“What tomfoolery is this!” cried Challenger.

  The young woman rose and fumbled at the side of her dress. Then she made an impatient gesture with her hand.

  “Time was, my dear colleague, when a snuff-box was as much part of my equipment as my phlebotomy case. I lived before the days of Laennec, and we carried no stethoscope, but we had our little chirurgical battery, none the less. But the snuff-box was a peace-offering and I was about to offer it to you, but, alas! it has had its day.”

  Challenger stood with staring eyes and dilated nostrils while this speech was delivered. Then he turned to the bed.

  “Do you mean to say that this is your doctor—that you take the advice of this person?”

  The young girl drew herself up very stiffly.

  “Sir, I will not bandy words with you. I perceive very clearly that you are one of those who have been so immersed in material knowledge that you have had no time to devote to the possibilities of the spirit.”

  “I certainly have no time for nonsense,” said Challenger.

  “My dear chief!” cried a voice from the bed. “I beg you to bear in mind how much Dr. Felkin has already done for me. You saw how I was a month ago, and you see how I am now. You would not offend my best friend.”

  “I certainly think, Professor, that you owe dear Dr. Felkin an apology,” said Miss Delicia.

  “A private lunatic asylum!” snorted Challenger. Then, playing up to his part, he assumed the ponderous elephantine irony which was one of his most effective weapons in dealing with recalcitrant students.

  “Perhaps, young lady—or shall I say elderly and most venerable Professor?—you will permit a mere raw earthly student, who has no more knowledge than this world can give, to sit humbly in a corner and possibly to learn a little from your methods and your teaching.” This speech was delivered with his shoulders up to his ears, his eyelids over his eyes, and his palms extended in front—an alarming statue of sarcasm. Dr. Felkin, however, was striding with heavy and impatient steps about the room, and took little notice.

  “Quite so! Quite so!” she said carelessly. “Get into the corner and stay there. Above all, stop talking, as this case calls for all my faculties.” He turned with a masterful air towards the patient. “Well, well, you are coming along. In two months you will be in the class-room.”

  “Oh, it is impossible!” cried Ross Scotton, with a half sob.

  “Not so. I guarantee it. I do not make false promises.”

  “I’ll answer for that,” said Miss Delicia. “I say, dear Doctor, do tell us who you were when you were alive.”

  “Tut! I tut! The unchanging woman. They gossiped in my time and they gossip still. No, no! We will have a look at our young friend here. Pulse! The intermittent beat has gone. That is something gained. Temperature… obviously normal. Blood-pressure—still higher than I like. Digestion—much to be desired. What you moderns call a hunger-strike would not be amiss. Well, the general conditions are tolerable. Let us see the local centre of the mischief. Pull your shirt down, sir! Lie on your face. Excellent!” She passed her fingers with great force and precision down the upper part of the spine, and then dug in her knuckles with a sudden force which made the sufferer yelp. “That is better! There is—as I have explained—a slight want of alignment in the cervical vertebrae which has, as I perceive it, the effect of lessening the foramina through which the nerve roots emerge. This has caused compression, and as these nerves are really the conductors of vital force, it has upset the whole equilibrium of the parts supplied. My eyes are the same as your clumsy X-rays, and I clearly perceive that the position is almost restored, and the fatal constriction removed. I hope, sir,” to Challenger, “that I make the pathology of this interesting case intelligible to you.”

  Challenger grunted his general hostility and disagreement.

  “I will clear up any little difficulties which may linger in your mind. But, meantime, my dear lad, you are a credit to me, and I rejoice in your progress. You will present my compliments to my colleague of earth, Dr. Atkinson, and tell him that I can suggest nothing more. The medium is a little weary, poor girl, so I will not remain longer to-day.”

  “But you said you would tell us who you were.”

  “Indeed, there is little to say. I was a very undistinguished practitioner. I sat under the great Abernethy in my youth, and perhaps imbibed something of his methods. When I passed over in early middle age I continued my studies, and was permitted, if I could find some suitable means of expression, to do something to help humanity. You understand, of course, that it is only by serving and self-abnegation that we advance in the higher world. This is my service, and I can only thank kind Fate that I was able to find in this girl a being whose vibrations so correspond with my own that I can easily assume control of her body.”

  “And where is she?” asked the patient.

  “She is waiting beside me and will presently re-enter her own frame. As to you, sir,” turning to Challenger, “you are a man of character and learning, but you are clearly embedded in that materialism which is the special curse of your age. Let me assure you that the medical profession, which is supreme upon earth for the disinterested work of its members, has yielded too much to the dogmatism of such men as you, and has unduly neglected that spiritual element in man which is far more important than your herbs and your minerals. There is a life-force, sir, and it is in the control of this life-force that the medicine of the future lies. If you shut your mind to it, it can only mean that the confidence of the public will turn to those who are ready to adopt every means of cure, whether they have the approval of your authorities or not.”

  Never could young Ross Scotton forget that scene. The Professor, the master, the supreme chief, he who had to be addressed with bated breath sat with half-opened mouth and staring eyes, leaning forward in his chair, while in front of him the slight young woman shaking her mop of brown hair and wagging an admonitory forefinger, spoke to him as a father speaks to a refractory child. So intense was her power that Challenger, for the instant, was constrained to accept the situation. He gasped and grunted, but no retort came to his lips. The girl turned away and sat down on a chair.

  “He is going,” said Miss Delicia.

  “But not yet gone,” replied the girl with a smile. “Yes, I must go, for I have much to do. This is not my only medium of expression, and I am due in Edinburgh in a few minutes. But be of good heart, young man. I will set my assistant with two extra batteries to increase your vitality so far as your system will permit. As to you, sir,” to Challenger, “I would implore you to beware of the egotism of brain and the self-concentration of intellect. Store what is old, but be ever receptive to what is new, and judge it not as you may wish it, but as God has designed it.”

  She gave a deep sigh and sank back in her chair. There was a minute of dead silence while she lay with her head upon her breast. Then, with another sigh and a shiver, she opened a pair of very bewildered blue eyes.

  “Well, has he been?” she asked in a gentle feminine voice.

  “Indeed, yes!” cried the patient. “He was great. He says I shall be in the class-room in two months.”

  “Splendid! Any directions for me?”

  “Just the special massage as before. But he is going to put on two new spirit batteries if I can stand it.”

  “My word, he won’t be long now!” Suddenly the girl’s eyes lit on Challenger and she stopped in confusion.

  “This is Nurse Ursula,” said Miss Delicia. “Nurse, let me present you to the famous Professor Challenger.”

  Challenger was great in his manner towards women, especially if the particular woman happened to be a young and pretty girl. He advanced now as Solomon may have advanced to the Queen of Sheba, took her hand, and patted her hair with patriarchal assurance.

  “My dear, you are far too young and charming for such deceit. Have done with it for ever. Be content to be a bewitching nurse and resign all claim to the higher functions of doctor. Where, may I ask, did you pick up all this jargon about cervical vertebrae and posterior foramina?”

  Nurse Ursula looked helplessly round as one who finds herself suddenly in the clutches of a gorilla.

  “She does not understand a word you say!” cried the man on the bed. “Oh, chief, you must make an effort to face the real situation! I know what a readjustment it means. In my small way I have had to undergo it myself. But, believe me, you see everything through a prism instead of through plate-glass until you understand the spiritual factor.”

  Challenger continued his paternal attentions, though the frightened lady had begun to shrink from him.

  “Come now,” said he, “who was the clever doctor with whom you acted as nurse—the man who taught you all these fine words? You must feel that it is hopeless to deceive me. You will be much happier, dear child, when you have made a clean breast of it all, and when we can laugh together over the lecture which you inflicted upon me.”

  An unexpected interruption came to check Challenger’s exploration of the young woman’s conscience or motives. The invalid was sitting up, a vivid red patch against his white pillows, and he was speaking with an energy which was in itself an indication of his coming cure.

  “Professor Challenger!” he cried, “you are insulting my best friend. Under this roof at least she shall be safe from the sneers of scientific prejudice. I beg you to leave the room if you cannot address Nurse Ursula in a more respectful manner.”

  Challenger glared, but the peacemaking Delicia was at work in a moment.

  “You are far too hasty, dear Dr. Ross Scotton!” she cried. “Professor Challenger has had no time to understand this. You were just as sceptical yourself at first. How can you blame him?”

  “Yes, yes, that is true,” said the young doctor. “It seemed to me to open the door to all the quackery in the Universe—indeed it does, but the fact remains.”

  “ ‘One thing I know that whereas I was blind now I see,’” quoted Miss Delicia. “Ah, Professor, you may raise your eyebrows and shrug your shoulders, but we’ve dropped something into your big mind this afternoon which will grow and grow until no man can see the end of it.” She dived into the bag. “There is a little slip here ‘Brain versus Soul.’ I do hope, dear Professor, that you will read it and then pass it on.”

  CHAPTER XV

  IN WHICH TRAPS ARE LAID FOR A GREAT QUARRY

  Malone was bound in honour not to speak of love to Enid Challenger, but looks can speak, and so their communications had not broken down completely. In all other ways he adhered closely to the agreement, though the situation was a difficult one. It was the more difficult since he was a constant visitor to the Professor, and now that the irritation of the debate was over, a very welcome one. The one object of Malone’s life was to get the great man’s sympathetic consideration of those psychic subjects which had gained such a hold upon himself. This he pursued with assiduity, but also with great caution, for he knew that the lava was thin, and that a fiery explosion was always possible. Once or twice it came and caused Malone to drop the subject for a week or two, until the ground seemed a little more firm.

  Malone developed a remarkable cunning in his approaches. One favourite device was to consult Challenger upon some scientific point—on the zoological importance of the Straits of Banda, for example, or the Insects of the Malay Archipelago, and lead him on until Challenger in due course would explain that our knowledge on the point was due to Alfred Russel Wallace. “Oh, really! To Wallace the Spiritualist!” Malone would say in an innocent voice, on which Challenger would glare and change the topic.

  Sometimes it was Lodge that Malone would use as a trap. “I suppose you think highly of him.”

  “The first brain in Europe,” said Challenger.

  “He is the greatest authority on ether, is he not?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Of course, I only know him by his psychic works.”

  Challenger would shut up like a clam. Then Malone would wait a few days and remark casually: “Have you ever met Lombroso!”

  “Yes, at the Congress at Milan.”

  “I have been reading a book of his.”

  “Criminology, I presume?”

  “No, it was called ‘After Death—What?’”

  “I have not heard of it.”

  “It discusses the psychic question.”

  “Ah, a man of Lombroso’s penetrating brain would make short work of the fallacies of these charlatans.”

  “No, it is written to support them.”

  “Well, even the greatest mind has its inexplicable weakness.” Thus, with infinite patience and cunning did Malone drop his little drops of reason in the hope of slowly wearing away the casing of prejudice, but no very visible effects could be seen. Some stronger measure must be adopted, and Malone determined upon direct demonstration. But how, when, and where? Those were the all-important points upon which he determined to consult Algernon Mailey. One spring afternoon found him back in that drawing-room where he had once rolled upon the carpet in the embrace of Silas Linden. He found the Reverend Charles Mason, and Smith, the hero of the Queen’s Hall debate, in deep consultation with Mailey upon a subject which may seem much more important to our descendants than those topics which now bulk large in the eyes of the public. It was no less than whether the psychic movement in Britain was destined to take a Unitarian or a Trinitarian course. Smith had always been in favour of the former, as had the old leaders of the movement and the present organized Spiritualist Churches. On the other hand, Charles Mason was a loyal son of the Anglican Church, and was the spokesman of a host of others, including such weighty names as Lodge and Barrett among the laymen, or Wilberforce, Haweis and Chambers among the clergy, who clung fast to the old teachings while admitting the fact of spirit communication. Mailey stood between the two parties, and, like the zealous referee in a boxing-match who separates the two combatants, he always took a chance of getting a knock from each. Malone was only too glad to listen, for now that he realized that the future of the world might be bound up in this movement, every phase of it was of intense interest to him. Mason was holding forth in his earnest but good-humoured way as he entered.

  “The people are not ready for a great change. It is not necessary. We have only to add our living knowledge and direct communion of the saints to the splendid liturgy and traditions of the Church, and you will have a driving-force which will revitalize all religion. You can’t pull a thing up from the roots like that. Even the early Christians found that they could not, and so they made all sorts of concessions to the religions around them.”

  “Which was exactly what ruined them,” said Smith. “That was the real end of the Church in its original strength and purity.”

  “It lasted, anyhow.”

  “But it was never the same from the time that villain Constantine laid his hands on it.”

  “Oh, come!” said Mailey. “You must not write down the first Christian emperor as a villain.”

  But Smith was a forthright, uncompromising, bull-doggy antagonist. “What other name will you give to a man who murdered half his own family?”

  “Well, his personal character is not the question. We were talking of the organization of the Christian Church.”

  “You don’t mind my frankness, Mr. Mason?”

  Mason smiled his jolly smile. “So long as you grant me the existence of the New Testament I don’t care what you do. If you were to prove that our Lord was a myth, as that German Drews tried to do, it would not in the least affect me so long as I could point to that body of sublime teaching. It must have come from somewhere, and I adopt it and say, ‘That is my creed.’”

  “Oh, well, there is not so much between us on that point,” said Smith. “If there is any better teaching I have not seen it. It is good enough to go on with, anyhow. But we want to cut out the frills and superfluities. Where did they all come from? They were compromises with many religions, so that our friend C. could get uniformity in his world-wide Empire. He made a patchwork quilt of it. He took an Egyptian ritual—vestments, mitre, crozier, tonsure, marriage ring—all Egyptian. The Easter ceremonies are pagan and refer to the vernal equinox. Confirmation is mithraism. So is baptism, only it was blood instead of water. As to the sacrificial meal…”

  Mason put his fingers in his ears. “This is some old lecture of yours,” he laughed. “Hire a hall, but don’t obtrude it in a private house. But, seriously, Smith, all this is beside the question. If it is true it will not affect my position at all, which is that we have a great body of doctrine which is working well, and which is regarded with veneration by many people, your humble servant included, and that it would be wrong and foolish to scrap it. Surely you must agree.”

  “No, I don’t,” Smith answered, setting his obstinate jaw. “You are thinking too much of the feelings of your blessed church-goers. But you have also to think of the nine people out of ten who never enter into a church. They have been choked off by what they, including your humble servant, consider to be unreasonable and fantastic. How will you gain them while you continue to offer them the same things, even though you mix spirit-teaching with it? If, however, you approach these agnostic or atheistic ones, and say to them: ‘I quite agree that all this is unreal and is tainted by a long history of violence and reaction. But here we have something pure and new. Come and examine it!’ In that way I could coax them back into a belief in God and in all the fundamentals of religion without their having to do violence to their reason by accepting your theology.”

  Mailey had been tugging at his tawny beard while he listened to these conflicting counsels. Knowing the two men he was aware that there was not really much between them, when one got past mere words, for Smith revered the Christ as a God-like man, and Mason as a man-like God, and the upshot was much the same. At the same time he knew that their more extreme followers on either side were in very truth widely separated, so that compromise became impossible.