A TRIANGLE OF. TERRORS.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2482, 24 May 1909, Page 7

A TRIANGLE OF. TERRORS.

(By Grace Tabor.)

The rose glow was fading overhead and the laboratory rrew dim in spite of its enormous skylights. It seemed to Dr Mortimer, as he glanced round, that a gray mist was settling down over all the familiar objects, and he shivered a. little, although he knew and recognised it as a common phenomenon accompanying the gathering dusk in a room that it lighted only from above. There was nothing more to be done. He finished at sunset. Not until the sun had risen and set, and risen and set again, and was once more flushing the eastern heavens for a third dawn would there re aught here for him to do. Yet he lingered loath to go away, loath to go out among the people whom he knew, to talk, to eat and drink —to follow all the usual routine of living. . “My everlasting, iron-clad New Englaaid conscience again, I suppose Vigas would say,” he soliloquized with a nervous laugh and a look toward the far end o' the° room where the big laboratory table was outlined, a bulky, vague shadow. “He’s right, too. A man cannot be brilliant if he’s constantly hampered by mis-* givings, that’s certain.” And then he quoted to himself the words of his friend, spoken in good-na-tured impatience that very morning, in answer to Mortimer’s “suppose you were wrong.”. , “Suppose,” said Vigas, “that we r.ways stood back and just supposed! What would we have accomplished? There is no place for that in our creed, Leonard Mortimer, and you know it quite as well as I do. We believe, we know, you and I—we don’t ‘suppose.’ T have the power,’ not ‘maybe I haven’t it.’ I have it. I know I have it—and that’s all there is about it.” Dr. Mortimer took one more look round and went determinedly to the door. “Of course,” he affirmed as he opened it, “that’s all there is about it.” He closed the door carefully behind him and went out into the summer night. But when he had crossed the long , bridge and reached his club in the city, he found himself still in no mood for the company of others.- Nor was he ready for food. So, instead of dining there was his custom, he turned abruptly, almost as soon as ho was inside the entrance, and went out. “I’ll go east till I come to a 7 and a 3,” he said, following his boyhood custom of mapping out a tramp, “then south till I strike three 9’s, and then west as far os two l’s—and then I’ll get a bite where 1 tind myself or take the nearest road back and get it here.” So he set off at a swinging pace, and while his way lay through the busy city, his mind dwelt resolutely upon problems that were close at hand. Later, out where it was still and there were trees and the scent of flowers and dew sparkling upon the grass under a splendid moon, his resolve gave way and he let himself look deep into the dark dream-eyes that were always there, waiting for his gaze ; thrilling as he looked, just as he always thrilled Avhen the eyes themselves were really before him. Her slim form seemed to glide beside him with the curious silent movement which years of self-effacement had taught her, and he clenched his strong jaws on the pity and sorrow that swept over him above its door; the second, when he came suddenly upon a disabled automobile, whose license tag was 1999. At the third a sudden reaction came and dreams of the unattainable gave way to thoughts of the present and actual. A strong impulse to return to tiie laboratory took hold of him, but he shook it off impatiently, thinking again of \ igas and how ho would scotf at it. He had started for the club, anti to the club he would go. , ' • It was late, and the grill-room was deserted when he seated himself and ordered the substantial meal which his fast. , and the fatigue of his walk demanded, , but a number of men soon came down from the card-room. “Hallo ! here's Mortimer!” cried one ; “the ’phone has been hot for you all the evening, old man. We’ve been urged to produce you twenty times at least.” “Indeed,” he answered, “I’m glad you told me. Erastinius has overlooked it. I’ll speak to him.” Erastinius, anxious and apologetic though he was, could tell him very little beyond the fact that it was strange—the whites of his eyes showed impressively—“mighty st’ange, ’ndeed, sab.” The inquirer had left no name nor message, but had kept repeating, “Dr Mortimer, Leonard Mortimer, Dr Leonard Mortimer, Dr Mortimor,” until the operator 'was ready to go out of his mind. Ilm calls had ceased about half an hour ago, but up to that time they had been incessant since the end of the dinner hoiu about nine o’clock. _ Dr Mortimor finished Ids supper and started for home, when again tho impulse to < T o to his laboratory came over him. This time he decided to indulge it at least to the extent of a walk past the building. After all it was not really out of his way, he reflated as he boarded a slow moving car. , . , At the corner of the quiet, elm-shadowed street where he alighted, he found an ujiusual number of people, and as he walked somewhat hurriedly a pair of tho splendid fire department bays trotted leasnrely toward him, the bell of the engine sounding the homeward call. jje caught a word here and in I.ho crowd. *'Eminent scholar dis* covered in time”— ‘‘learning makes them all mad.” T , Finally, in a feminine treble; ihe ur. Mortimor, of course. Hes a doctor and surgeon, and occupies the chair—what? Oh, yes, psychologist and metaphysician and all those weird things, too. Oives me the creeps—” < He broke into a run at this tha. brought him quickly to the building. It was the laboratory, then, that had been on fire! . They had broken into it, they— A hand on his shoulder stayed him just as he was about to pass through the open door. .. , “Pardon—one moment, said tne man. “I am not mistaken, am I? This is Dr. Mortimor?” , . ~ “Yes, yes,” he answered impatiently, “but i cannot see you now. Don’t detain me—later, later—” , lV The grasp was unrelaxed lou art my prisoner, Dr. Mortimor, said e voice—“you- cannot go in there. “But I must go in there! What nonsense!” , , , , He started forward, but was forcibly held back. , “I’m very sorry, said tho officer, but you cannot. You are under arrest, sir. “Arrest! What do you mean? “Just that, sir. You are under arrest for the murder of Mr Felix \ igas—and attempted arson to conceal the crime. 11.

Dr Mortimer stood absolutely still and silent, his eyes wide open and staring for such an interval that the officer, in recounting the dramatic moment later to representatives of the press, ventured the "pinion that he “seen things right then and there..” Suddenly he blurted out : '‘l see. Where are you going to take me.' Please be quick about it.” They went down the steps and were on their way down the nearly deserted street to headquarters so swiftly that Officer Hagen was fairly bewildered. “Oan you tell me something about this?” asked his prisoner shortly, after they had gone some distance. “Well, sir,” answered Hagen, there s very little to it—an’ I ain’t supposed to tell that. A passer by seen smoke comin from the skylight in the front, an he turned in the alarm. ’Twas only a bit of a blaze.” He glanced sharply at his

prisoner as they passed under the glare of a street light. "They say it was some chemicals as sets one another afire had got together, but was found before any wood got to burning.” “Then there was no damage.' asked Mortimor. “No, sir, none to speak of. Of course, they bu’sted in the door and smashed some of yer dishes —but not much, considerin’.” “And Vigas?” , Surprise showed on Hagen s goodnatured face. “Officers ain’t expected to talk to prisoners, sir,” he said “But I must know ! What did they db with him? They couldn’t leave him there. Where did they take him?” “By St. Patrick, ’tis a confession!” murmured Hagen, looking at him again as another arc shed its light upon the doctor's face. "Tell me,” demanded Dr Mortimor —• “you can tell me that. It can’t matter, and I must know. What did they do with him?” “I’m supposed to warn you, Dr Mortimor, that anything ye say now to me is used ag’inst ye at the trial,” said the officer stiffly. “Here we are, sir,” and they turned into the station. The fire’s revelation and the detention of so distinguished a man —for, in spite of his clean-cut, athletic youth, Dr Leonard Mortimor s name was famous in the scientific world —on such a charge was, of course, the sensation of the morning s news. , „ , With his breakfast a thoughtful sergeant served also —not perhaps as innocently a;> might seem, in that he kept the prisoner under surveillance while he read the account —the newspaper which could always be relied upon for a lurid rendering ot such hj. feature. Dr Mortimor read much that was startling about himself, a little that was true, and one thing that gave him an idea. It was toward the end of an exhaustive personal analysis and biography of himself that he came upon it. The writer said : “This eminent and extraordinary man meets the situation in which lie now finds himself in what may be only a characteristic manner, though it seems to indicate a marked degree of mental unbalance. It is well-known to students of criminology that the scene of the crime lures the guilty one back sooner or later, so there is nothing to remark upon in his midnight visit to his laboratory. That was to be expected But the fact that lie expressed no surprise nor indignation when placed under arrest is significant. Taken in connection with Ins manner and appearance since the arrest, it is highly important and of the keenest interest to the criminologist if not to the alienist. During the hours that have elapsed since the key was turned upon him he has remained apparently wrapped in thought, either oblivious to his surroundings or else indifferent to them. And, more remarkable still, he lias made no requests and sent no messages. Almost the first act of what might be termed the normal criminal is to get a message to at least one friend or an attorney. Dr Mortimor had made no attempt to communicate with any one. He treats the situation as if it were not in the least unusual, and sits on side ot his bunk as absorbed as though no were engaged upon some highly interesting problem or experiment in the midst of his crucib'es and retorts, his test tubes and batteries, and all the paraphernalia of his wonderfully appointed laboratory—which, by the way, is one of the finest private institutions of the sort in the world—the scene last night of this remarkable crime." “Curious that hadn’t occurred to me,” he mused. "Devon could have done some, thing even by now perhaps, i’ll send for him immediately.” He sent for Devon, and also for other newspapers, which he read while waiting for an answer to his note. There were the same biographies, with slight variations, of himself and of his friend and co-worker—the victim, Felix Vigas—in all of them. One or two dwelt at some length upon Vigas’ recent return from the unknown, unexplored, ancient fastnesses of India, whither ho had penetrated under inconceivable difficulties and perils, and where he had sojourned for three years, ardently pursuing his investigations and studies in occultism. The results of his labors were to he incorporated in an exhaustive work, upon which he was engaged at the time of his death, etc., etc. The motive for the crime remained as yet hidden, ungueesed at even. The two were lifelong friends. The coroner viewed the body immediately after its discovery by tiie firemen, and gave permission for its removal to the Vigas residence. [Dr Mortimor caught his breath as he read this.] The inquest will be held on Friday morning at ten. The circumstances of the crime seem very simple, though there are one or two unusual features. The fact that the body was clad only in white-duck trousers and canvas shoes", being stripped above the waist, is explained by the statement of the victim’s wife that her husband and Hr Mortimor were in the habit of dressing thus when in the laboratory. The cause of death was an elongated stab wound, carefully delivered between the fifth and sixth ribs in such a manner that the heart was cut transversely, almost fully across. There were no signs of a struggle, and, more remarkable still, no blood. °The blankets in which the body was wrapped as it lay on the big table, the room, the wash-basins, the surgical instruments—with one of which the crime was doubtless committed—the towels thrown carelessly into a hamper, all were found to be quite free from stains. Even the wound itself shows none. Evidently the murderer chose a time when his victim was sleeping, or if not sleeping, lying flat upon his back and totally unsuspicious; and everything was restored to perfect order after the fatal blow was struck. What disposition was to be made of the body can, of course, only be surmised. ILthe mental condition of the accused is as* clouded as the general circumstances fiooiu to indicate, and as his friends wild admirers arc compelled in desperation to hope, then it is useless to expert or to look for logical action or forethought in connection with the erimm The victim’s wife Is prostrated by the terrible tragedv, though she bore the news so calmlv that at first it seemed, to those who Hid her she did not comprehend. The main facts were supplied in response to her request, whereupon she thanked her informants—and fell senseless as they turned to leave the room. “Ruth, Ruth!” Dr Mortimor stretched out his arms as he murmured her name, in the first rush of that had 1 come to him. "My poor Ruth!” 111. Mr Henry Devon’s voice roused him from the reverie into which the thought of her had plunged him. Ho sprang to his feet eagerly. _ . , ~ “Thank you for coming at once, judge, he said. “I ought to have thought 01 sending for you before. There’s not a moment to be lost.” . , „ “This will be soon enough, 1 think, said ex-Judge Devon, “providing you have been wise enough to keep your own counsel, and not discuss the case with any OI1 “0h, no. I haven’t been in the mood for talking—-been too busy thinking. ’ There’s something I want done now—right [ away! Do you know, this is more serious ' than it seems?” -114 The jurist looked at him curiously, but ' Dr Mortimor hurried on. “That’s why I asked you to make haste, I must be out of here within the nexl > thirty-six hours—forty, at the outside—nt > matter what it costs!” > . ’ “Thirty-six hours! Thirty-six hours 5 Why, man, you’re—” Judge Devoi i stopped! short, and looked keenly at hu } client -with lips compressed. “You an

surely aware that such a thing is impossible," he said, speaking more quietly. "Why make such a suggestion ?” Dr Mortimor frowned. “It is not made as a suggestion,” he replied.' “It must bo done. That’s all.”

“You are unacquainted with the law, of course, Dr Mortimor,” said Judge Devon, “and I miwt allow for that, I suppose. Yet, even thus allowing, it seems remarkable that you should seriously contemplate immediate release, under the circumstances. There is no court in the world would admit a prisoner to bail pending the inquest, with such direct evidence—or evidence of such a seemingiy direct nature—before it.”

“And do I understand that you will make no effort to carry out my request';” "My dear Mortimor, it would be hilly. I’d be a laughing-stock—or else disbarred as a lunatic. Mow calm down, put that idea out of your head, answer the questions I am going to ask you and—” Dr Mortimor turned away. “There is no use in our discussing the case further,” he said, “if you will not undertake to accomplish my release within the time stated. Never mind—lei it go-” Judge Devon nodded slowly to himself. “Stark, staring,” lie muttered. Aloud ho answered heartily ~:A sincerely: ‘l’m sorry, Mortimor. Perhaps you’ll change your mind. I’ll come in this afternoon, any way—just in a friendly way, you know. And was there something else—something you wanted done at once?” “Yes,” said the prisoner, “something I want clone immediately—a very important thing. 1 was going to ask you to do it first, anyway. Devon, go and see Mrs Vigas for me, will you?” The round, cheery face of Judge Devon was petrified into a grimace of surprise, but Mortimer took no notice.

“(Jo as a friend, 1 mean,” ho went on, “not as a legal machine. This is terrible for her. She needs a word to cheer hetup and reassure her. Go and speak it I i her, and take a note from me—will you? And bring me word how she is? And of all the—the—arangements?”

“Reassure her? To ho sure—yes, yes,” gasped tiie judge. 1 should be delighted —dc-lighted.” Dr Mortimer wrote a few lines hastily. “Toll her, from me,” he said as ho folded the paper into the envelope, "that everything is all right. Tell her that I ask her net to worry, nor fool distressed at the situation. Will you say just that to her? And go at once? She’ll see you—send word that, vou come from mo. And come back quickly—quickly I” .Much to his surprise, and not a little to his disgust and indignation, ex-Judge Devon found himself proceeding upon this distasteful errand. “Dig business,” he reflected—“messenger from the slayer of the lady’s husband to the lady! Dig business, judge, big business!” IV. The second day strengthened the general impression that Dr Mortimer was hopelessly insane, lie slept almost constantly, refused to talk, and took a prodigious amount of milk, though not much solid food. It lacked, perhaps, a quarter of an hour to midnight when the doorman—the same one who had locked him in two nights before —came to his cell, impelled by curl, osity, no doubt, and looked in. Dr Mortimer was not sleeping—no, not sleeping? llis eyes, are they open? Yes, (hey arc open; grey eyes they are, quite dark grey—and the pupils, are they not largo—and deep—anti black? Dr Mortimer is all right—all right. This door shouldn’t he locked—no. It should be unlocked—unlocked—unlocked. Of course — unlock it. Now it’s unlocked—as it should lie—unlocked. And there'll be no need of coming to this door again to-night. It’s all right—anti there arc many other things needing attention. This is all l ight ! He turned away, the blank look of the sleepwalker in his eyes. The sergeant was sprawled forward < ;i the desk, his head pillowed upon his arms, snoring gently, when Dr Mortimer passed through and out into the street. He moved quickly, but not hurriedly, turning at the corner without hesitation, according to a definite plan, apparently. It was a walk of ten minutes, and then he went in at the gate of an old-fashioned white house, standing well back in its grounds. The door opened alipost as soon as his foot touched the stop, and he was quickly inside, closing it himself, and standing before it in the darkness. “Put the light on, please,” he said in a low tone, “and don’t be frightened.” A switch snapped, and in the dim radiance of the eastern lamp hanging above lier head, slender, dark-eyed Ruth Vigas saw him. She started violently, hut held herself in hand. “You!” she gasped. “Yourself—not a messenger, not another?” “Yes. Forgive me for not telling you it would be 1. I dared not in the note. Do not stop to ask anything of me, 1 implore yon. Hut do, in every way, just as I bid you—will you?” He was intensely earnest. “It is a matter of life and death, as: I wrote. It will take all your wonderful nerve and patience, Ruth, before it is done—but I promise no harm will tome to you.” Neither of them noticed that he had called her by the intimate personal name, though it was the first time it had ever slipped from his lips in speech with her. She stood still and silent, wondering, until lie went on. “Don’t be afraid—that’s all. You’ve never been afraid of me, Ruth?” Him shook her head. “No—and you need never he. And don’t be afraid for any one else. No harm will come to—anybody. Keep that in mind, please. And now—” 11 is tone and manner changed. He spoke briskly: “Where is Felix?” She showed no surprise, though her heart leaped to suffocation. It was true, he was really mad, then, as they said. Well, that was hatter than what she had feared, better than that he should have struck desperately, because—- “ Felix is in there,” she said, indicating the closed door of the drawing-room at her left. Dr Mortimer nodded. “Let me have the key to the garage,” he requested, “and get eggs and two or three quarts of milk and bread, and pack them in the lunch ham per. I will take his revolver.” He opened the drawer of the antique table, and slipped the pistol into his poc ket as he spoke. Then he went sileutlj through the house, and out to tlie motor car in the garage at the rear. “He means to escape,” flashed througl her mind —and Lshe flew to the task of fill ing the hamper, working with nervous exultant haste, and adding this and tha which he had not mentioned. He came presently and took it from her and went silently out. Then, while sh stood relaxed and trembling, listening dreading yet anxious to hear the chug o the motor which would announce his dc parture, he came back. “All right,” ho. announced quietly “everything is ready out there. Nowlet us go to him.” She hesitated for an instant, looking a him doubtfully, fearful of the delay. The she turned quickly and led the way, open ing the door, and standing aside for l.b to enter first. He advanced directly to the bier wht re on all that was mortal of Felix Vigas, a yet uneoflined, rested, and stood for som time studying the passive face. Then hj laid his hand upon his friend’s cheek, an next upon his wrist. She watched i silence. “I cannot do without your help, 1 said suddenly, turning to her—“woul that T could. But -I must hqve it Ruthafter I have told you what I am abov to do.” He came toward her a little, the stopped and spoke slowly: “I am goin ,to the laboratory, and take him—and yo . —with me.” He watched her closely fc

the effect of his words, his gaze both apprehensive and commiserating. A quick, gasping breath escaped her, and instinctively she groped’ for the support of a neighboring chair. Otherwise, silo met this proposal of a disordered, brain quietly. He marvelled, as he had often done, at her self-control. “I know,” he went on, after a moment, “that I seem a madman —maybe I am mad, maybe he was—but I do not believe so. However, I could not convince you, nor anyone, by arguing that I am not, —which is the reason I have taken this revolver. I hope to reach the laboratory without meeting anyone. If w6 are not so fortunate, however, I am prepared for the emergency—for to the laboratory wo must go at any cost cr risk ! You will understand in due season if—” He broke off abruptly. Then : “Will yon get your -wraps and help me with him, please?” he said, turning back to the silent form. “We’ll fold this blanket round him, and if you will keep his feet from the floor, I shall be able to carry him without great difficulty, 1 think.”

She looked at him without stirring, re volving the situation in her mind quick

ly. What should she do? That he was mad, hopelessly mad, she was almost sure. Yet, of personal fear she felt none. It was only pity that surged over her while she wondered what fanciful delusion dominated his reason now. What was his idea? And how could she distract him from it? How could she deal with it?

Almost as if he read her thoughts, he answered her. “I am going to carry this thing through, Ruth,” he said, looking steadily at her, “and there is no time to lose. If you give an alarm, I warn you fairly that I shall shoot—not you, no, no, no! Never that—but whoever responds to it. And I’ll never be taken alive.”

Without a word she went and brought the wraps from the hall and stood tying her veil with trembling fingers, while he folded an Indian blanket round the body. Then, together, they picked it up and went carefully and slowly out of the room to the motor-car.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the laboratory building stood in the midst - f a spacious plot, and, therefore, at considerable distance from all other buildings. The grounds were well planted with both trees ana shrubs, and a drive-way, which though seldom used, led to a side rear entrance, and simplified the problem of getting inside unnoticed with such a burden as they carried. Without incident they covered the comparatively short distance from the Vigas home, and without incident the two bore the body into the building and into the room whence it had been carried some twenty hours before, and laid it upon the table where it had been found. “Thank Heaven!” breathed Mortimer, “thank Heaven!” “Why do you sav that ?” It was almost her first utterance since the one surprise at seeing him when she had turned on the light at his entrance. Her voice sounded strange and hollow in the stillness of the lofty room. Dr Mortimer turned from the table and looked at her. She was ghastly pale, and her eyes were burning with the light of her indomitable will, which alone was sustaining her. He came directly to her and took her trembling hand in his. “I thank Heaven that we are here,” he said, ‘•and that the night is speeding. Bear with me, with all this horror, just a little longer, Ruth. It sickens me when 1 think what I am submitting you to—but there is no other way. Pray that it may not be in vain—pray, pray, pray!” She looked at him for a moment bewildered, confused, frightened; then suddenly burst into uncontrollable weeping. He stifled a groan. "Ruth,” he said, “my poor Ruth,” and caught her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. “Don’t do ' (his—not now,” he pleaded. “It’s frightful, 1 know—but try to be strong and calm just a little longer, won’t you? For your own sake, for his and for mine! Ruth,” he raised his voice and spoke sternly, “be quiet.’’ She did not heed him. After a moment he nut a hand confusedly to his brow and eyes, then “Stop!” lie cried, with a note of such agony in his tone that it penetrated and warned her of something, she knew not what. She looked at him, startled out of her weeping. “Listen,” he burst forth, “there’s desperate need for all my strength to-night. That must be the first consideration, both yours and mine. I ask you to he steady that I may be steady. Be brave and still as you’ve learned so well to be. I shall fail if you do not, and I must not fail! And so —you must not fail! I cannot tell you more now —all that it means and ill that—but you shall know soon. Meantime,” he led her to a door and, opening it, pushed her gently through, “there is also work for you to do here. Lay aside vour wraps and I will show you,” and he left her. Bewildered, but, curiously enough, no longer sick, with repugnance and apprehension at the whole abnormal affair, she obeyed him. When he returned with the hamper she was waiting, quite composed. “Here are electric heaters, you see,” he said, as he lifted the basket to a marble shelf running along one side of the room, “several of them. I want saline solution—you might take four quarts of it—and here is everything,’’ ho threw open the doors of a cupboard, “that you will need. The proportions and the temperature are fill on that list. When you have this ready, warm two quarts of the milk to blood heat —and then keen them both at the right temperature until I ask for them. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” He looked at his watch, “It is after two,” his tone was lower and gravely reflective, “ten minutes. Twilight will come soon—and the sunrise is not so far behind, on a summer morning. So, you to your task —and I, to mine.” lie paused an instant outside the door after closing it, and drew his breath slowly and deeply a number of times. Then ho went quickly to a locker and clad himself in his customary white laboratory garments. A hasty inspection showed him that the fire and the firemen had done no serious hurt, though the usually spotless and orderly room was sadly disarranged, with broken glass on floor and shelves, and sloppy footprints everywhere. The electric machines were unharmed, however, and the cases and cabinets were intact, though their contents had been handled in the search made by the police. He found the various articles which he needed without trouble and collected them all upon a little wheeled table with porcelain top, where they gleamed under the lights. He was busy with preparations for perhaps an hour —and then, for half that time, possibly, he worked eagerly, with deft, quick fingers, over the still figure upon the table. As he dropped the last instrument the twilight had gained enough overhead to reflect its pallor dimly down into the room. He moved still more swiftly when he saw it. Physically, he was worn and exhausted, but ho succeeded, nevertheless, in transferrino - the body from where it lay to t.ie glass platform, raised some eighteen inches above the floor, beneath and between the electrical machinery. Aitei this he rested a while. Then he went to the door beyond which Ruth Vigas had spent the weary passing night. She was standing at the window looking out at the faintly flushing sky, but turned •quickly as he came in. “You want something?’ she asked. “Not just yet,” he answered, “only to know that you are all right. There is wine in the locker, there —take a glass,

please. Then watch again in the east, when the sun has reached this point with bis rays,” he indicated on the wall, "open the door/ and tell me.” She saw his weariness and look of exhaustion, and hurriedly poured two glasses of wine. He shook his head as she offered it, smiling faintly. “No wine,” he said, “but I will take a glass of the milk if you will let me have it.’

She gave him • this and watched while he drank it, sip by sip. Her heart thumped violently against her side, and twice she drew her breath to speak, but her courage failed. At length, she conquered the timidity which held her back. “I do not know,” she said, “what it all means—but I know that you are suffering, too. I thought at first, with the others, that you had killed him—that's why I fainted when they told me, I fancy—but now—oh, I don’t know what Ido want to say! But, only, I’m so sorry T ever had sucli a thought about you! It’s the only one I’ve ever had of you that was not wholly good. You, who have been my true, good friend as well as his; you who have—understood.” Her voice sank until the last word was almost a whisper; and following it there was a long pause. At last he answered. “Yes,” he said, “I have understood. You know what the feeling in my heart for you is, that has made me understand, do you not?” She flushed slightly. “I am glad that you do, I could never tell you, of course. Sometimes I have feared that you knew, sometimes 1 have dreaded lest you should, but now that I know you do, I am glad! For your knowing will never make any difference, of course—so you do not mind?” He looked anxiously and questioningly into her face. She shook her head. "No,” she said with grave directness; “indeed, I am grateful for the knowledge.” The brave, sad smile that always wrung his heart broke over her face. She extended her hand for the empty glass, and with that simple, matter-of-fact movement let fall again before her soul the veil that had been momentarily lifted. He turned away. “Are you very tired?” he asked. "Not very. I am strong and well, you know, so do not be troubled on that score.” "J)o not reproach yourself for anything you may have thought,” he said, as he moved toward the door. “do not condemn, or judge. Just wait—and watch the sunrise.” She was left alone again to her vigil. She watched the sky until the sun appeared. Then she watched the point on the wall where its ray was to strike. Lower and lower it sank as the crimson globe rose higher until at last it reached the spot he had indicated. She moved to the door and softly opened it. The whir of a static machine fell on her ears. "It is the time you said,” she called. There was no sound for a moment, then a movement and Dr Mortimer appeared in the doorway. His face was transfigured by the triumph shining there. "It is done 1” he cried exultantly; ‘it is true! He lives —and has already spoken! Come —come in and see!” Ske did not swoon, though time and nlace and space were annihilated to her. She felt him catch her hand, and knew that she was being drawn toward the whirring sound and within the radiance of a great light, a light more brilliant than the sun, which warmed and thrilled her.

Directly beneath her, on the glass platform, she saw her husband. His eyes were closed, but his breath came and went easily, though a little hurriedly. He was clad again just as he had been when the lire led to his discovery, and she could see the blood pulsing through the great vein at the side of his bare throat. The wound just above his heart was covered by adhesive strips, and the throb of this wonderful engine was so vigorous that the walls of the thorax vibrated by every stroke.

Spellbound, she gazed until he opened his eyes and saw her.

She fell on her knees beside him. “Felix,” she murmured; “Felix, Felix!” “Hush!” he said, quite naturally, frowning a little. “It’s all right. Of course you don’t know, but—Mortimer, tell her to be quiet. And, Mortimer, I’m hungry.” ' “The milk,” said Dr Mortimer to her.

Roused to action, she went quickly and brought a glass and held it for him. “I’m still famished,” he said, smiling quizzically as he finished it. At a signal from Mortimer she brought another.

“Ah!” he said, sighing comfortably, "that is good. And now that lam fed, come here bbth of you and sit beside me. 1 must talk. I have much to say.” “But it can wait,” said Dr Mortimer. “You are not going to talk now?” Vigas nodded. ‘‘Why not ” ke demanded, with all his usual spirit. “I’m oerfectly tit and ready for anything, il if weren’t for staying under this light a while and hastening the tissue repair in the heart. And I’ve had a long nap, you know, so I’m not sleepv,” and he laughed. “But ”

“Now, now, Mortimor! Up to your old tricks, eh? No, sir; 1 must talk now. I’ve much on my mind, unci it will bo better for mo.” His tone was mock ins. Then seriously : “Come, sit by me, both of you. The light will rest your weariness, worn as you are.’’ Dr Mortimor silently pulled a chair within the circle of its rays, motioning Mrs Vipas into it. “The strain has been heavy, Vigas,” he remonstrated, “and the circumstances very critical. It would be well not to try your wife too far—to say nothing of yourself. I’ll tell you fully about it later.” Vigas laughed again. “There is no need,” he'said, “I know. But this is good to hear, this that I have to say.” “And I am all right,” she urged ; “calm and ready to listen, please?” Mortimor said no more, but seated himself on a stool close at hand. Vigaslooked long and keenly at them both, the smile fading and returning while he did so.

VI. “My friends,” he said at last slowly, "I have learned some things that I cannot tell you, and some which I can.” He paused reflectively. “Some that I can. This experiment of ours in astral projection has been successful in a far greater measure than either of us dreamed or could have anticipated, Leonard. All your doubts are proved groundless.” “My misgivings,” corrected Mr Mortimer. “I hardly think I entertained any actual doubts, old man.” _ “Well, perhaps you didn’t. But the misgivings were strong enough to stand in our way a good while, which made them as bad as doubts,” insisted Vigas. “However, the fact that reinhabitation was established without the slightest difficulty to me, in spite of so-called ‘mortal lesions,’ is almost the least of the wonders of it. And now I can and shall go on—and on —and on. There seems to be no limit. I have found the way, and I dare not turn back if I would. And I would not if I dared.” He paused, and drew a deep breath. “What do you mean?” asked Mortimer in a low voice. Vigas resumed, as if the question had not been “We have long been agreed, you and I, Leonard, that the ultimate destiny of man is to'know all truth : which mean's that he will some time know those laws which are as yet only suspected—know them, and perfectly live by them. The supernatural will be the natural to the perfected race, just as the little glimpses which we have of it are already natural, to you and me and some others of us. How many eons away that may be I have no idea. It doesn’t matter. I know that in the fulness of time it will %© so.”

Dr Mortimer nodded slowly. Ruth Vi gas watched her husband, wideeyed, fascinated—shivered involuntarily. There was a long silence. “Now, this great realm of truth,” Yigas resumed finally, “is an unexplored, uncharted region. Although there are some paths which skirt it, and others which now and then go a little way, none go far. And there are risks for all who ventaa'« to explore, perils unknown, and therefore more to be dreaded than the worst that we know.”

“Yes, yes,” broke in Mortimer ; “hazards more dreadful than have ever threatened mortal. ’Tis that way madness lies—and worse.”

“That’s only for some,” said Yigas; “and, at any rate, it must be explored, it must be charted, trails must be blazed whereon those who come after may journey safely and without hindrance. And there are those who must do this work, those who are urged and goaded to it by that within which never rests nor allows them to.”

He stopped suddenly, absorbed in some transcendent thought, then, half to himself, went on exultantly : “1 am one of those. Long since I was called, and now 1 have been chosen. Whither it shall lead me I know nor care not. But I know that I must go, and that 1 must go alone. Even if this were not so 1 would choose to go alone.” He turned to Mortimer, hesitating an instant. “Alone,” he repeated. “You will understand that it is of her I am thinking.” He mAde a movement of his hand toward his wife.

“Y«s,” said Mortimer, and shut his teeth upon his lips, breathing hard. “I have remembered her as little as 1 was able,” Yigas went on; “and she has studied to avoid reminding me. Nevertheless, the fact of her existence as my wife, and that she bears my name, even though she in no way shares my life, is not good. 1 must "be free—completely free, you understand, and that is what 1 want to have settled here and now.” Mortimer flushed slowly, and the veins in his temples raised like cords beneath the skin. He turned pitying eyes upon the silent, slender woman. She was sitting very still, and she had listened, with no evidence of surprise or emotion, to all that her husband said', watching him quietly until the last sentence fell from his lips. Then she turned to Dr Mortimer.

“Surely,” she said, “it is -well to have it settled at once, if he wishes it so much.” Mortimer was dumb.

"Yes,” said Vigas; “indeed, it must be so. And you can help,” with a keen look toward Mortimer. “I!”

"Yes, you, Leonard.’’ He studied him in silence for a moment. “You love her as women like to be loved. As 1 never have loved her. I want you to take her. Will you?” With an inarticulate cry, Ruth Vigas buried her face in her hands. Mortimer stirred slightly. "You are calling this brutal,” Vigas went on; "but that's because you do not understand. 1 do, and I know that it is not brutal. You are a man and a woman who love each other —” “Vigas!”- cried Mortimer, starting up. "By Heaven —” "There, there,” he stopped him coolly, “don’t do that. It’s the truth. You do love each other. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You belong to eaeh other. 1 am an abstract being, who has passed out of the realm of human relationship—or, rather, who never dwelt within it. She never belonged to me —she could not; nor I to her. There is no claim upon her in the world but yours.” “You may have passed beyond the realm of human relationship” —Mortimer’s voice was strained and tense —"but I insist that you show respect to her and to human institutions while she is here with us.”

"With all my heart,” assented Vigas fervently; and then, with the little smile flickering around his mouth again: "But your fancy that it is necessary to insist on this shows more and more how little you understand me —and the situation.” Mortimor made an impatient movement. "1 understand something of what she must suffer,” he said shortly. "It is for her that 1 am concerned.”

"And so am 1,” responded yigas--"for her, for you, and for yourself. That is why 1 urge the truth upon you both. Surely you will agree that there is no claim upon her if 1 make none, will you not ?”

There was no response. "Well and good. Now, I affirm that there is not a portion of abstract matter in the world that is farther from human relationship, of an individual and personal nature, than I am. I live to serve the race, to press on. Because 1 do this, and must therefore be free —free actually as well as in spirit—l suggest this rational and perfectly suitable way out of the one and only difficulty which hampers and worries me.” . “You can be as free as you wish tor your work —easily, easily. But spare hei the—the—rest,” urged Mortimer. Vi<>as turned away almost irritably, “i should say ‘rubbish’ if you weren’t so serious in your misconceptions,” he said at length. He paused, for his wife lifted her head and studied him with her wide, dark eyes. „ "Are you less —or more —than human, she breathed at last. He answered the spoken thought seriously. "Neither less nor more—simply a different type, one created for a diflerent purpose than most of his follows.” "Why,” she cried, with a sudden choking, passionate vehemence— ‘why did you ever make me your wife? Why did you fetter me hand and foot —for this.' “You are not fettered hand and foot except by chains of your own forging,” he answered. “My own forging?” "Precisely. My claims are nil, and i have fully declared them to be so. What, then, are your fetters?” She did not answer, but covered her face with her hands. , , . For a long time the rhythmic whirring of the machine was the only sound in the room. It was Vigar .who finally broke the silence, and, though he spoke gravely, there was a certain carelessness in his tone that told more plainly than words of his absolute impersonality. “It is a happy coincidence, he _ said, “that the adjustment of outward circumstances which is best and most favorable to the ultimate good of the greatest number, because it is best and most favorable to me, means joy and happiness to all ot us, instead of sorrow and renunciation, as so often happens, to one or two. I am glad that it is so, glad and grateful, but I should do exactly the same it it weie not. Opine, Leonard, do you agree? Will you take her?” J)r Mortimer sat very still, the strong angle of bis rigid jaws sharply denned under the light, bis gaze steadfastly fixed upon the floor save for the two or three times that he glanced at Ruth. She did not lift her head, nor could he see that she moved, ye she seemed to have shrunk farther into the depths of the big chair. And suddenly the love in Ins heart, revealed to him all the awful shame and anguish her womanhood was suffering “Vigas,” he cried, springing to his ieet, “this is monstrous! Are you a man, to torture a woman so? The days of chattels are over. Ruth”—his voice softened into a* caress at the name—“won t you go home? I will take you. I can leave him now without risk.” , She moved uncertainly and lowered hei hands, but did not raise her eyes n Mortimer bent over her. ‘Ruth, he said, “dear, dear Ruth! My love has never availed to serve yon 111 any way, and it cannot shield you now. Butmust it always be so?” Slowly she rose and lifted her head until their eyes met. Then, though the color flamed up to her temples, she searched the translucent depths before her long and

earnestly, for minutes that seemed ages to the man. At last, shyly, she put out her hand and laid it in his, which was waiting, warm and strong, to clasp it. She turned to her husband.

“It has been a bitter mistake, Felix,” she, said—“more your mistake than mine, but more bitter for me than for you. As soon as I saw how it was, I studied to avoid reminding you of my existence. I shall not fail now, you may be certain, to do all that I may toward rectifying the error —without your bribe of happiness. Happiness is an incident of life, not the object. If it comes to me some time, I shall give it welcome and be glad. If it does not, so be it.” She turned back again to Dr Mortimer, with her brave smile trembling about her lips. “Am I not right?” she asked. For answer be caught her other hand and held both between his own silently until she made a movement to free them.

“Look,” she said, pointing above, “the sun is well on his way. There is much to do and explain. But first we must have food. That is here, and shall be ready soon. Then we must have friends to help us—and the telephone will bring them. These are the things of now—of to-day. Let us leave the things of to-morrow” — she moved away from then! and toward the door of the smaller room—“until then, until to-morrow.” Both men followed her gliding figure with their gaze —one calm, smiling, inscrutable ; the other with love in his eyes. "She glanced back at the threshold and met the look of the one, and then of the other. Suddenly a lovely color flooded her pallor and she lowered her eyes quickly, with almost girlish confusion. Mortimer was besides her instantly. “Look up at me, dear,” he commanded. She hesitated. “Please,” he urged gently, “I want to tell you something.” Shyly she obeyed at last, trembling at the pride and joy in his voice. “Do you know that you are my Ruth,” he said slowly, lingering over the words—“that you have been mine always? My true mate from all time—verily mine at last !”

Motionless they stood looking into each other’s eyes as the thought warmed and quickened their souls. And Yigas, watching them, forgotten, smiled indulgently, a strange look of earth-free exaltation in his shining eyes.