toward us, but her hand holding an imaginary bottle behind her. It was
real to her, at least.
"Which would I save?"
She paused in desperation as she reconstructed the scene. Almost she
had me convinced already, as she played out the part, under the stress
of her feelings.
"Which? My husband--or the other man whom I--I--"
She let her voice die away over the implied word "loved" and there was
another tense moment of silence.
"There was not enough for both," she added, quickly; then, as though
sweeping us on to the finale: "I poured the few drops of belladonna
into the glass nearest me. Vance--Mr. Shattuck, drank it!"
She swayed as the words were wrung from her very soul.
Shattuck sprang to her and caught her.
"You're wonderful," he whispered. "Honora--why--why have you said this?"
For answer she merely allowed herself to rest more closely in his arms.
Doyle moved forward with a triumphant smile. It made no difference to
him. It was a confession, either way. And confessions meant convictions
and success to him. What was human emotion, compared to a good record
and report in the files at Headquarters?
Honora looked from Doyle to Kennedy fearfully. She shrank farther into
Shattuck's arms, nor did Shattuck relax his embrace.
"It's true," she cried. "It's true. I tell you--it was a duel--just as
he said--really--and I saved him!"
Not one of us moved as we realized the situation. She would sacrifice
her reputation, everything. But she would save her lover.
"It was not murder--it--"
Doyle raged, as he realized that, after all, a clever lawyer, with this
woman as a witness, the heart-throbbing hypothetical question, and the
impressionable jury might quickly overturn all that Doyle might swear
to.
"I beg your pardon," interrupted Kennedy, looking up from his rounds
of examination of the dials. "You know this little thing--the
blood-pressure measurer that is used by the doctors? Many insurance
companies use similar things in investigating risks."
At once Kennedy had wrested from Shattuck and Honora the center of the
stage. Nor did he intend to relinquish it.
"I beg your pardon," he repeated, "but my sphygmograph--this little
instrument--my lie-detector, if you please--tells me you are both
lying!"
XX
THE SOUL SCAR
"Let me go back a bit," began Kennedy, as in perplexity we turned to
him. "Let me repeat how I first entered this case. You will remember
it was because of my interest in the dreams of Honora Wilford. I have
studied them ever since. My first clue came from them. From them I have
worked out my leads."
At the mention of the dreams Honora had drawn away from Shattuck. She
was gazing at Kennedy, wide-eyed. Shattuck, too, was following tensely.
No less were Doyle and Leslie. Doctor Lathrop leaned forward, his brow
wrinkled, as he tugged at his beard, impatiently listening.
"Let us take those dreams, without wasting any more time," continued
Kennedy. "I do not know how many of you are acquainted with the Freud
theory. Mr. Jameson is, by this time. Also Mr. Shattuck. We've seen
some of Freud's books in his library. Doctor Leslie knows it, I am
sure, and Doctor Lathrop has told me he reacts against many of Freud's
theories seriously.
"I shall not attempt to explain the theory, but shall touch on certain
phases of my psychanalysis," he remarked, addressing the remark
apparently to Honora. "Recall that Freud tells us that all dreams are
primarily about self in some way or interests close to self. Your first
dream and each succeeding dream which I learned, Mrs. Wilford, were, I
take it then, about your own relations with your husband."
Honora looked startled, not only at having been singled out, but at the
mention of the dreams and the vague thought of what might, after all,
have been derived from them by this man whom she did not understand.
"The dream of death, the struggle dream, the bull-and-serpent dream,
the dream of fire and explosion, all pointed to one thing among
others, but one thing that was paramount. Really you did not love your
husband--with that deep, passionate love which every woman yearns to
possess. It was not your fault. You were the creature of forces, of
circumstances, of feelings which were out of your control. I could have
told you more about yourself than you would have admitted--half an hour
ago," he qualified.
It was a delicate and intimate subject, yet Kennedy handled it without
a touch of morbidness.
"From the study of your dreams," he resumed, "as I have already
hinted, many other things might have been discovered. One of the next
importance to your unconscious feeling toward your husband was shown
clearly. It was that you knew that another woman had entered his life."
Kennedy glanced from her to Doctor Lathrop, and back to Honora.
"Of course, you did not know the whole story--that that woman was
merely using your husband as a means to an end. But it would have made
no difference if you had. In that she was equally in your way, whether
you would have admitted it or not. We can speak frankly on this subject
now. Vina Lathrop's death has put a different aspect on that phase of
the case."
"Oh, I see," interrupted Shattuck, who had been following carefully up
to this point, when it suddenly dawned on him that Kennedy's remarks
were converging on himself and the gossip that had flown far and wide
regarding Vina and himself. "I see. You have been reading the French
detective tales--eh?--_Cherchez la femme_?"
Kennedy ignored the interruption. He did not intend to let any such
aside destroy the thread of either his thought or his argument.
"Let me delve a little deeper in the analysis," he proceeded, calmly.
"There was something back of that lack of love, something even deeper
than the hurt given by the discovery of his relations with the other
woman."
If Shattuck had been minded to pursue the guerrilla conversation in
the hope of harassing Kennedy, this remark was like an explosion of
shrapnel. He sought cover.
Kennedy was talking rapidly and earnestly now.
"In short," he concluded, "there is something which we call a soul
scar here--a psychic wound--a mental trauma. It bears the same relation
to the soul that a wound does to the body. And, as in the case of some
wounds, muscles and limbs do not function and must be re-educated, so
in these mental and moral cases feelings and emotions must be made to
function again, must be re-educated. I need not refer to what caused
that wound. I think we understand the reaction that almost any girl
would experience against one whom she loved but considered unworthy. I
saw it the moment I began to analyze the dreams."
In spite of its intimate nature, Kennedy kept his analysis on almost an
impersonal level. It was as though he were telling us the results of
his study of some new substance that had been submitted to him for his
opinion.
"Mrs. Wilford," he went on, speaking rather to us generally now than to
her, "married not for love--whatever she may say or even think about
it. Yet love--romantic love--was open to her, if she would only let
herself go."
I saw that as he proceeded, Shattuck had colored deeply. He knew the
origin of this soul wound in her disapproval of the life he had led at
the time. He shifted restlessly.
"All my psychanalysis, by whatever means I went at it, whether
merely by study of the dreams or by having them written out a second
time in order to compare the omissions and hesitations, whether by
the association test, the day-dreaming when relaxed, or the Jung
association word test, all the psychological expedients I resorted to,
now paying out, as it were, a piece of information, now withholding
another, and always watching what effect it had upon the various
parties to this case, all, I say, tended toward one end--the discovery
of the truth that was hidden from us.
"Finally," he exclaimed, "came the time when I allowed Doyle to place a
dictagraph in the apartment, where we might overhear the interplay of
the forces let loose by the information which I was allowing to leak
out in one way or another."
Involuntarily, Honora turned and caught the eye of Shattuck leveled
at her. Each looked startled. What had Craig overheard through that
dictagraph? The thought was quite evident in both minds.
Honora gripped her chair. Shattuck turned and stared sullenly at the
man before him.
"To return to the dreams," resumed Kennedy, apparently not noticing
this interchange of looks and byplay. "From the hesitations in telling
and retelling the dreams, from the changes that were made, from a
somewhat similar process in tracing out the more controlled thoughts
of the waking state, I found that everything confirmed and amplified
my original conclusion. True, I did not know all. I may not know _all_
yet. But each time I added to my knowledge until there were so many
things that joined up and corroborated one another that there was no
human possibility left that I was on the wrong track."
One might have heard a pin drop in the laboratory as Craig held his
auditors and carried them along, even after the intensity of feeling
that we had witnessed scarcely a few minutes before.
"I wish I had time to go into the many phases of the dream theories
of the modern scientists," he hastened. "For hours, with Mr. Jameson,
I have patiently tried to interpret and fit together the strange and
fantastic conceptions of the mind when the censorship of consciousness
is raised in sleep, veiling things which are as little thought of in
your philosophies as you could well imagine.
"For example, nothing in modern psychological science is more amazing,
more likely to cause violent dissent, than the intimate connection that
exists between the fundamental passions of love and hate. There is no
need of the injunction to love our enemies--in this sense. Very often
it happens that those we love may arouse the most intense hate, and
that those we hate may exercise a fascination over us that we ourselves
hasten to repress and refuse to admit. It is curious, but more and more
it is coming to be recognized.
"And before I go a step farther," he added, "let me forestall what is
going to happen in this case as certainly as if I were adding chlorin
to sodium and were going to derive salt. When I touch the deep, true
'complex,' as we psychanalysts call it, I shall expect the very idea to
be rejected with scorn and indignation. Thereby will the very theory
itself be proved. Shattuck, your old rule may work well with the
case of a man. But the new rule, the complementary rule, for woman is
_Cherchez l'homme_."
It was not said to Shattuck, however. With clever psychology Kennedy
aimed the remark full at Honora. She flushed and her eyes blazed
defiance. Scornfully and angrily she cast a withering glance at Craig
as she drew herself up with dignity.
"Then--you think, your science teaches--that a woman must be a
fool--that she does not know with whom she really is in love--that she
can really be in love with one whom she--hates?"
There was a flash of satisfaction in Craig's eyes. "Complex," I read
it. As for Shattuck, where a moment ago he had scoffed, he remained to
pray, or rather to smile faintly.
"I did not say exactly that," returned Kennedy, "although it may
seem that way, if you choose to interpret the intimate relationship
of love and hate so. Follow me just a moment. Consciously, she may
hate. Education, society, morality, religion--this thing we call
civilization--may exert restraints. Unconsciously, though, she
may love. The veneer of modern society is very thin. I think the
experiences the world is going through to-day demonstrate that.
Underneath there are the deep, basic passions of millions of years.
They must be reckoned with. It is better to reckon with them than to be
wrecked by them. The wonder is, not that they are so strong--but that
the veneer covers them so well!"
Powerfully though as Kennedy was making the presentation of the case,
Honora tenaciously refused to admit it. Like her sex, when a general
proposition was made she immediately made a personal application, found
it distasteful, and rejected the proposition.
Still, Kennedy was not dismayed. Nor did he admit defeat, or even
checkmating.
For several seconds he paused, then added in a low tone that was almost
inaudible, yet in a way that did not call for an answer.
"Could you--be honest, now, with yourself, for you need not say a word
aloud--could you always be sure of yourself, after this, in the face of
any situation?"
She looked startled at his sudden shift of the argument to the personal
ground.
Her ordinarily composed face betrayed everything, though it was averted
from the rest of us and could be seen only fully by Kennedy.
In the welter of passion, as one fact after another had been torn forth
during the moments since she had come to the laboratory, much had
happened to Honora which never before had entered her well-ordered,
conservative life.
She knew the truth that she strove to repress. She _was_ afraid of
herself. And she knew that he knew.
The defiance in her eyes died slowly.
"It is dangerous," she murmured, "to be with a person who pays
attention to such little things. If every one were like you, I would
no longer breathe a syllable of my dreams!"
She was sobbing now.
What was back of it all? I had heard of the so-called resolution
dreams. I had heard of dreams that kill, of unconscious murder, of
terrible acts of the somnambulist, of temporary insanity, of many deeds
of which the doer had no recollection in the waking state, until put
under hypnotism.
Could it be such a thing which Kennedy was driving at disclosing?
I cast a hasty glance about at our little audience. Doyle was hushed,
now. This was far beyond him. Leslie was deeply interested. Doctor
Lathrop had moved closer to Honora on the other side of Shattuck, as if
to reassure her.
Kennedy, too, was studying attentively the effect of his revelation
both on Honora and the others.
Honora, her shoulders bent with the outpouring of the long-suppressed
emotion of the examination, called for sympathy.
Shattuck saw it, saw the distress she so plainly showed.
"Kennedy," he exclaimed, unable to restrain himself longer, pushing
aside Doctor Lathrop, as he placed himself between her and the man whom
he regarded now as her tormentor, "Kennedy--you are a faker--nothing
but a damned dream doctor--in scientific disguise."
"Perhaps," smiled Kennedy, unaffected by the threat. "But let me
finish. Then you may think differently."
He turned deliberately from Shattuck to the rest of us.
"What happened at that office the fatal night was this," he shot out.
"There was a woman there. But from what I deduce, it was not Honora
Wilford. It must have been Vina Lathrop!"
I felt a shock of surprise. Yet, after all, I had to admit that there
was nothing improbable about it.
"Later," he resumed, "someone else did enter that office. In all
probability that person did hold up Vail Wilford, with a gun perhaps,
just about as we have heard described. The Calabar bean was cut in
half, undoubtedly. You will see from the facts in the case that it
must have been so. Probably, too, each wrote a suicide note--on the
typewriter--either to save the survivor, or at the dictation of the
person who survived. Each must have eaten half of the bean.
"But," added Kennedy, impressively, "it was no duel by poison--really.
That other person knew the antidote--knew that the antidote was
atropin--came prepared. That other person deliberately put atropin in
his own glass of water, knowing that it was the antidote. No, it was no
duel. It was murder--plain murder!"
As he finished, Kennedy's voice rang out sharply and decisively in a
direct accusation.
"As for you, Doyle," he added, catching the eye of the detective, "you
put your money on the wrong horse, as you would say. You thought
that in my constant examination of Mrs. Wilford I coincided with your
superficial observation. But I had another purpose, a very different
purpose."
Kennedy stopped a moment to turn from Doyle to the woman Doyle had
persecuted. Honora and Shattuck were again close together, watching
Kennedy intently, oblivious of all but themselves and him.
It gave me a start to see them as they were now. Honora and the man
she really loved were united at last. In his face I could see a far
different kind of Shattuck, as though the fire of the ordeal had
purified him.
I caught a look of satisfaction that crossed Craig's face. He had
succeeded. Back of all, I now saw that Kennedy had had all along a very
human intention.
Quickly I sought to explain what had already taken place only a few
moments before. Had Shattuck lied to save her, when he saw that Doyle
was framing a case against her? If that were so, then had she, with
her quick wit, come to the rescue, with a marvelously constructed
story that fitted perfectly with that which he had told and had broken
down in telling? Had Shattuck and Honora, cornered, as they thought by
Doyle, leaped at any suggestion?
But the truth--what was it?
Kennedy was speaking again, and now all hung on each word.
"The stuff that dreams are made of is very real, after all," he
remarked. "Just take this case itself. Suppose some one, who understood
better than Honora Wilford, learned of her dreams--interpreted
them--found out the truth about her relations with another--found out,
as I have done, what she herself did not know--and then acted on the
information.
"Suppose that person knew of the soul scar, the old wound, knew from
the dreams the conflict between the various persons--and encouraged the
dream actors--in real life. Suppose, too, that that person, learning
of what Vail Wilford was doing, had a personal grievance--a spite--a
desire for bitter revenge."
As Kennedy built up his hypothetical case I became more and more
enthralled by it. It was more than hypothesis now.
"The sphygmograph," he resumed, "has told me just what I still needed
to know, even while you all have been here, perhaps forgetful of the
little telltale that has been attached to your wrists. It is a faithful
recorder of emotions, if you know how to study it. What is hidden from
the eye the heart reveals. This heart machine will record it, betray
the inmost secrets."
Kennedy drew himself up slowly, as though to impress forcefully what he
was about to add.
"Psychanalysis," he exclaimed, "has led through Honora's soul scar to
the discovery of the truth by the aid of this little lie-detector. It
was your revenge on Vail Wilford--Lathrop!"
Harshly Lathrop laughed, as though he had sensed the coming of the
accusation all along.
I took a step toward him, and as I did so something about his eyes
almost halted me. The pupils were strangely contracted. I did not
recall having noticed it before, certainly not when he came in.
Again he laughed harshly. With a shaking hand he reached into his
pocket and drew forth something. I saw instantly that it was a Calabar
bean.
He was about to place it in his mouth when Craig leaped and struck it
from his hand. Honora screamed as Lathrop reeled back into his chair.
Instantly Shattuck's arm stole about her solicitously as she shrank
from the shaking figure in the chair near by. Her hand stole into his.
"No cheating justice, Lathrop!" exclaimed Kennedy, seizing his wrist,
which was already clammy.
He smiled faintly, and his lips moved with an effort.
"I did--what I did. It's too late for atropin now!"
THE END
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TRANSCRIBER'S CORRECTIONS
page original text correction
212 she hestitated a fraction she hesitated a fraction
270 "They are well know "They are well known
272 sources of informaation sources of information