Chapter X: At the End of a Trail

Had there been occasion to mention my name in the course of the narratives that have preceded mine, I doubt not that most of you would have recognized the fact that in this company is one who has attained distinction in one of the most important branches of the medical profession. In short, my fame as a specialist in nervous diseases is international. I am the author of works that are recognized as standard authorities, and medals of honor have been bestowed upon me by several of the most highly esteemed learned societies of the world.

In the course of my investigation of nervous diseases I have acquired many extraordinary specimens of abnormal nervous organisms, and I may say that this collection has constituted the principal hobby of my life. In my museum are the brains of celebrated men and women, fibres from the fingers of celebrated musicians, vocal cords of famous singers and nerves taken from persons who were afflicted with extraordinary forms of nervous diseases.

In my efforts to add to this wonderful collection I have spared no time, trouble or expense. Even my conscience, occasionally, has been gagged and bound in the interest of science, which has been my god, my law, my wife, my daughter--everything.

Aware of this, it now will be easy for you to understand that when the extraordinary mind-reading feats of Mr. Glyncamp were reported to me, I should feel the most lively curiosity concerning his wonderful nerve development. Indeed, I became so inordinately curious when I learned of such strange powers that I determined to seek out the man, win his friendship and, eventually, obtain his wonderful nerves for my museum. All this I would do, be it remembered, strictly in the interest of science.

Well, being distinctively a man of action, I did not long delay in putting my project into execution. I caused myself to be introduced to Glyncamp, and, as he was really a very approachable sort of a person, I soon enjoyed all the privileges of his friendship. Of two things, however, I was scrupulously careful. I said nothing to him concerning my collection, nor did I ever, on any occasion, permit him to touch my ungloved hands, or to lay a hand on my head. While in his presence I was careful to restrain my thoughts if they showed any disposition to wander to the real foundation of this strange friendship.

And Glyncamp trusted me. He was a man who had attained to the most extraordinary degree of intelligence I had ever known. But, in certain matters, he was unsophisticated. Though he was often most unscrupulous himself, he placed too much reliance on the good intentions of others. His cruelty was oftentimes amazing when he found it in his interest to inflict pain, but I never have known a man who could be angered so easily when someone else became a minister of cruelty.

Nearly all his life Glyncamp lived in the shadow of a great horror. Whether this was the price he had to pay for his possession of his wonderful mind-reading powers, he did not know, but he suspected this was the case.

He was subject to attacks of catalepsy. These attacks were sometimes so severe and prolonged that for several days at a time even a trained eye might seek in vain for some evidence of life. He feared that, while he was under the influence of one of these terrible attacks, persons who did not know of his infirmity would cause him to be buried alive--a most horrible fate, my friends, and one which all of us carefully should guard against, for the means of doing this are very simple.

In order to reduce the possibility of such a terrible result, Glyncamp always carried in one of his pockets a letter explaining his weakness, and directing that under no circumstances should he be placed in a tomb until certain absolutely unmistakable evidences of death should become apparent to all who viewed his body. In addition to this letter, he always had pinned to his undershirt a piece of parchment on which a similar injunction was written with India ink.

Now so profoundly interested did I become in this strange case of Mr. Glyncamp that, pretending to be wearied of my practice, I told him I was preparing to go with him when he returned to Europe. Glyncamp was delighted. He told me that so long as I was with him he would breathe more freely, knowing that the terrible fate he dreaded would be impossible.

His fame in Europe was already established, and he now went to Turkey where he was paid a great sum each month for the detection of plans that had for their object the death of the Sultan.

It was not long before this strange man honored me with his full confidence, and this resulted in my learning some of the most remarkable things that ever had been brought to my knowledge. More than this, the revelations showed that my friend was a sort of knight-errant in a wonderful realm that is peopled only by lofty intellects. He was an idealist, who, having little interest in materialistic things, was constantly concerning himself with extraordinary psychic conditions. Nothing that was normal appealed to him. It was in abnormalities that he sought that divine substance which Nature had engrafted in them unawares. In short, the man who was stealing the thoughts of others was always attempting to find even Nature off her guard.

It was while he was in Turkey that a Hindu came under his hands. By his subtle art, Glyncamp learned that the Hindu was a spy who had been instructed by the Rajah of Nauwar to watch an Englishman named Lord Galonfield, who was supposed to have in his possession the diamond eyes of the Rajiid Buddha--the most wonderful pair of diamonds ever known to man.

Glyncamp promptly lost all interest in his Turkish employment, and, masquerading as a European who had been converted to Buddhism, he went to the court of the Rajah of Nauwar. There he learned the story of the Rajiid stones.

I do not believe that Glyncamp cared any more for those diamonds than if they had been the commonest kind of moss agates. The triumph incident to getting them was all he sought, but he laid his plans with marvelous care, and when he left India he knew how the diamonds had been taken from the Buddha during the Indian Mutiny, and who was suspected of having taken them. He knew, too, how the uncle of the then living Earl of Galonfield had been captured and tortured and how his effort to commit suicide had been frustrated in order that he might be compelled to write a hundred letters, dated years ahead, to his father and brother, urging them to restore the diamonds to their proper owner.

But what had become of the stones he had not learned. The acquisition of this knowledge was to be his triumph. That the secret of their hiding-place was in the possession of the Galonfield family was more than probable. Accordingly, he went to England.

Glyncamp was on the point of wringing the secret from the dying Earl, when the son appeared. The Earl died, and Glyncamp fled, but, within a few hours, he had formulated a new plan.

The new Earl of Galonfield was young and unmarried. Glyncamp did not doubt that he was more or less susceptible to female charms. He would cause him to wed a woman through whom Glyncamp might obtain the diamonds.

In Turkey Glyncamp had learned that among all the beautiful women who were seen each week in the magnificent bathing rooms for women in Constantinople, there was none who could compare with Pauline, the daughter of Meschid Pasha, a well-known army officer. Like all sons and daughters of the Orient, Meschid Pasha was a great lover of precious stones and was known to have several noted gems in his collection.

Accordingly, Glyncamp visited Meschid Pasha and, formally proposing for the hand of his daughter, he offered in exchange the diamonds known as the “Lost Eyes of the Rajiid Buddha.” Meschid accepted the proposal. Then Glyncamp told him how the diamonds might be obtained through Pauline herself. Meschid gave his assent to the plan and forthwith started for England with Pauline. Glyncamp, who, in the meantime, had employed spies to watch young Lord Galonfield’s movements, accompanied the Pasha and his daughter.

I met Glyncamp on his arrival in England and when he told me what he had done, I gazed at him in astonishment.

“Do you so love the woman that you would give the diamonds for her?” I asked.

He laughed heartily.

“Why, no,” he said. “She is certainly the most beautiful woman in the world, but I have no idea of really marrying her. Through her I shall get the diamonds--from Meschid. The man who is so base as to sell a woman well deserves the punishment I shall inflict on Meschid Pasha!”

“But the woman!” I persisted. “What is to become of her?”

“She will scarcely mourn my loss, for it is my purpose to unite her in marriage with the handsomest man in the world. The diamonds shall be her dowry, on condition that I be godfather at the first christening in the family.”

My eyes were wide with wonder and incredulity. Glyncamp, watching my face, laughed heartily.

“Come, come, Doctor, you are not a fool,” he said reprovingly. “What use would I, who care nothing for such baubles, have for such stones as these? I am a victim of chronic wanderlust. Where would I keep them? Why should I keep them? My friends have only a passing interest in crystallized vanities, so they would scarcely thank me for the display of the stones from time to time. And as for the woman--well. She is pretty, no doubt--but foolish, as all women are. My pipe and my glass--and you--would not be the sort of after dinner company which would appeal to her, I’m afraid. And then, perhaps, some likely young physician might have little difficulty in convincing her that my first--or, at most, my second cataleptic attack was death itself. No, no, it would not do! The pleasure of winning the handsomest woman in the world and the finest pair of diamonds constitutes all the reward I desire. The Sultan of Turkey has been paying me too much for my poor services, and my fortune, to which there are no heirs, is becoming quite unmanagable. The detectives I am employing need it more than I. No, no, my boy, the excitement of the chase is all I require. The fox and his brush can go to the dogs.”

I shook my head doubtfully, as Glyncamp, chuckling, went to Meschid’s to don his Turkish duenna’s frock and veil and oversee Lord Galonfield’s vain wooing of the fair woman who had enchanted him.

But it was not long before the smile left Glyncamp’s features. His face grew longer and more grim. He had found in young Galonfield a foeman worthy of his steel. He also learned that the spies of the Rajah of Nauwar were swarming as thick as flies around the Earl.

And now the old lion began to fight. He felt that his wonderful skill had been challenged and that his own self-respect was at stake. I began to see less of him.

Suddenly, Glyncamp learned that Galonfield had disappeared. He traced him to Hetley, and there found that a grave had been opened--the grave of a young officer whose body had been sent to England during the Indian Mutiny.

The mind-reader scowled darkly as he muttered:

“I wonder if we will find the other one in a tomb.”

Glyncamp kept his own counsel pretty well, after that, but, several weeks later, he startled me by asking how I would like to go with him to India.

I hesitated. The journey was long. But if anything happened to Glyncamp in India--if one of his cataleptic attacks should be mistaken for death----

And so I decided to accompany him.

We arrived at Rajiid just after Lord Galonfield had been released by the jaboowallah. It was Glyncamp who caused the retreating Earl to be seized again. The mind-reader had won the confidence of the Rajah under whose direction the jaboowallah had been working.

Glyncamp and I were hiding near at the time that Forsythe had his interview with Galonfield. It was I, who, in accordance with Glyncamp’s instructions, cut the vocal cords that made him the Whispering Gentleman.

But, as Lord Galonfield has said, all that Glyncamp was able to wring from him was too little and too late.

Upon our return to Europe, Glyncamp learned of Pauline’s flight and of her relationship with Prince Maranotti. Through her he still hoped to be able to get the diamonds from Galonfield. He therefore used every possible effort to discover her whereabouts.

The mind-reader had told me of his conversation with the unfortunate creature who is known as the Gargoyle, and he failed to understand why this person had failed to write to him after his arrival in the United States.

At length, however, Glyncamp learned that detectives other than those in his employ were engaged in a search for Pauline Maranotti. Some of these were working in the interest of Lord Galonfield, but others still were representing the Gargoyle himself. Thus it came to pass that all the roads of the searchers led to Basselanto, and thither Glyncamp himself repaired.

The cataleptic attacks that afflicted Glyncamp lately had been becoming more and more frequent, and the anxiety which they caused me was telling more and more on my nerves. I never knew at what moment the mind-reader would move off on a new tangent without acquainting me with his design. And I was almost terror-stricken when I reflected on what might happen were he to fall a victim to one of these attacks while at sea. Persons who are supposed to be dead on ocean vessels are buried with a haste that always has seemed distinctly reprehensible to me. I knew this sort of thing could not go on forever. I was growing weary of constant leaps from one country to another, and I wondered how long it was going to last.

When Glyncamp went to Basselanto I remained at Paris. I had taken a severe cold that threatened me with pneumonia when from Naples came a dispatch that Glyncamp, the mind-reader, was dead.

Ill as I was, I hurried to Italy. In the course of the journey I sent several telegrams ahead of me commanding those who were in charge of the body to make no effort to embalm it. At last I reached the place where the body lay. A brief examination convinced me that he was still alive.

I soon revived him, but, though he was able to eat, he could not talk connectedly, and I knew that another and longer attack was imminent. I succeeded, however, in getting him aboard a vessel bound direct for New York. Two days later he again succumbed, and for ten days he lay motionless in his berth.

At the time he regained consciousness I was on deck. It was not until, returning to the stateroom, I found him standing in the middle of the floor that I was aware of the change. His face was now white with anger.

“Where are we, Doctor?” he asked.

“Just coming in sight of Long Island,” I replied.

“Long Island!” he exclaimed. “In Heaven’s name, man, you don’t mean to tell me that you have brought me back to America while--while that murderer, Leon Grenault, is still at large?”

“Murderer--Grenault!” I repeated.

“Yes. It was the devil-faced monster who assassinated Prince Maranotti. I was walking in the garden--when--when--Oh, you poor, maundering fool. I’ve had enough of you, and now----”

Seizing a heavy walking stick, the half-frenzied mind-reader aimed a blow at my head. I fled to the deck, and, not being a bold man, I did not venture to put my life in jeopardy by confronting him before his anger subsided.

That night I sent him a note asking him if he had forgiven me. Replying by the same method, he said that if he saw my face again he would make it look more hideous than Grenault’s.

I secured a stateroom elsewhere, and, until the vessel docked at New York, I kept to it.

While the luggage of the passengers was being examined on the dock, I saw a sudden rush of passengers toward the center of the big room. I was told that a man had fallen. Hurrying to the spot I saw that it was Glyncamp.

I quickly proved, not only that I was a physician, but that the fallen man was a personal friend. Several strangers then helped me to get him into a cab. I gave the cabman my address and told him to get there as speedily as possible. Arriving at my house, where my two servants remained as caretakers during my absence abroad, I had Glyncamp taken to my operating room. This done, I summoned two of my fellow physicians.

After making a careful examination of my patient, I pronounced him dead. The other physicians did likewise, then they left, and that night the death notices of Glyncamp, the mind-reader, were sent to all the papers. Not until long after midnight did reporters cease calling upon me for information concerning his death.

A sudden death in New York is always, of course, a coroner’s case, and usually requires a post-mortem examination, therefore early on the following morning the coroner came to my house and viewed the body. When I explained, however, that, as his private physician, I had accompanied him on his travels and was with him when he died, the coroner was satisfied. I told him, however, that in the interests of science I would perform a post-mortem examination myself in the presence of any two physicians whom he might select. This arrangement was satisfactory and he left me. A couple of hours later two physicians, sent by the coroner, presented themselves and I led the way to the operating room. One of my visitors was Dr. Prellis, who had a modest private practice, the other was Dr. Felkner, a well-known surgeon, who was one of the principal members of a city hospital staff.

At my suggestion it was arranged that the examination for the cause of death should be conducted by Dr. Felkner, and that when this was done the body would be delivered to me in order that, in the interest of science, I might make an analysis of the nervous system of this wonderful man.

Dr. Felkner was a man of massive build, and, though slow of speech, his movements were singularly abrupt. When I saw that he was about to begin the dissection of the body, I slipped quietly from the room to get my spectacles which I had left in the study. I was in the act of placing these on my nose, when I was startled by a hoarse cry from the operating room.

I heard John, my butler, passing through the hall, and I called to him. When he entered I bade him tell the cook to have some refreshments for my guests ready in an hour, at which time I thought we would be through in the operating room.

The man was about to reply when I heard a second cry in the operating room, and the door was flung open suddenly. Dr. Prellis, whose face was as white as chalk, appeared on the threshold.

“Come, Doctor--come--quickly,” he said, excitedly.

“What is the trouble?” I asked calmly.

But Prellis had disappeared. Adjusting my spectacles carefully, I followed him.

My consternation may easily be imagined when I saw Glyncamp, sitting almost upright on the operating table, and supported by Felkner. My poor friend’s eyes were wide open and an expression of horror and agony was on his face.

“Glyncamp--alive!” I gasped.

A glance showed me that Felkner, beginning the operation with a deep, rapid incision, had inflicted a mortal wound.

Glyncamp, fixing his great, gleaming eyes on me, said in a low, resonant voice:

“You have done your will. Even while I lay in my stateroom on the vessel, your hands, resting on my head, revealed your thoughts to me. I knew that if I came under your power in New York I was doomed. That is why I resisted you. These two men are innocent of the crime that has been done here to-night. But you--you who knew the secret signs of my malady did not reveal them. You, whom I trusted, have murdered me. From this day forth, look where you will, you will see my face--in all shadows of the earth, in every cloud that floats above you--aye, and in the waters of the sea. The winds shall forever din a dead man’s curse into your ears, and the warmth of the sun shall be to you a breath of that furnace to which all murderers are consigned at last. In light and in darkness--whether you be waking or sleeping--I shall ever be with you. And when Death stands before you, as you now stand before me, I will be beside him. Until then--until then--remember me.”

He stiffened suddenly and his chin sank to his breast, but, even then, as the lustre faded from his eyes, they still seemed to be staring at me from beneath their shaggy brows.

It was only the mad idea of a dying man, of course, for, if other capable physicians should have been deceived by indications of death, why should I have not been misled by them? But it was all very unfortunate, for, doubt me if you will, the dying man spoke truly when he told me that everywhere I looked I should see his face. In my dreams he stands before me. When I read, I know he is behind my shoulder. At the bottom of my coffee cup--in the lees of my wine--in the ashes of my cigar, his features are always taking form. Sometimes he comes to me suddenly, and appears in such unexpected places, that his ghostly presence, familiar as it has become to me, inspires me with terror. It is because of these terrible visitations that I have contracted the infirmity which has caused me to be known to you as the Nervous Physician.

* * * * *

The narrator paused, and for several moments no word was spoken.

“And, I suppose, examples of the wonderful nervous organism of your friend now constitute parts of that collection in which you take such pride,” observed the Decapitated Man, gloomily.

The Nervous Physician glanced over his left shoulder and dodged slightly as if some one behind him had threatened him with a blow.

“Yes, yes,” he replied, easily. “Among other things, I have the left hand intact. The right, however, and portions of the----”

“Stop!” commanded the Sentimental Gargoyle, imperiously. “When a man learns that such miserable creatures inhabit the earth, he may not find it so difficult to leave it.”

“You do not doubt that I--” the Nervous Physician began.

“I do not doubt at all,” the Gargoyle interrupted. “That the cataleptic mind-reader was right when he accused you of his murder is a fact that is clear to all of us.”

The Nervous Physician, turning slowly livid, rose unsteadily.

“Do I understand that you, the murderer of Prince Maranotti, charge me----”

“He is not the murderer of Prince Maranotti,” said a quiet voice from one end of the table.

All eyes were turned toward the man who had spoken. It was the Homicidal Professor.

“On what authority do you contradict me, sir?” demanded the Nervous Physician, angrily.

“On the authority of the only witness to that terrible tragedy,” said the Homicidal Professor. “Having heard what others have said of the affair, I am compelled to believe that I am the only person who saw Prince Maranotti die at the hands of his assassin.”

“You were there?” asked the Nervous Physician, incredulously.

“Unfortunately--yes,” sighed the Homicidal Professor, who, in obedience to a nod from Westfall, at once proceeded to recount his experience.