IV
THE GHOST OF THE FORGOTTEN
"Modern rack and thumbscrew," exclaimed David, eyeing curiously themachine whose gleaming surface of glass and polished metal was instriking contrast with the somber oratory.
Harold Leighton paid no heed to the comment. He was apparently toobusied with some detail in the complicated mechanism before him toattend to anything else. David and Una, on the other hand, were moreamused than impressed with the odd kind of entertainment chosen forthis memorable evening of their betrothal by the eccentric scientist,although every now and then some unexpected bit of irony from him camedisconcertingly enough.
"Why should people, whose lives are blameless, think of racks andthumbscrews when they see a simple machine like this?" he askedsuddenly, taking up David's apparently unnoted exclamation. Not waitingfor an answer, he went on, as if with a lecture to which they had beeninvited to listen.
"So far as I know this machine is the first of its kind to reach thiscountry. It is an ingenious development of certain laws psychologistshave been using for some time in their experiments, and is based on atheory that is, roughly, something like this:
"A thought is a part of the body that gives it birth. Thinking is notconfined to the brain. Like the assimilation of food, it involvesman's entire physical nature. In cases of exaggerated thought oremotion--intense grief, fear, joy--the physical effects are obvious.The scientist, however, claims that the physical result from a mentalcause is not confined to these extreme cases. A thought, the presence ofwhich is not perceptible in gesture, facial expression, or the slightestvisible emotion, is, nevertheless, communicated physically to everypart of the body. Throw a stone into a pool of water. If the stone islarge, the waves caused by it can be seen until they spend themselves onthe shore; if it is small, the resulting ripples become invisible longbefore that. The point is, the ripple exists, whether we see it or not,just as does the wave, until it has run its course.
"A thought, in its physical effect, is like the stone thrown into apool. If it is a big, exaggerated thought, the agitation produced isoutwardly visible. If it is small, more subtle, less sensational, itsphysical effects are invisible, although, theoretically, reaching inripples to the extremities of the body. Hence, the psychologist'sproblem is: to detect and measure these invisible, intangible ripples ofthe mind.
"This machine, my 'ghost-hunter,' solves the problem. A Russianscientist discovered that an electric current passing through thebody is affected by any abnormal physical, or nervous, activity thereencountered. Thought is a form of electric impulse and would, therefore,modify any other electric force crossing its path. Hence, Tarchanoff'slaw. Its practical application means, the literal measurement of ourmental ripples. And this is done by the psychometer."
"How?" asked David.
"It's very simple. You hold these electrodes in your hands. An electriccurrent is turned on and passes through you. While you are thus chargedwith electricity, I throw the stone, the thought, into your mind. Thedegree, or quality, of disturbance caused by this thought modifies theelectric current, the varying agitation of which is made visible by themovements of an electric finger across this mirror. From there it isrecorded on the sheet of paper in this cylinder."
"What a horrible contrivance!" exclaimed Una.
"I see how it works," mused David, "except for one thing. How do youintroduce the thought you want to measure?"
"If I explain that the experiment wouldn't be possible," said Leightonwith a laugh. "The thought must come through unconscious suggestion, orour Ghost of the Forgotten will refuse to appear. In a way, it is likea game--and is more interesting than most games. Did you ever play thegame of twenty questions?"
"I have," interjected Una. "It's this way. Something--a book, a pieceof furniture, anything at all--is chosen by one set of players to beguessed by the other set. Then the set who know the secret have toanswer twenty questions about it, asked by the other side. The questionssound silly, but they usually discover the secret."
"Is your experiment like Una's game?" asked David.
"Not exactly. Sit down in this chair and you'll see."
Seated as directed, the psychometer stood a little back and at one sideof him.
"Now," said Leighton, giving him the electrodes, "hold these, one ineach hand."
"It's like an electrocution!" exclaimed Una. "Are you veryuncomfortable?"
"Oh, quite the contrary! Now, Mr. Leighton----"
"Ready? Here goes the current. You will scarcely feel it."
Leighton pulled out a small lever. A faint humming sound was heard. Theelectric finger on the mirror in the machine became suddenly illuminated.
"Do you feel it?" asked Una.
"Yes; it's rather nice. This hero business is all right, especially whenyou preside at the performance, Una."
"Now for your game of twenty questions, Uncle Harold. Of course, you aregoing to let me into the secret?"
"How can I?" he retorted. "David has the secret."
"I have it?" repeated the other, perplexed.
"Certainly. But this isn't exactly a game. You'll find it tedious, Una.Why not stay with Mrs. Quayle in the library until it's over?"
"Nonsense! Of course I'll stay here," she replied firmly.
"What am I to do?" asked David. "Holding these handles is easyenough--but nothing happens."
"Let me explain," said Leighton. "I am going to give you, one at atime, a number of disconnected words. As you hear each word, you mustreply with the first word that suggests itself to your mind. Forinstance, suppose I say 'black.' The word gives rise, instantly, tosome answering mental picture, and that picture will suggest a word withwhich your experience has associated it. Thus, when I say 'black,' youmay think of 'night'; or, if your thought goes by contraries, the word'white' may occur to you. In any case, tell me the first word that comesinto your mind upon hearing my word--and remember that the promptness ofyour reply is an important factor in the experiment."
"It sounds easy," remarked David. "Let's begin."
On a small table at which he was standing, Leighton placed his watch,a writing-pad and pencil. Seating himself, he commenced the experimentin the way he had proposed, noting each word as he gave it on the padbefore him, and marking the number of seconds elapsing before each ofDavid's answers. Una, ensconced in a large armchair, watched the sceneintently.
"Theater," was Leighton's first word.
"Music," came the prompt reply.
"Noise."
"Sleep."
"Lion."
"Teeth."
"Sound."
"Desert."
"Ocean."
"Blue."
A long series of similar question and answer-words followed, apparentlychosen at random and not indicating any sequence of ideas. Leightonspoke with exaggerated monotony, his eyes fixed on David, his handmoving with mechanical precision as he jotted down the words and thetime taken for each reply. Scarcely any agitation was noticeable inthe finger of light upon the mirror, and this part of the experimentseemed--at least to Una--a failure.
"I don't see what the machine has to do with it," she said, somewhatpuzzled. "David could just as well answer your words without holdingthose things in his hands."
"Una," said Leighton, giving this as the next question-word and ignoringthe interruption.
David smiled, hesitated a moment before replying, while the electricfinger trembled slightly and then moved, slowly and evenly, back andforth across the mirror.
"Light," he answered softly.
More question-words followed, most of them receiving prompt answers andproducing no appreciable effect in the psychometer. It was noticeable,however, that words having to do with places gave a different result--avibration of the electric finger, indicating, according to the theory,that they awakened a deeper interest than other words in David's mind.
In experiments of this kind the operator's choice of words is carefullymade, as a rule, and not left to chance. They usually have a cer
taincontinuity of meaning. Theoretically, also, the operator's personalityis kept in the background, so that the subject is freed from anyemotional impulse save that created in him by the question-words. Butthere is always the possibility that this personality will unconsciouslyinfluence the subject's mind, which is thus impelled in directions itmight not otherwise take. Hypnotism may thus, unintentionally, play apart in an experiment of this kind, and the subject made to follow, inthe words uttered and the degree of emotion displayed, his inquisitor'ssuggestions.
It would be hard to tell whether hypnotism gradually came intoLeighton's experiment with David. Certain it is that as the trial wenton a change came over the two men. Their features grew tense, they wereas vigilant to thrust and parry in this game of words as two fencersfighting on a wager whose loss would mean much to either of them. InDavid anxiety was more marked. The electric finger in the psychometer,unconsciously controlled by him, moved more rapidly and with greaterirregularity over the face of the mirror. At times it remained fixed inone place; then, with Leighton's utterance of some new word, it wouldleap spasmodically forward, in a jagged line of light which would berecorded automatically on the cylinder at the back of the machine.
David could not see what was happening in the psychometer. Outwardly heshowed no emotion, except the anxiety to hold his own in this word duelwith Leighton. Nevertheless, the electric current passing through himregistered a series of impressions that grew in variety and intensity.Theoretically, these impressions were David's thoughts and feelingsacting upon the electric finger; and thus the line of light traced uponthe mirror was really a picture of his own mind.
For Una the affair had lost its first element of comedy. The meaninglesswords, the monotonous seriousness with which they were uttered, seemed,in the beginning, a delicious bit of fooling improvised for her benefit.She delighted in the original, the unexpected, and nothing, certainly,could be more foreign to the customary betrothal night entertainmentthan this ponderous pairing of words between her lover and her uncle.The real purpose of the experiment had not impressed her. The talkabout ghosts gave an amusing background to it; but this was afterwardsspoiled, it is true, by the tedious discussion of psychologicalproblems. Of course, Una assured herself, this experiment--or thisgame--was a psychological problem, and she felt certain David wouldsolve it, whatever it might be, in the cleverest fashion.
Had Una understood from the first just what Leighton intended by hisproposed "ghost-hunt" she would have followed more keenly the detailsof this novel pastime. As it was, these details appeared to have nointelligible object in view and failed to arouse her interest until somelittle time had elapsed. Then she began speculating on the meaning ofher uncle's disconnected words and wondering why they drew from Davidjust the replies they did. More to amuse herself than anything else shecompared the images which these words evidently aroused in David's mindwith the images suggested to her.
For "ship," he gave "sky"; she thought of "water." "Mountain" produced"tired"; she would have said "view." Her word for "river" was "rowing";his "sunshine." He said "mystery" for "Africa"; she, "negroes."His words were never the same as hers, a fact indicating the widedifferences in their individual experiences. More singular still,David's words were always remote, in meaning or association, from thequestion-words to which they were the answer; hers were quite theopposite. Why, she asked herself, did he say "anger" in response to"India"; "misery" to "temple"; "joy" to "ocean"; "lost" to "guide";"slave" to "friend"?
As the experiment progressed most of her uncle's words were boundtogether, Una noticed, by a similarity in character. She even fanciedshe could detect in them the disjointed bones of a story. Most of thesewords had to do with foreign travel, and as David was known to havevisited many countries it was natural that the test should follow thisline, especially as this was a quest for the Ghost of the Forgotten.In this connection it was noticeable that the series of words chosenby Leighton reversed the itinerary which Una was certain David hadfollowed. Thus, the first question-words indicated the English Lakeregion, where David had ended his travels. Then came various Europeancountries, and after these Morocco, Egypt, Arabia, India, China, theIslands of the Pacific and the western coast of America. Supposing thatLeighton had David's actual itinerary in mind, he was going over it bya series of backward steps, and had now reached a point at which, asUna remembered, the long journey began. With each backward step, also,she noted that the agitation of the electric finger in the psychometerincreased. David could not see what was happening in the machine behindhim, although it was his own emotions that were being recorded there.Why was he so agitated? Why did he try to hide his feelings? Why didthese simple words from Leighton have such power over him? As Una askedherself these questions her sympathy for him increased, and she awaitedthe end of the experiment with anxiety.
Leighton paused after David matched his question-word, "California,"with "home." The electric finger threw a tremulous line of light uponthe recording mirror, and in both men the indifference shown when theybegan this strange game was lacking. The expectancy in David's facechanged to defiance as "California" was followed by the question-word"ship." The electric finger gave a swift upward flash, and there wasa longer pause than usual before the answer came--"storm." "Pacific"was met by "palm trees"; and these were followed by "land," "Indians";"hotel," "strangers"; "natives," "lost"; "clew," "wealth."
With the last pair of words the agitation recorded in the psychometerreached its highest point. David's face was pale, his features drawn,his grasp on the electrodes tense. Una could not bear to witness hisstruggle. Although ignorant of the cause, his suffering was all tooevident, and she determined to rescue him at once from her uncle'scruelty. Leighton met her appeal with characteristic coolness, ignoringher demand to bring the experiment to an end. But he changed thesequence of words he had been using.
"Homer" was the next question-word given.
The effect was immediate. David looked at the old man with astonishment.The jerky motion of the electric finger ceased, while instead an evenline of light was traced over the mirror. The answer-word came promptlythis time: "Iliad."
A series of similar words followed, and as the experiment took thisnew direction David's nervousness vanished. Then, without warning, thetravel series was taken up again; and this time each word came like theblow of a hammer upon a nail that is swiftly and surely driven to itsmark.
There was no mistaking the result. David's limbs stiffened, as if toward off a blow. His look of relief gave place to a hopeless sort ofmisery; the telltale electric finger jumped forward in exaggerated linesas if to escape from some merciless pursuer.
"South America," demanded Leighton.
"Spaniards," after a pause, was David's answering word.
"Mountains."
"Muleback."
"Lake."
"Gold."
The answers were hesitatingly given, almost inaudible. Again Unaprotested.
"Stop!" she commanded. "You have no right----"
Leighton waved her imperiously aside.
"Dynamite," he continued, addressing David.
"Darkness," came the hesitating answer.
"Raoul Arthur."
Silence. A weird dance, as of some mocking spirit, seized the electricfinger pointing at the mirror. Una knelt at David's side, her hands uponhis shoulders. His lips quivered as he looked despairingly at her.
"Guatavita," said Leighton harshly.
No answer. The electrodes slipped from David's grasp. The finger oflight became suddenly motionless.
David had fallen, unconscious, in Una's arms.
The Gilded Man: A Romance of the Andes Page 5
