navarro evidently belonged to the highest and most ingenious order of charlatanry. he had no assistant, no machinery, no accomplice. it was almost impossible to suspect any of the audience. there were only lady helen, miss ottley, mrs. greaves (wife of a parliamentary undersecretary), the countess von oeltzen (the austrian ambassador's wife), weldon, hubbard, the count von oeltzen and myself present. and the medium scouted the idea of turning down the lights. he left such devices to impostors, he remarked. he was a tall, thin fellow, with big, black eyes and a thick-lipped mouth. he had the most beautiful hands and feet. his fingers were covered with valuable diamond rings. he had a big bulbous nose and he wore a tire-boucheau moustache and beard consisting of about sixteen coarse stiff black hairs; four on each side of his upper lip and eight on his chin. he plucked at the latter continually in order to display his hands and his rings. it would have been a difficult matter to find his match in vulgarity, in ugliness, and impudence. but he was certainly impressive.[pg 156] he talked of himself in a booming baritone, like a barnum praising an elephant. he adored himself and expected to be adored. he spoke with a strong irish-spanish accent. probably he was an irishman who had lived in spain. but he posed as a full-blooded castilian who had learned english from a cork philomath.

after he had exhausted his vocabulary in describing some of his clairvoyant achievements he needlessly directed us to be silent. he had permitted none of us a chance to speak thitherto. we were to wait, he said, till he began to breathe in a peculiar heavy manner, and then who so wished to experiment, must take his hands and hold them firmly for a little while, thinking of the matter next the experimenter's heart; and then we should see what we should see. with a smile of lordly self-confidence he reposed his limbs upon a couch and sank back on the cushions. i glanced around the throng and saw they were all staring at navarro—miss ottley with parted lips and rapt intentness. her expression irritated me. soon afterwards i met hubbard's eyes. he gave me a scowl. i looked at weldon. he turned and frowned at me. i directed my attention to lady helen. she grew restless and, presently moving in her chair, glanced rapidly about. she started when our eyes encountered and impulsively placed a finger on her lips. i hadn't thought of speaking. i was disgusted. mrs. greaves, the countess and the [pg 157]ambassador all in turn gave me scowling glances. it was as if everybody recognised and resented my secret scepticism. it appeared i was the only sane person in the room. oh! no, there was navarro. he was sane enough undoubtedly; the rogue. he was making his living. it was his business to make fools of people. i returned to contemplating him with a sense of positive relief. at least i could hope to be amused. he had closed his eyes and was therefore uglier than ever. his whole body was tense with silent effort. i wondered if some of his audience were unconsciously imitating him. they all were, except myself. i felt inclined to get up and shake them for a pack of self-delivered dupes, lambs self-abandoned to the sacrificial rites of this high priest of thomas-rot. soon, friend navarro began to breathe stertorously. so did his audience, for a minute or two. then they turned and looked at one another and at me; and i rejoice to say my calm smile disconcerted them. but i refrained from glancing at miss ottley. i could not bear to see her look foolish. perhaps she did not. they pointed at one another. they feared, it seemed, to speak. who would be the first? and who would dare the oracle? the count von oeltzen arose. brave, noble man! he approached the couch and took navarro's hand in his own. the medium was now in a trance. his body was quite limp. a breathless silence fell upon the gathering. it lasted about four minutes. then[pg 158] navarro began to speak, not in his ordinary booming baritone, but in a high falsetto—his spirit organ, no doubt. the language employed was german.

"i see," said he, "a short fat man in the uniform of an austrian courier. he is seated in a railway train. he is smoking a cheroot. he has on his knees a small, flat iron box. it is a despatch box. it contains letters and despatches. he is coming to england——"

"ah!" sighed the count.

"ah! ah!" sighed the countess.

"he is on his way to you," went on navarro. "the despatches are for you. one of them is in a cipher. it relates to your recall. it——"

but the count on that instant dropped navarro's hands as if they had burnt him and abruptly rose up, the picture of agitation. he turned and looked at the countess. she stood up, most agitated, too. "my friends," he began. but the countess said "hush!" he bowed to her, bowed to lady helen and offered his wife a shaking arm. they forthwith left the room. it was most dramatic. for a little while everybody sat under a sort of spell. i was glad, because i felt disinclined to break up the party by expressing my views on navarro's revelation, and if any one had said a word i should have been compelled to speak, i was so angry that sensible people could allow themselves to be imposed upon so easily. moreover, i wished[pg 159] to learn what miss ottley's object was. when, therefore, mrs. greaves quietly arose and moved to the couch, i said a little prayer of thankfulness.

presently the high falsetto squeaked forth in irish-spanish-english. "i see—a large building, square, very tall. it is made of steel and stone. it is in america—in new york. it is a hotel. i see in it a room. there are tables and chairs. then one—two—three—four—five—six are there. they play cards. the game is poker. one loses. he is young. he is english. he has a little cast in his left eye. his name is julian greaves. the floor is littered with cards. julian greaves is annoyed because he loses. he——"

the voice ceased.

mrs. greaves was returning to us. she was smiling. she said to lady helen in her calm, slow way, "i believe, my dear, that my naughty son is at present occupied exactly as you have heard described. signor navarro has a great gift. good-night, my dear—no, i cannot stay—i promised the bexleys. do not trouble——"

she had gone.

dixon hubbard walked over to the couch. i glanced at lady helen. she was biting her lower lip—and holding her breath. i stole across the room on tip-toe and sat down beside her.

"i see," said navarro, after the proper interval, "a woman. she is young and very beautiful. (oh! artful navarro.) her mind is deeply troubled.[pg 160] the person she cares most for despises her. on that account she is wretchedly unhappy, although she permits no one to suspect it. she is not far away. she——"

but hubbard had dropped the medium's hand like hot potatoes.

"it is your turn, captain weldon," he said, with a poor attempt at jocularity. "step forward and have the secret of your life laid bare."

he gave his wife a scorching glance and sauntered out of the room.

"how much did you pay navarro for that last?" i whispered in lady helen's ear.

she gave me a radiant smile. "nothing to call me beautiful," she whispered back.

weldon had taken the medium's hands. immediately he did so, navarro heaved a portentous sigh. i watched his face very narrowly, and somewhat to my surprise i observed it to turn to a horrid, fishy, whitish-yellow colour. presently his eyelids slightly opened, disclosing the whites. the eyes were fixed upwards rigidly. he looked simply monstrous. for the first time i doubted his mala fides. there were many signs of cataleptic trance about him. i stole over to the foot of the couch and inserted a pin into the calf of his leg. not a muscle twitched. evidently he had hypnotised himself. i tried the other leg, with an equal result. i became furious. it seemed just possible that the fellow had some esoteric faculty after all.[pg 161] science, of course, scouts the phenomena of clairvoyancy, but in my younger days i had witnessed so many experiments with hypnotised subjects in paris that i had ever since kept an open mind on the question. this time we waited for quite a while for the medium to begin his manifestations. perhaps ten minutes passed and he was still silent. but by that time i felt convinced of his unconsciousness. "ask him some question, weldon," i said quietly. "he is not shamming, i believe. in my opinion he is in hypnotic sleep and cannot act as his own barnum."

weldon laughed, but before he could adopt my hint miss ottley glided to the couch and standing at the head of it put her fingers lightly on the medium's eyes.

"i know what to do," she said, looking at me. "i have seen him in this state before. he is not a charlatan, dr. pinsent, at least when he is like this. presently you will see. he will astonish you, i think."

"i wish you'd ask him where the lost key of my saratoga is, may," whispered weldon.

navarro answered the question instantly, and in his natural reverberating baritone.

"it is lying on the top of the canopy of your bed in your bedroom in jermyn street."

"by gad!" cried weldon. "that's where it is as sure as i stand here. i tossed it up there a month ago and more—and forgot all about it."

"hush!" said miss ottley. "think of dr. belleville, frankfort, please."

weldon frowned. "you might have chosen a pleasanter topic," he muttered.

"hush!" said the girl again.

a moment later she bent over the medium. "speak!" she commanded. "tell us what you see!"

navarro sighed. "i see a large room," he began. "it is half library, half laboratory. one part of it is filled with racks of books and parchments. at the other end is a dispensary made up of shelves containing jars of different oils and phials filled with drugs. in the middle of the room is a table spread with maps and papyri. the papyri are inscribed with hieroglyphics. beside the table, standing on two steel trestles, is a large sarcophagus of lead and iron lined with silver. the lid is propped against the wall near by. it is ornamented with the leaden cast of a man. an inscription states that this man is ptahmes, a high priest of amen-ra. his body was once enclosed within the sarcophagus. it is now, however, reclining on a couch at a little distance from the table——"

"describe it!" said miss ottley.

"it is apparently the body of a man of latter middle age. it is of great proportions. it is almost seven feet in length. but the body is very lank and shrunken and ill nourished. the head is[pg 163] of extraordinary shape and dimensions. it is very large and long, and broad. it is surmounted by a crown of jet-black hair that has recently been cut. it tapers like a cone above the temples and again like an inverted cone from the cheek bones to the chin. the nose is long and hooked like the beak of an eagle. the eyes are closed; i cannot see them. but they are almond shaped and set far apart in the skull. the mouth is shrivelled and almost shapeless. the chin is long and pointed. the skin is dark brown, almost black. it looks unhealthy. the body is clothed in ordinary european garments. one arm is fastened in a sling. the chest is, underneath the clothes, swathed in bandages. on the feet are fastened rubber shoes, on the soles of which are particles of fresh-dried mud. that is all."

"proceed!" said miss ottley. "there are living people in the room, are there not?"

"two," replied the medium after a short pause. "one is seated before the table poring over a torn piece of papyrus. beside him on the table is a dictionary of hieroglyphics to which he constantly refers. he is a big, thick-set man with black eyes, strongly marked features, and a black bushy beard. in his hand is a pen. he writes with this pen upon the paper before him. he is engaged in translating the papyrus. ha! he stops. he is looking up at his companion. he is speaking."

"what does he say?"

"he says, 'i cannot altogether reconcile our subject's statements with the records, ottley. either in his long sleep his memory has somewhat failed him, or in his sleep he has learnt more than he knew before. it is most annoying; we shall have to question him again.' the other—a little old man, with white hair and very bright small grey eyes—replies, 'you are too damned pernicketty, doctor. haven't we the formula, and hasn't it nobly stood the test of practical experience? what more do you want? your infernal curiosity would ruin everything if i let you have your way. once for all i tell you that ptahmes belongs to me, not to you. damn your science! you've had enough out of him. i'll not allow him to be used again except for my purposes. he has disappointed me with the elixir. well, he'll have to atone by making me the richest man in the universe. i'll not be satisfied till every shilling in the world belongs to me—every shilling—every shilling.' the little man is now laughing like a lunatic. the big man watches him with a frown, bending his big black brows together. 'but you fool!' he says very angrily, 'do you forget that these things here—' he points to the body of ptahmes—'will soon wear out? every time that you drive it to work the friction sheds into dust a portion of its matter. is it not better to use its brain than its body? remember that we cannot repair his tissues. unless we make absolutely certain of the composition of[pg 165] the invisible oil while we have the chance, we may be left stranded in the end. his body is of secondary importance after all. it serves you now, but you can just as well serve yourself by using the oil and doing your own dirty business. but the thing is to make sure of learning how to replenish the oil when our stock gives out. that is the all-important matter. and that is why his brain is of paramount interest to me, and should be to you.'

"the little man says,—'i won't have it, i tell you, we know enough!' the big man replies,—'be sensible, ottley! remember he lost five pounds in weight yesterday! he is melting away before our eyes. come! i'll make you a proposal. let me do what i like with ptahmes and i'll take his place for your money-making purposes. i'll be the ghost of the stock exchange and find out all you want to know. now, what can be fairer than that?'

"the little man is biting his lip. he seems to be thinking," (there was a pause in the narration). presently navarro went on. "the little man speaks again; he says:—'that is all very well, doctor, but you know as well as i do—that you intend to use ptahmes to destroy your rival. you haven't the courage to do it yourself.' the big man answers very quickly, 'and are you brave enough to tackle pinsent? yet his existence threatens all our plans. i firmly believe he has a notion of our[pg 166] ideas already. he is no fool and an adept at putting two and two together. do you suppose he hasn't guessed at the reason of the success of your enormous transactions on 'change?' the little man grinds his teeth. 'curse him!' he shouts. 'curse him to hell!' the big man smiles. 'with all my heart,' he says, 'may he rot there for ever and ever! but all this proves to us how careful we should be of the waning strength of our magician. remember the last time he tried odds with pinsent on the nile he got all the worst of the encounter. three broken ribs! it's true we are more advanced in knowledge since then, and now we can make him quite invisible. but all the same we cannot afford to trifle with the strength of our subject, considering the two great tasks before him.'—ah!——"

the last expression was a groan. the medium moved restlessly, then groaned again.

"proceed! i command you!" said miss ottley in a trembling voice.

but navarro for a third time groaned, and he began to struggle on the couch.

"oh, god! he is waking up!" cried the girl. "hold his hands tightly, frankfort. he must tell us more! he must, he must!"

but navarro with a sudden spasmodic writhe and twist, broke away and sat erect. he was shaking like a man in an ague, and he began to pant and groan like a wounded animal.

miss ottley gasped "too late!" and wrung her hands.

i handed the medium a glass of water, but he was trembling too violently to take it of himself. he spilt half the contents on his knee. i forced the rest into his mouth. it revived him. a little later he stood up. he was bathed in perspiration, and looked sick. but he rejected all offers of assistance. he seemed to be very angry. he declared that we had treated him most cruelly, and that we might have killed him. he would not be appeased, and he went off in the care of a footman filled with petulant resentment and mouthing stupid threats. it may have been a pose, part of his "business" intended for effect to impress his clients;—probably it was. but i am not sure. he certainly seemed to be in a highly over-wrought, nervous condition; he could not easily have affected that.

after he had gone we all sat back in our chairs and stared at one another. nobody was in the least haste to speak; we had so much to think about; and it was plain that "fancy"—"well, i never!" and ejaculations of that ilk did not even begin to meet the conversational demands of the occasion. lady helen was the first to speak.

she said, "well, i am trying hard to be an ideal hostess and not ask any questions that might seem impertinent. but will someone tell me, is it sir robert ottley and dr. belleville who are [pg 168]making preparations for dr. pinsent's funeral. i wish to know real badly, because i want him to do quite a lot of things for me before he crosses over the divide, and if necessary i shall go to sir robert and ask him for my sake to give dr. pinsent a little time to say his prayers."

it was just the flippant tone needed to bring us back to earth again. everybody laughed. everybody was so relieved that the laugh was unconventionally loud, and it had a tendency to overdo itself.

then we trotted out the "well-i-nevers!"

"did you ever hear such a lot of rubbish talk?" demanded lady helen.

"it quite took my breath away," said miss ottley with a gallant effort to attain the correct, approved, sociably foolish affectation of brainlessness.

"the fellow deserves three months without the option for his villainous slanders," said the captain heartily. he was honest, anyhow. "lord knows i can't stand belleville at any price," he continued. "but navarro went a bit too far, by gad! i never heard anything more malicious in my life than his vile insinuations."

"a discharged servant," i observed. "malice was to be expected from one of navarro's type."

"and a foreigner to boot," said the captain, in the manner of one absolutely clinching an argument. "ah, well!" he suppressed a yawn, "he entertained us—and that's something. seen the [pg 169]'japanese marriage' yet, lady helen? miss ottley and i did an act or two last night. it's ripping. so—ah! so jolly unusual, don't you know. you get left every time you think something is going to happen; and when you least expect it one of the funny little beggars ups and wants to make his friend a present of his liver on a plate, or cut off his rival's head, or something."

"miss ottley's carriage," announced a footman.

"i asked for it," said the girl to lady helen. "my father has been very poorly all day."

weldon went away with her. she did not even spare me a glance.

lady helen consoled me with the best cigar i have ever received at the hands of a woman.

she lit a cigarette for herself and curled up on a pile of cushions.

"that man navarro is a rapacious rascal," she observed presently. "he wouldn't take a penny less than a hundred to say what he did say to dixon. but i did not tell him to call me beautiful," she added.

"i am glad to be certain that the fellow is a rascal," i muttered half underbreath. but she heard me.

"surely you knew. his ravings did not take you in," she cried scornfully. "everyone knows he simply loathes sir robert ottley. he used to be the little old millionaire's tin god. sir robert hardly dared to breathe without consulting his[pg 170] oracle. and they say the man bled him of thousands. no wonder he went mad to find that sir robert had escaped his influence. ever since then he has been saying the most awful things. lots of people believe them, i know, but i never thought you would."

"i don't." i smiled. i could smile now, for i felt wonderfully relieved. "but tell me, lady helen, just why you employed him to say that to your husband?"

she puffed out a cloud of smoke. "dixon is superstitious at heart," she replied. "he will not want to, but he will end by believing what navarro told him."

"what! that you care for him despising you?"

"silly!" she cried. "no—not that i care for him—but for another man despising me—the man for whom i care. have you forgotten navarro's words?"

"but why on earth deceive your husband?"

"to make him jealous."

"of a chimera?"

"no, my friend," said lady helen, smiling very strangely. "of you! remember, you have promised to revile me to him. that alone would fix a suspicious mind like his on you. but to make assurance doubly sure, i told him this afternoon that it hurt me very much to find that he had given you a poor opinion of me."

i sprang to my feet, aghast. "but look here—my girl," i cried. "this is a dangerous game you are playing."

"are you afraid—are you then a coward?" she flashed.

"hubbard is my oldest friend. you will make him hate me!" i protested.

"and you will refuse to risk that for his happiness and mine?" she asked. "remember, he is my husband, and soured, twisted creature that he is, i love him!"

"ah!" said i.

"i could have made you serve me in ignorance," she cried, "but i am incapable of playing you or any other—save him—a trick like that. however, say the word and the play ends—this instant. i have no claim upon you. i'll save you the trouble of telling me that. i am only a woman fellow-creature, and knight-errants are out of fashion now-a-days. well—what is it to be?"

her words stung like nettles. such a little spitfire i had never seen before. but that was the proper way to treat me, and i believe she knew it. she was as sharp as any needle, that young woman.

"i am not in the habit of breaking my word once given," i growled out. "good-night!" then i stalked off most indignant. but she caught me at the door, flung her arms round my neck and kissed me on both cheeks.

"you are a darling," she whispered. "and—well—dixon will have to hurry and reform—or else—but there—go!"

that is the way clever women bind foolish men to the furtherance of their caprices. a cuff, a kiss, a piece of subtle, thrilling flattery, and the trick is done. i was heart and soul in love with another woman, and yet from that moment lady helen hubbard possessed the right to walk over me, if she wished to do it. and, mind you, i am not an out-of-the-way brand of idiot as fools go. it's just a matter of armour and the weak spot. no suit of armour ever existed that hadn't one. some women are born with the faculty of being able to put their soft little fingers on those places right away.