A WIZARD'S KNOWLEDGE.
During the next three months Madame Medjora waited and watched. She
watched for another letter to Leon. She judged the writer by herself,
and she decided that Matilda Grath would not abandon her project,
having once decided that she possessed knowledge, by the judicious use
of which she could extort money. She knew that Leon had no means of
sending her such a sum, and she was sure that Doctor Medjora would
never part with one penny under compulsion. He was a man who ruled
others. He was never to be intimidated. Yet the woman had said that it
would be better for the Doctor too, if the demand were satisfied. How
to construe this she could not tell. Did Matilda Grath know a secret
which the Doctor would wish to have suppressed? Or did the threat
merely mean that the Doctor could be made to suffer through his
affection for Leon? The mention of the Doctor's name in the letter had
a twofold effect. It incited her all the more to carry out her project
and ferret out the secret, if one existed; while on the other hand it
made her hesitate to do that which might bring down the wrath of her
husband upon her head. She did not openly admit it, but she feared
him. Thus it was that she waited. Waited hoping that her watching
might enable her to intercept the second letter from Matilda Grath,
which she thought must inevitably follow, and which might give her a
more definite due upon which to base her action.
But as the weeks went by and no letter came, she grew restive. In this
mood one day she read of the remarkable capture of the true criminal,
made by Mr. Barnes, in the Petingill case. She did not know that this
detective was the office boy who, while in the employ of Dudley and
Bliss, had had the temerity to shadow her husband, hoping to convict
him of murder. Had she known, it is doubtful whether she would have
visited him. As it was, she impulsively determined to engage him to
unravel the mystery connected with Leon, and she decided to give him
the copy of the letter which she had made, as a clue with which to
begin.
Thus it was that Mr. Barnes, at the height of his ambition, the chief
of a private detective agency, was astonished one morning to read the
name "Madame Emanuel Medjora," upon a card handed to him in his
private office. He pondered awhile, and searched his memory to account
for the fact that the name sounded familiar, as he muttered it aloud.
In an instant he recalled his first attempt at unravelling a great
crime, and, with a feeling that chance was about to give him an
opportunity to retrieve the bungling failure of that day, long ago, he
invited the lady into his sanctum.
Once in the presence of the detective, Madame was half frightened at
what she had undertaken, but it was too late to retreat. So in hurried
words she explained her case, gave Mr. Barnes the letter, and engaged
him to investigate the matter.
"Find out for me," said she, "who this Leon Grath really is. I will
pay you well for the information. But understand this. I exact the
utmost secrecy. You must not come to my house, nor write to me. When
you wish to communicate with me, put a personal in the _Herald_ saying
"Come," and I will understand. Above all things, promise me that
whatever you discover shall be known only to myself; that you will
make no use of the knowledge except as I may direct."
"Madame may depend upon my discretion," answered the detective, and
with a restless doubt in her breast, which was to gnaw at her peace of
mind for weeks to come, Madame Medjora returned to the home of the
husband whom she had promised to love, honor, and obey, and against
whom she was now secretly plotting.
After the first time when Dr. Medjora had taken Leon into the temple
of AEsculapius while asleep, and there hypnotized him, the two spent an
hour together in the crypt nightly. The Doctor deciphered for his
pupil the meaning of the hieroglyphics in the order in which he had
studied them out for himself. His method was peculiar. On the second
night, he revealed to Leon the secret approach, and took him into the
buried dome whilst yet awake. Then before his astonishment and
admiration for the place had subsided, and, therefore, while his mind
was yet off guard, as it were, he suddenly commanded him to sleep,
just as he had done on the Fall River steamboat, only this time he
succeeded. With scarcely any resistance, Leon passed into a hypnotic
trance, and while in that condition the Doctor began expounding to him
the sculptured records of a forgotten knowledge. At first the tasks
were brief, but they were increased, and more and more was
accomplished each night as he acquired greater hypnotic control over
his subject. At the end of each lesson, he would say to his pupil:
"Leon, to-morrow you will remember that we have been here together,
that I have taught you a part of the knowledge inscribed upon these
walls; you will forever retain a recollection of that knowledge which
you have gained to-night; but you will imagine that you have been with
me in your normal waking condition, and you will forever and forever
forget that I have commanded you to sleep. Do you promise?"
"I promise!" would be the reply, and then, to assure success, he would
awaken the lad and continue awhile his teaching, so that Leon would
depart awake, as he had entered. Thus it was, that the Doctor's scheme
for educating his _protege_ was meeting with marvellous success, and
Leon was rapidly assimilating the wisdom which was offered to him.
Already he knew more of diseases and their treatment, of the science
of chemistry and bacteriology, than many graduates of medical schools.
In addition to what may be termed his hypnotic education, he was
acquiring practical experience through his daily work in the
laboratory, so that at length Dr. Medjora thought that he could see a
promise of fruition for his cherished scheme.
In one thing he was disappointed. It was his hope to effect a love
match between Leon and Agnes, but his keen study of both of the young
people convinced him that they were as indifferent to one another,
after nearly a year's acquaintance, as they had been at first.
Dr. Emanuel Medjora, however, was not a man to be thwarted, and he had
long decided upon a course of action, whereby he might further his
design, if the current of ordinary events did not turn the tide in his
favor. Finally he decided to act, and in furtherance of his purpose he
invited Judge Dudley to spend an evening with him.
"Come promptly at eight o'clock," his note had said, "and be prepared
to remain as long as I may require. The business is of great moment to
us both, and to those whom we love."
In response to such a summons, the Judge reached Villa Medjora just as
the clock chimed the appointed hour. He was conducted into the
Doctor's study, which opened into the laboratory. When his guest was
announced, Dr. Medjora rose at once to greet him. When the two men
were seated comfortably, the Doctor opened the conversation at once.
"Judge Dudley," said he, "I have, as you know, a young man with me, in
whom I have taken the deepest interest,--Leon Grath, my assistant and
pupil. Let me tell you something of him."
"With pleasure," replied the Judge.
"You already know, that I look upon the knowledge which I possess as a
sacred trust, which I must utilize for the benefit of my fellows. I
have held that it is incumbent upon me to transmit this knowledge to
some one younger than myself, that he may be my successor. I searched
for years for such a lad. The exactions were great. He would need
extraordinary endowments. He should be superior to his fellows,
intellectually and physically. I decided that I had found such a man,
when I selected Leon."
"I hope you have not been disappointed?"
"On the contrary. He has exceeded my expectations, though my estimate
of his powers could not be far wrong, because I rarely make a
mistake." The egotism of these words did not appear to effect the
Judge. He was too well acquainted with Dr. Medjora, who continued:
"Leon has evinced such worthiness of the trust which I have reposed in
him, that I know he will not only be a capable successor to me, but he
will achieve that which I cannot hope to accomplish within the few
years which are left to me."
"Come, my friend," said the Judge, "you must not talk as though you
were nearing the end of life. You will be with us twenty years longer
at least."
"They will not be twenty years of usefulness, if I should." The Doctor
spoke as though in augury of his own fate. He continued: "But it is
not of myself that I desire to speak. Leon, I say, will be a wiser and
a greater man than I. He will be beloved by his associates, and will
be a blessing in the world."
"I do not doubt it!" said the Judge, impulsively, not knowing to what
the words would lead him.
"I am glad you appreciate his worth," replied the Doctor, quickly. "I
have already taught him much, and I will teach him more, if I am
spared, but, even without my assistance, the fountain of knowledge
from which he now draws will supply him amply. One thing he needs. A
cloud hangs over his past, because he knows not who were his parents.
He has no name, and that thought hangs as a millstone about his neck,
and often weighs him down with discouragment, as he feels that he is
alone in the world. I intend to remedy that. I shall bestow upon him
my own name."
"Your own name?" ejaculated the Judge.
"My own name! I will formally adopt him, and he shall take my name. I
wish you to aid me in the legal steps requisite."
"I will do so with pleasure. Medjora, you are a noble man. I honor you
with all my heart." The Judge occasionally lost his usual dignified
reserve, when his emotions were deeply touched.
"I thank you," said the Doctor. "But, Judge, if I am noble in doing
what I purpose, you have the chance to be even more so."
"What do you mean?"
"Leon needs more than a name. As I have said, the past hangs over his
heart like a pall. Even with my name, he will be a lonely man. He will
continue his habits of studiousness, but he will become a recluse. He
will shun his fellows, because of his sensitiveness upon one point. He
will fear to intrude himself, where he might not be welcome. In such a
life, he would be of little value to his fellows. The world will lose
a great benefactor. There is but one salvation for him, from such a
fate."
"And that is?"
"Marriage! Marriage with a woman of kindred spirit. Marriage with a
woman, possessing equal intellect, and capable of spurring him to
ambitious deeds, at the same time soothing his hours of fatigue.
Marriage, in short, with your daughter."
"With Agnes!" exclaimed the Judge, almost horrified, so great was his
surprise.
"With Agnes!" repeated the Doctor, calmly.
"Impossible! You are mad!" ejaculated the Judge.
"And yet, despite your protest, the marriage will occur," said Dr.
Medjora, in tones so portentous, that the Judge paused and looked at
him almost in fear. For one instant, the cry of the public that this
man was a wizard flashed across his mind, but in the next he cast it
aside with scorn, and again he said peremptorily.
"I tell you no! It is impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible," said the Doctor, impressively, "if I have
decided in my own mind that it must be. I have never failed in any
purpose of my life, and I will not fail in this. Judge Dudley, listen
to me. I have a claim upon your daughter Agnes, equal to, yea greater,
than your own."
"What!" exclaimed the Judge, more amazed. He sank back in his chair
bewildered. How could this man have a claim upon his child greater
than his own? It was an unsolvable riddle to him.
"You do not comprehend me," said the Doctor, "and to explain myself it
will be necessary for me to speak at some length. Shall I do so?"
"You must do so! After what you have said, I must hear more. Go on!"
"Very well. If at first I seem to speak of matters unconnected with
the subject, bear with me and listen attentively. I shall be as brief
as possible, and yet give you a thorough insight into my meaning. As
you are well aware, men call me a wizard. Now, what is a wizard? The
dictionary says he is a sorcerer, and that a sorcerer is a magician.
In olden times the magicians were of two kinds, evil and good,
accordingly as they practised Black Art, or the reverse; which only
means that they were men endowed with knowledge not shared by their
fellows, and that, armed with the powers thus acquired, they used
their abilities either for evil or for good purposes. Thus, if in this
day of civilization I possess any knowledge in advance of other
scientists, I suppose that I am as truly a wizard, as were the
magicians of the ancients."
"Nonsense!"
"Not at all. I claim to have knowledge which is fully twenty years in
advance of to-day, just as I know that the present generation is but
slowly awakening to truths which were known to me twenty years ago.
But before I speak of what I myself know, let me give you a summary of
the advance which modern science has made in a specified direction.
You have heard of what is commonly called the 'Germ Theory' of
disease?"
"Yes! Certainly!"
"You say yes, and you add certainly, by which latter you mean that it
was folly for me to ask you such a question. Yet how much do you
really know of the great progress which has been made in mastering the
secret causes of human disease? You are a learned Judge, and yet you
know comparatively little of the subject which is of most vital
interest to mankind. I mean no offence, of course. I am as ignorant of
the Law, as you are of Medicine. Let me open a window that you may
peep in upon the scientific students busy with their investigations.
The 'Germ Theory,' briefly stated, is this. There are all around us
millions of micro-organisms, parasites which thrive and grow by
feeding upon the animal world. In proportion as these parasities
infest, and thrive upon a given individual, so will that individual
become diseased, and it has been shown that in many cases a special
germ will cause a special disease. I could deliver you a lecture,
hours long, upon the classification, morphology, and pathogenic action
of bacteria, but I wish at present to lead your mind into a different
channel. Undoubtedly the most important question in biology is the
immunity from disease-generating germs, which is possessed by various
animals."
"Do you mean that some animals can resist the attacks of bacteria?"
asked the Judge. Anxious as he was to arrive at the point where his
daughter's name would be again introduced, his natural love of
knowledge caused his interest to be aroused as the Doctor proceeded.
"I do," continued Dr. Medjora. "It has long been known that certain
infectious diseases, such as typhoid fever, are peculiar to man, while
the lower animals do not suffer from them; and that, on the other
hand, man has a natural immunity from other diseases which are common
among the lower animals. Again, some species will resist diseases
which become epidemic among others. In addition to an immunity
peculiar to a whole race, or species, we have individual differences
in susceptibility or resistance. This may be natural, or it may be
acquired. For example, the very young are usually more susceptible
than adults. But a difference will also be found among adults of a
race. The negro is less susceptible to yellow fever than the white
man, while, contrarily, small-pox seems to be peculiarly fatal among
the dark-skinned races."
"Have the scientists been able to account for these phenomena?"
"They theorize, and many of them are making admirable guesses. They
account for race tolerance by the Darwinian theory, of the survival of
the fittest. Imagine a susceptible population decimated by a scourge,
and the survivors are plainly those who have evidenced a higher power
of resistance. Their progeny should show a greater immunity than the
original colony, and, after repeated attacks of the same malady, a
race tolerance would become a characteristic."
"That is certainly a plausible theory."
"It is probably correct. But acquired immunity, possessed by an
individual residing among a people who are susceptible, is the problem
of greatest interest. The difference between a susceptible and an
immune animal depends upon one fact. In the former, when the
disease-breeding germ is introduced, it finds conditions favoring its
multiplication, so that it makes increasing invasions into the
tissues. The immune animal resists such multiplication, and possesses
inherent powers of resistance which finally exterminates the invader.
But how can this immunity be acquired by a given individual?"
"Upon the solution of that question, I would say depends the future
extermination of disease," said the Judge.
"You are right," assented the Doctor. "Ogata and Jashuhara have
recorded some interesting experiments. They cultivated the bacillus of
anthrax in the blood of an animal immune to that disease, and when
they injected these cultures into a susceptible animal, they found
that only a mild attack of the disease ensued, and that subsequently
the animal was immune to further inoculation."
"Why, if that is so, it would seem that we have only to use the blood
of immune animals, as an injection, to insure a person against a
disease!"
"Behring and Kitasato experimenting in that direction, found that the
blood of immune animals, injected into susceptible individuals, after
twenty-four hours rendered them immune, but this would not follow with
all diseases. In many maladies common to man, a single attack, from
which the person recovers, renders him safe from future epidemics. The
most commonly known example of this is the discovery by Jenner, who
gave the world that safeguard against small-pox, known as vaccination.
But the most important discovery in this direction yet made is one
which is not fully appreciated even by the discoverer himself.
Chauveau, in 1880, ascertained that, if he protected ewes by
inoculating them with an attenuated virus, their lambs, when born,
would show an acquired immunity."
"This is incredible!"
"I have now related all that the modern scientists have recorded up to
the present date, and when I tell you that all of this, and very much
more than is at present recognized, was known to me twenty years ago,
you will see that my claim that I am twenty years in advance of my
generation is well founded. I shall not enter into the many theories
advanced to explain the phenomenon of acquired immunity from disease,
because it would be unprofitable to take up such a discussion, while
you are waiting to hear what concerns you more closely. Suffice it to
say, that various scientists have learned that immunity may be
produced in a previously susceptible animal by the injection of
various preparations. But in each instance, the injection is expected
to produce immunity from only one disease. My own studies were at
first in this direction, and I have succeeded not only in learning how
to prevent each malady separately, but what is far better, I have
discovered a method by which I can render an individual immune to all
zymotic diseases."
"Then, indeed, are you a wizard!"
"Yes, because I do that which transcends the powers and knowledge of
my fellows! But mark my prophecy! Just so surely as the scientific
investigators of to-day have learned what I knew twenty years ago, so
will the investigators of the future master the secrets which now are
known only to myself. I am a wizard, perhaps, but I am a modern
wizard. There is nothing of the supernatural about my methods. But now
let me be more explicit. What Chauvau did with sheep, I have done with
the human being."
"What! You have dared to make such an experiment?"
"Dared? Emanuel Medjora dares all things, in the pursuit of
knowledge!"
The man had arisen as he warmed to his subject, and now, as he drew
himself up erect, he towered over the Judge as a giant might.
"Listen, and be convinced. I discovered a precious preparation, which,
if injected at the proper time would, in my opinion, bring me the
consummation of my dreams. A single fluid, which would produce
immunity from all diseases. Just after you had procured my acquittal,
and thus saved me and my learning for the benefit of the world, you
were kind enough to intrust me with the care of your wife's health."
"I had no hesitation in doing so. I had faith in you."
"The result has shown that your faith was well founded. At the proper
time, I injected the preparation which I had formulated, into the arm
of your wife."
"You did that?"
"I did. You will recall the fact that from being feeble she began to
gain strength. Periodically I repeated my injections, and renewed
vigor coursed through her system."
"You certainly worked wonders. I distinctly remember that I marvelled
at the improvement which followed your treatment."
"In due season you were presented with a daughter. A beautiful, baby
girl!"
"My little angel Agnes!"
The Judge spoke softly, and with tenderness. In fancy he looked back
to the day when the nurse brought him the little cherub, newly
arrived, and he felt again the tightening of his heart-strings which
told him that he was a father.
"You held the babe in your arms," said the Doctor, "and you, as well
as all the others, recognized that it was an exceptional infant. But
none of you guessed that a child had been born, who, like Chauvau's
lambs, would be immune to all disease!"
"Do you really mean that you accomplished that almost incredible
miracle?" exclaimed the Judge, as at last he perceived the nature of
the claim upon Agnes, which the Doctor was endeavoring to establish.
"Do you doubt it? Glance back over her career. Remember the various
climates that she has visited; the many epidemics which she has passed
through in safety. Yellow fever in Memphis, small-pox in the Indies,
and several seasons of diphtheria at home, here in New York. She has
been near typhoid and scarlet fever; la grippe has visited us twice in
epidemic form, and is carrying off hundreds at this very time. Can you
recall a day in all her life, when Agnes has been ill? No! You
cannot!" The Doctor's tone was triumphant. The Judge's reply was low.
"Providence has certainly blessed her with remarkable health," he
murmured.
"Providence?" exclaimed the Doctor, passionately. "No! Not Providence,
but I! I, Emanuel Medjora, the Wizard! I have blessed her with her
wonderful health! To me she owes it all! I claim her! She is as much
mine as yours!"
He was grandly dramatic as he uttered these words, but, marvelling as
he did at what he had heard, the Judge was not yet ready to yield.
This iteration of the fact that he claimed Agnes, aroused the father's
antagonism, and, in an almost equally imperious tone, he sprang to his
feet and cried:
"No! She is mine! I am her father, and she is mine! All mine! I deny
your claim, and Wizard though you be, I defy you!"
The two men glared at each other for a moment, and then the Doctor
spoke suddenly.
"You defy me! Ha! Ha! Ha!" His laugh rang through the chamber with a
weird sound. "Agnes is yours! Ha! Ha! Ha!" Again the laugh, prolonged
and piercing. In an instant his manner changed. Grasping the Judge by
the arm, he said: "Come with me!" then half dragged him towards, and
through the door that led into the laboratory.