only a passing interest
in crystallized vanities, so they would scarcely thank me for the
display of the stones from time to time. And as for the woman--well.
She is pretty, no doubt--but foolish, as all women are. My pipe and my
glass--and you--would not be the sort of after dinner company which
would appeal to her, I’m afraid. And then, perhaps, some likely young
physician might have little difficulty in convincing her that my
first--or, at most, my second cataleptic attack was death itself. No,
no, it would not do! The pleasure of winning the handsomest woman in
the world and the finest pair of diamonds constitutes all the reward I
desire. The Sultan of Turkey has been paying me too much for my poor
services, and my fortune, to which there are no heirs, is becoming
quite unmanagable. The detectives I am employing need it more than I.
No, no, my boy, the excitement of the chase is all I require. The fox
and his brush can go to the dogs.”
I shook my head doubtfully, as Glyncamp, chuckling, went to Meschid’s
to don his Turkish duenna’s frock and veil and oversee Lord
Galonfield’s vain wooing of the fair woman who had enchanted him.
But it was not long before the smile left Glyncamp’s features. His face
grew longer and more grim. He had found in young Galonfield a foeman
worthy of his steel. He also learned that the spies of the Rajah of
Nauwar were swarming as thick as flies around the Earl.
And now the old lion began to fight. He felt that his wonderful skill
had been challenged and that his own self-respect was at stake. I began
to see less of him.
Suddenly, Glyncamp learned that Galonfield had disappeared. He traced
him to Hetley, and there found that a grave had been opened--the grave
of a young officer whose body had been sent to England during the
Indian Mutiny.
The mind-reader scowled darkly as he muttered:
“I wonder if we will find the other one in a tomb.”
Glyncamp kept his own counsel pretty well, after that, but, several
weeks later, he startled me by asking how I would like to go with him
to India.
I hesitated. The journey was long. But if anything happened to Glyncamp
in India--if one of his cataleptic attacks should be mistaken for
death----
And so I decided to accompany him.
We arrived at Rajiid just after Lord Galonfield had been released by
the jaboowallah. It was Glyncamp who caused the retreating Earl to be
seized again. The mind-reader had won the confidence of the Rajah under
whose direction the jaboowallah had been working.
Glyncamp and I were hiding near at the time that Forsythe had his
interview with Galonfield. It was I, who, in accordance with Glyncamp’s
instructions, cut the vocal cords that made him the Whispering
Gentleman.
But, as Lord Galonfield has said, all that Glyncamp was able to wring
from him was too little and too late.
Upon our return to Europe, Glyncamp learned of Pauline’s flight and of
her relationship with Prince Maranotti. Through her he still hoped to
be able to get the diamonds from Galonfield. He therefore used every
possible effort to discover her whereabouts.
The mind-reader had told me of his conversation with the unfortunate
creature who is known as the Gargoyle, and he failed to understand why
this person had failed to write to him after his arrival in the United
States.
At length, however, Glyncamp learned that detectives other than those
in his employ were engaged in a search for Pauline Maranotti. Some of
these were working in the interest of Lord Galonfield, but others still
were representing the Gargoyle himself. Thus it came to pass that all
the roads of the searchers led to Basselanto, and thither Glyncamp
himself repaired.
The cataleptic attacks that afflicted Glyncamp lately had been becoming
more and more frequent, and the anxiety which they caused me was
telling more and more on my nerves. I never knew at what moment the
mind-reader would move off on a new tangent without acquainting me with
his design. And I was almost terror-stricken when I reflected on what
might happen were he to fall a victim to one of these attacks while at
sea. Persons who are supposed to be dead on ocean vessels are buried
with a haste that always has seemed distinctly reprehensible to me. I
knew this sort of thing could not go on forever. I was growing weary of
constant leaps from one country to another, and I wondered how long it
was going to last.
When Glyncamp went to Basselanto I remained at Paris. I had taken a
severe cold that threatened me with pneumonia when from Naples came a
dispatch that Glyncamp, the mind-reader, was dead.
Ill as I was, I hurried to Italy. In the course of the journey I sent
several telegrams ahead of me commanding those who were in charge of
the body to make no effort to embalm it. At last I reached the place
where the body lay. A brief examination convinced me that he was still
alive.
I soon revived him, but, though he was able to eat, he could not talk
connectedly, and I knew that another and longer attack was imminent.
I succeeded, however, in getting him aboard a vessel bound direct for
New York. Two days later he again succumbed, and for ten days he lay
motionless in his berth.
At the time he regained consciousness I was on deck. It was not until,
returning to the stateroom, I found him standing in the middle of the
floor that I was aware of the change. His face was now white with anger.
“Where are we, Doctor?” he asked.
“Just coming in sight of Long Island,” I replied.
“Long Island!” he exclaimed. “In Heaven’s name, man, you don’t mean
to tell me that you have brought me back to America while--while that
murderer, Leon Grenault, is still at large?”
“Murderer--Grenault!” I repeated.
“Yes. It was the devil-faced monster who assassinated Prince Maranotti.
I was walking in the garden--when--when--Oh, you poor, maundering fool.
I’ve had enough of you, and now----”
Seizing a heavy walking stick, the half-frenzied mind-reader aimed a
blow at my head. I fled to the deck, and, not being a bold man, I did
not venture to put my life in jeopardy by confronting him before his
anger subsided.
That night I sent him a note asking him if he had forgiven me. Replying
by the same method, he said that if he saw my face again he would make
it look more hideous than Grenault’s.
I secured a stateroom elsewhere, and, until the vessel docked at New
York, I kept to it.
While the luggage of the passengers was being examined on the dock, I
saw a sudden rush of passengers toward the center of the big room. I
was told that a man had fallen. Hurrying to the spot I saw that it was
Glyncamp.
I quickly proved, not only that I was a physician, but that the fallen
man was a personal friend. Several strangers then helped me to get him
into a cab. I gave the cabman my address and told him to get there
as speedily as possible. Arriving at my house, where my two servants
remained as caretakers during my absence abroad, I had Glyncamp taken
to my operating room. This done, I summoned two of my fellow physicians.
After making a careful examination of my patient, I pronounced him
dead. The other physicians did likewise, then they left, and that night
the death notices of Glyncamp, the mind-reader, were sent to all the
papers. Not until long after midnight did reporters cease calling upon
me for information concerning his death.
A sudden death in New York is always, of course, a coroner’s case,
and usually requires a post-mortem examination, therefore early on
the following morning the coroner came to my house and viewed the
body. When I explained, however, that, as his private physician, I
had accompanied him on his travels and was with him when he died, the
coroner was satisfied. I told him, however, that in the interests
of science I would perform a post-mortem examination myself in the
presence of any two physicians whom he might select. This arrangement
was satisfactory and he left me. A couple of hours later two
physicians, sent by the coroner, presented themselves and I led the
way to the operating room. One of my visitors was Dr. Prellis, who had
a modest private practice, the other was Dr. Felkner, a well-known
surgeon, who was one of the principal members of a city hospital staff.
At my suggestion it was arranged that the examination for the cause
of death should be conducted by Dr. Felkner, and that when this was
done the body would be delivered to me in order that, in the interest
of science, I might make an analysis of the nervous system of this
wonderful man.
Dr. Felkner was a man of massive build, and, though slow of speech,
his movements were singularly abrupt. When I saw that he was about to
begin the dissection of the body, I slipped quietly from the room to
get my spectacles which I had left in the study. I was in the act of
placing these on my nose, when I was startled by a hoarse cry from the
operating room.
I heard John, my butler, passing through the hall, and I called to him.
When he entered I bade him tell the cook to have some refreshments for
my guests ready in an hour, at which time I thought we would be through
in the operating room.
The man was about to reply when I heard a second cry in the operating
room, and the door was flung open suddenly. Dr. Prellis, whose face was
as white as chalk, appeared on the threshold.
“Come, Doctor--come--quickly,” he said, excitedly.
“What is the trouble?” I asked calmly.
But Prellis had disappeared. Adjusting my spectacles carefully, I
followed him.
My consternation may easily be imagined when I saw Glyncamp, sitting
almost upright on the operating table, and supported by Felkner. My
poor friend’s eyes were wide open and an expression of horror and agony
was on his face.
“Glyncamp--alive!” I gasped.
A glance showed me that Felkner, beginning the operation with a deep,
rapid incision, had inflicted a mortal wound.
Glyncamp, fixing his great, gleaming eyes on me, said in a low,
resonant voice:
“You have done your will. Even while I lay in my stateroom on the
vessel, your hands, resting on my head, revealed your thoughts to me.
I knew that if I came under your power in New York I was doomed. That
is why I resisted you. These two men are innocent of the crime that
has been done here to-night. But you--you who knew the secret signs of
my malady did not reveal them. You, whom I trusted, have murdered me.
From this day forth, look where you will, you will see my face--in all
shadows of the earth, in every cloud that floats above you--aye, and in
the waters of the sea. The winds shall forever din a dead man’s curse
into your ears, and the warmth of the sun shall be to you a breath of
that furnace to which all murderers are consigned at last. In light and
in darkness--whether you be waking or sleeping--I shall ever be with
you. And when Death stands before you, as you now stand before me, I
will be beside him. Until then--until then--remember me.”
He stiffened suddenly and his chin sank to his breast, but, even then,
as the lustre faded from his eyes, they still seemed to be staring at
me from beneath their shaggy brows.
It was only the mad idea of a dying man, of course, for, if other
capable physicians should have been deceived by indications of death,
why should I have not been misled by them? But it was all very
unfortunate, for, doubt me if you will, the dying man spoke truly when
he told me that everywhere I looked I should see his face. In my dreams
he stands before me. When I read, I know he is behind my shoulder. At
the bottom of my coffee cup--in the lees of my wine--in the ashes of
my cigar, his features are always taking form. Sometimes he comes to
me suddenly, and appears in such unexpected places, that his ghostly
presence, familiar as it has become to me, inspires me with terror.
It is because of these terrible visitations that I have contracted
the infirmity which has caused me to be known to you as the Nervous
Physician.
* * * * *
The narrator paused, and for several moments no word was spoken.
“And, I suppose, examples of the wonderful nervous organism of your
friend now constitute parts of that collection in which you take such
pride,” observed the Decapitated Man, gloomily.
The Nervous Physician glanced over his left shoulder and dodged
slightly as if some one behind him had threatened him with a blow.
“Yes, yes,” he replied, easily. “Among other things, I have the left
hand intact. The right, however, and portions of the----”
“Stop!” commanded the Sentimental Gargoyle, imperiously. “When a man
learns that such miserable creatures inhabit the earth, he may not
find it so difficult to leave it.”
“You do not doubt that I--” the Nervous Physician began.
“I do not doubt at all,” the Gargoyle interrupted. “That the cataleptic
mind-reader was right when he accused you of his murder is a fact that
is clear to all of us.”
The Nervous Physician, turning slowly livid, rose unsteadily.
“Do I understand that you, the murderer of Prince Maranotti, charge
me----”
“He is not the murderer of Prince Maranotti,” said a quiet voice from
one end of the table.
All eyes were turned toward the man who had spoken. It was the
Homicidal Professor.
“On what authority do you contradict me, sir?” demanded the Nervous
Physician, angrily.
“On the authority of the only witness to that terrible tragedy,” said
the Homicidal Professor. “Having heard what others have said of the
affair, I am compelled to believe that I am the only person who saw
Prince Maranotti die at the hands of his assassin.”
“You were there?” asked the Nervous Physician, incredulously.
“Unfortunately--yes,” sighed the Homicidal Professor, who, in obedience
to a nod from Westfall, at once proceeded to recount his experience.