The Soul Stealer

by Guy Thorne

  CHAPTER III

  NEWS OF A REVOLUTION

  Marjorie and Lady Poole came into the room. For two at least of thepeople there it was an agonizing moment. But a second before, SirWilliam Gouldesbrough had been proposing to steal and open a letterwritten by another man to his _fiancee_. But a second before, Mr.Eustace Charliewood, the well-known society man, had sullenly acquiescedin the proposal. And now here was Marjorie Poole confronting them.

  "We thought we'd come to tea, William," Lady Poole said effusively,going forward to shake hands with her future son-in-law. "Ah, Mr.Charliewood, how do you do?" She gave him a bright nod, and he turned toMarjorie, while her mother was shaking hands with the scientist.

  Charliewood's face was flushed a deep red, and his hand trembled so thatthe tall girl looked at him in some surprise.

  Marjorie Poole was a maiden for whom many men had sighed. The oval facewith its pure olive complexion, the large brown eyes, clear as a forestpool, the coiled masses of hair, the colour of deeply ripened corn, madeup a personality of singular distinction and charm. She was the sort ofgirl of whom people asked, "Who is she?" And if younger sons and otherpeople who knew that they could never win and wear her, said that shewas a little too reserved and cold, it was only a prejudiced way ofexpressing her complete grace and ease of manner.

  "How are you, Mr. Charliewood?" she said in a clear, bell-like voice. "Ihaven't seen you since the Carr's dance."

  "Well, to tell the truth, Miss Poole," Charliewood answered with a voicethat had a singular tremor in it, "you startled me out of my wits whenyou came in. Just a moment before, Sir William had mentioned your name,and we were both thinking of you when, as quick as one of thoseridiculous entrances on the stage, pat upon the very word, the butlerthrew open the door and you came in."

  "Oh, a stage entrance!" Marjorie answered. "I don't like stageentrances;" and turning away she went up to her _fiance_, making itquite clear that, whatever her opinions about the conventions of theboards might be, she did not like Mr. Charliewood.

  The big, light-haired man stayed for a moment or two, made a fewconventional remarks, and then wished his host farewell.

  As he crossed the hall he began mechanically to put on the heavyastrachan coat upon his arm, then, with a muttered curse which surprisedthe butler, he took it off again and hurriedly left the house.

  "Well, and how are you, William?" said Lady Poole, sitting down by thefire. "Are you going to give us some tea? We have been paying calls, andI told Marjorie that we would just come on and see how you were, in caseyou might be in. And how is the electricity going? Why don't you inventa flying-machine? I'm sure it would be more useful than the things youdo invent. How charming it would be to step out of one's bedroom windowinto one's aeriel brougham and tell the man to fly to the Savoy!"

  Gouldesbrough did not immediately reply, but old Lady Poole was used tothis.

  She was a tall, florid old thing, richly dressed, with an ample andexpansive manner. Now that Sir William had proposed and the forthcomingmarriage was an accepted thing, the good lady felt her duty was done.Having satisfied herself of Sir William's position, his banking accountand his general eligibility, she cared for nothing else, and she hadgrown quite accustomed to the little snubs she received from his handsfrom time to time.

  Gouldesbrough was looking at Marjorie. His deep blue eyes had leapt upfrom their usual intense calm into flame. The thin-cut lips wereslightly parted, the whole man had become humanized and real in a singlemoment.

  The sinister suggestion had dropped from him as a cloak is thrown off,and he remembered nothing of the plot he had been hatching, but only sawbefore him the radiant girl he adored with all the force of his natureand all the passion of a dark but powerful soul, to which love had nevercome before.

  "How are you, dearest?" he said anxiously. "Do you know that I haven'theard from you or seen you for nearly four days? Tell me all that youhave been doing, all that you have been thinking."

  "Four days, is it?" Lady Poole broke in. "Well, you know, my dearWilliam, you will have plenty of time with Marjorie in the future, youmustn't attempt to monopolize her just at present. There have been somany engagements, and I'm sure you have been entirely happy with theelectricity, haven't you? Such a comfort, I think, to have a hobby. Itgives a real interest in life. And I'm sure, when a hobby like yours hasproved so successful, it's an additional advantage. I have known somany men who have been miserable because they have never had anything todo to amuse them. And unless they take up wood-carving or fretwork orsomething, time hangs so heavily, and they become a nuisance to theirwives. Poor Sir Frederick only took up tact as a hobby. Though that wasvery useful at a party, it was horribly boring in private life. Onealways felt he understood one too well!"

  Up to the present Marjorie had said nothing. She seemed slightlyrestless, and the smile that played about her lips was faint andabstracted. Her thoughts seemed elsewhere, and the scrutiny of the deepblue eyes seemed slightly to unnerve her.

  At that moment the butler entered, followed by a footman carrying atea-table.

  Marjorie sank down with a sigh of relief.

  "I'm so tired," she said in a quiet voice. "Mother's been dragging meabout to all sorts of places. William, why do you have that horrid man,Eustace Charliewood, here? He always seems about the house like a bigtame cat. I detest him."

  Gouldesbrough winced at the words. He had put his hand into theside-pocket of his coat, and his fingers had fallen upon a certainletter. Ah! why, indeed, did he have Charliewood for a friend?

  His answer was singularly unconvincing, and the girl looked at him insurprise. He was not wont to speak thus, with so little directness.

  "Oh, I don't know, dear," he answered. "He's useful, you know. Heattends to a lot of things for me that I'm too busy to look aftermyself."

  Again Marjorie did not answer.

  "What have you been doing, William?" she said at length, stirring thetea in her cup.

  "I've been thinking about you principally," he answered.

  She frowned a little. "Oh, I don't mean in that way," she answeredquickly. "Tell me about real things, important things. What are youworking at now? How is your work going?"

  He noticed that something like enthusiasm had crept into her voice--thatshe took a real interest in his science. His heart throbbed with anger.It was not thus that he wished to hear her speak. It was he himself, nothis work, that he longed with all his heart and soul this stately damselshould care about.

  But, resolute always in will, completely master of himself and hisemotion, he turned at once and began to give her the information whichshe sought.

  And as he spoke his voice soon began to change. It rang with power. Itbecame vibrant, thrilling. There was a sense of inordinate strength andconfidence in it.

  While old Lady Poole leant back in her chair with closed eyes and agentle smile playing about her lips, enjoying, in fact, a short andwell-earned nap, the great scientist's passionate voice boomed out intothe room and held Marjorie fascinated.

  She leant forward, listening to him with strained attention--her lips alittle parted, her face alight with interest, with eagerness.

  "You want to hear, dearest," he said, "you want to hear? And to whomwould I rather tell my news? At whose feet would I rather lay theresults of all I am and have done? Listen! Even to you I cannot telleverything. Even to you I cannot give the full results of the problems Ihave been working at for so many years. But I can tell you enough tohold your attention, to interest you, as you have never been interestedbefore."

  He began to speak very slowly.

  "I have done something at last, after years of patient working andthought, which it is not too much to say will revolutionize the whole ofmodern life--will revolutionize the whole of life, indeed, as it hasnever been changed before. All the other things I have done and made,all the results of my scientific work have been but off-shoots of thisgreat central idea, which has been mine since I first began. The otherthings that have won me f
ame and fortune were discovered upon the waytowards the central object of my life. And now, at last, I find myselfin full possession of the truth of all my theories. In a month or twofrom now my work will be perfected, then the whole world will know whatI have done. And the whole world will tremble, and there will be fearand wonder in the minds of men and women, and they will look at eachother as if they recognized that humanity at last was waking out of asleep and a dream."

  "Is it so marvellous as all that?" she said almost in a whisper, awed bythe earnestness of his manner.

  "I am no maker of phrases," he replied, "nor am I eloquent. I cannottell you how marvellous it is. The one great citadel against which humaningenuity and time have beaten in vain since our first forefathers, isstormed at last! In my hands will shortly be the keys of the human soul.No man or woman will have a secret from me. The whole relation ofsociety will be changed utterly."

  "What is it? What is it?" she asked with a light in her eyes. "Have youdone what mother said in jest? Have you indeed finally conquered theair?"

  He waved his hand with a scornful gesture.

  "Greater far--greater than that," he answered. "Such a vulgar andmechanical triumph is not one I would seek. In a material age it isperhaps a great thing for this or that scientist to invent a means oftransit quicker and surer than another. But what is it, after all? Mereaccurate scientific knowledge supplemented by inventive power. No! Suchinventions as the steam-engine, printing, gun-powder, are great in theirway, but they have only revolutionized the surface of things; the humansoul remains as it was before. What I now know is a far, far loftier andmore marvellous thing."

  In his excitement he had risen and was bending over her.

  Now she also rose, and stared into his face with one hand upon his arm.

  "Oh, tell me," she said, "what in life can be so strange, so terrible inits effects as this you speak of?"

  "Listen," he answered once more. "You know what LIGHT is? You know thatit can be split up into its component parts by means of the prism in thespectroscope?"

  "Every child knows that to-day," she answered.

  "Good!" he replied. And he went on. "I am putting this in the verysimplest possible language. I want you to see the broadest, barest,simplest outlines. Do you know anything of the human mind? What shouldyou say hypnotism was, for instance, in ordinary words?"

  "Surely," she replied, "it is the power of one brain acting uponanother."

  "Exactly," he said, "and in what way? How is a brain, not physicallytouching another brain, able to influence it?"

  "By magnetism," she replied, "by"--she hesitated for a word--"by a sortof current passing from one brain to another."

  He held out both his hands in front of him. They were clasped, and shesaw that his wrists were shaking. He was terribly excited.

  "Yes," he went on, his voice dropping lower and lower and becoming evenmore intense, "you have said exactly the truth. The brain is amarvellous instrument, a sensitive instrument, an electric instrumentwhich is constantly giving out strange, subtle, and hithertouninvestigated currents. It is like the transmitter at the top of SignorMarconi's wireless telegraphy station. Something unseen goes out intothe air, and far away over the Mother of Oceans something answers to itsinfluence. That is exactly what happens with the human brain. Countlessexperiments have proved it, the scientists of the world are agreed."

  "Then----?" she said.

  "Supposing I had discovered how to collect these rays or vibrations, forthat is the better word, these delicate vibrations which come from thehuman brain?"

  "I think I begin to see," Marjorie said slowly, painfully, as if thewords were forced from her and she spoke them under great emotion. "Ithink I begin to see a little light."

  "Ah," he answered, "you are always above ordinary women. There is no onein the world like you. Your brain is keen, subtle, strong. You weredestined for me from the first."

  Once more, even in the midst of her excitement, a shade passed over herface. She touched him on the arm again.

  "Go on! Tell me! Not this, not that. Tell me about the work!"

  "I," he repeated, "I alone of all men in the world have learnt how tocollect the invisible vibrations of thought itself. Now, remember what Itold you at first. I mentioned Light, the way in which Light can bepassed through a prism, split up into its component parts, and give thesecret of its composition to the eye of the scientist. Not only can _I_collect the mysterious vibrations of the human brain, but _I_ can passthem through a spectroscope more marvellous than any instrument everdreamt of in the history of the world. I can take the vibrations ofthought, and discover their consistency, their strength, their MEANING."

  She stared at him incredulously. "Even yet," she said, "I fail to seethe ultimate adaptation of all this. I realize that you have discovereda hitherto unproved truth about the mechanism of thought. That is anachievement which will send your name ringing down the avenues of thefuture. But there seems to be something behind all you are telling me.You have more to say. What is the _practical_ outcome of all this, thistheoretical fact?"

  "It is this," he answered. "I hold in my hands the power to know whatthis or that person, be it a king upon his throne, a girl on her weddingday, or a criminal in the dock, is thinking at any given moment."

  She started from him with a little cry. "Oh no," she said, and her facehad grown very white indeed. "Oh no, God would not allow it. It is apower only God has."

  He laughed, and in his laugh she heard something that made her shrinkback still further. It was a laugh such as Lucifer might have laughed,who defied a Power which he would not acknowledge to be greater thanhis.

  "You will never do that," she said, "wonderful as you are."

  "Marjorie," he answered, "I am a man with a brain that theorizes, butnever ventures upon a statement that cannot be proved by fact. If I tellyou this, if I hint broadly at the outcome of my life's work, I am doingso, believe me, because I have chapter and verse for all I say, becauseI can prove that it has passed from the dim realms of theory and of hopeinto the brilliant daylight of actual achievement!"

  She stared at him. His words were too much for her mind to graspimmediately.

  It was an intense moment.

  But, as in real life intense moments generally are, it was broken by acurious interruption.

  A voice came thickly from the arm-chair by the fire, where old LadyPoole had been reclining in placid sleep. It was the strange voice ofone who sleeps, without expression, but perfectly distinct.

  "I will not have it, cook--(indistinguishable murmur)--explained when Iengaged you--will _not_ have men in the kitchen!"

  Sir William and Marjorie looked at each other for a moment with blankfaces. Then, all overstrung as they were, the absurdity of theoccurrence struck them at the same moment, and they began to laughsoftly together.

  It was a little pleasant and very human interlude in the middle of thesehigh matters, and at that moment the great man felt that he was nearerto Marjorie than he had been before at any other moment of theafternoon. She no longer hung entranced upon his impassioned andwonderful words, she laughed with him quite quietly and simply.

  Lady Poole snored deeply, and no longer vocalized the drama of herdomestic dream.

  Suddenly Marjorie turned back once more to Sir William.

  "It's only mother dreaming about one of the servants we have had to sendaway," she said. "What a stupid interruption! Now, go on, go on!"

  Her voice recalled him to his marvellous story.

  "Tell me what is the actual achievement," she said.

  "It is this. When you speak into a telephone the vibrations of yourvoice agitate a sensitive membrane, and by means of electricity thevibrations are conveyed to almost any distance. When Madame Melba singsinto the gramophone, her voice agitates the membrane, which in its turnagitates a needle, which in its turn again makes certain marks upon awaxen disc."

  "Yes, go on, go on!"

  "When I put a certain instrument upon the head of a man
or a woman, whenI surround the field of emanation by a shield which captures thevibrations, they are conducted to a receiver more delicate and sensitivethan anything which has ever been achieved by scientific processbefore. That receiver collects these vibrations and can transmit them,just in the manner of a telephone or telegraph wire, for almost anydistance."

  "And at the other end?" Marjorie asked.

  "It has been a difficulty of ten long, anxious, unwearying years."

  "And now?"

  "Now that difficulty has been finally overcome."

  "Therefore?"

  "What a person thinks in London can be sent in vibrations along a wireto Paris."

  "I see. I understand! But when there they can only be transmitted toanother brain, of course. You mean that you have invented a moremarvellous system of telegraphy than has ever been invented before. Forinstance, I could sit here in this room and communicate with you withabsolute freedom in Paris. How wonderful that is! What a triumphantachievement! But--but, William, marvellous as it is, you do notsubstantiate what you said just now. The secrets of thought may beyours, but only when the sender wills it."

  "Ah," he answered, with a deep note of meaning coming into his voice."If I had only discovered what you say, I should have discovered much.But I have gone far, far away from this. I have done much, much more.And in that lies the supreme value of my work."

  Once more they were standing together, strained with wonder, withamazement and triumph passing between them like the shuttle of a loom;once more she was caught up into high realms of excitement and dawningknowledge, the gates of which had never opened to her brain before.

  "To come back to the phonograph," Sir William said. "The marks are madeupon the waxen disc, and they are afterwards reproduced in sound,recorded upon metal plates to remain for ever as a definite reproductionof the human voice. Now, and here I come to the final point of all, Ihave discovered a means by which thought can be turned into actualvision, into an actual expression of itself for every one to read. WhatI mean is this. I have discovered the process, and I have invented themachine by which, as a person thinks, the thought can be conveyed to anydistance along the wire, can be received at the other end by aninstrument which splits it up into this or that vibration. And thesevibrations actuate upon a machine by the spectroscope, by the bioscope,which show them upon a screen in the form of either pictures or of wordsas the thoughts of the thinker are at that moment sent out by the brainin words or pictures."

  "Then what does this mean?"

  "It means that once my apparatus, whether by consent of the subject orby force, is employed to collect the thought vibrations, then no secretscan be hidden. The human soul must reveal itself. Human personality isrobbed of its only defence. There will be no need to try the criminal ofthe future. He must confess in spite of himself. The inviolability ofthought is destroyed. The lonely citadel of self exists no longer. Thepious hypocrite must give his secret to the world, and sins and sinnersmust confess to man what only God knew before."

  Marjorie sat down in her chair and covered her face with her hands.Various emotions thronged and pulsed through her brain. The stupendousthing that this man had done filled her with awe for his powers, withterror almost, but with a great exultation also. She did not love him,she knew well that she had never loved him, but she realized herinfluence over him. She knew that this supreme intellect was hers to dowith as she would. She knew that if he was indeed, as he said, master ofthe world, she was mistress of his mind, she was the mistress of him.The mysterious force of his love, greater than any other earthly forcewhich he could capture or control, had made him, who could make theminds of others his slaves and instruments, the slave of her.

  Yes! LOVE! That, after all, was the greatest force in the whole world.Here was a more conclusive proof than perhaps any woman had ever hadbefore in the history of humanity.

  Love! Even while the inmost secrets of nature were wrested from her bysuch a man as this, love was still his master, love was still the motivepower of the world.

  And as she thought that, she forgot for a moment all her fears and allher wonder, in a final realization of what all the poets had sung andall the scientists striven to destroy. Her blood thrilled and pulsedwith the knowledge, but it did not thrill or pulse for the man whoserevelations had confirmed her in it. The man whom she had promised tomarry was the man who had confirmed her in the knowledge of the truth.And all he had said and done filled her with a strange joy such as shehad never known before.

  At that moment Sir William came towards her. He had switched on theelectric light, and the room was now brilliantly illuminated. In hishand he held a large oval thing of brass, bright and shining.

  At that moment, also, old Lady Poole woke up with a start.

  "Dear me," she said, "I must have taken forty winks. Well, I suppose, mydear children, that I have proved my absolute inability to be _de trop_!What are you doing, William?"

  "It's a little experiment," Sir William said, "one of my inventions,Lady Poole. Marjorie, I want you to take off your hat."

  Marjorie did so. With careful and loving hands the great man placed themetal helmet upon her head. The girl let him do so as if she were in adream. Then Sir William pressed a button in the wall. In a few secondsthere was an answering and sudden ring of an electric bell in the study.

  "Now, Marjorie!" Sir William said, "now, all I have told you is beingactually proved."

  He looked at her face, which flowered beneath the grotesque and shiningcap of metal.

  "Now, Marjorie, everything you are thinking is being definitely recordedin another place."

  For a moment or two the significance of his words did not penetrate toher mind.

  Then she realized them.

  Lady Poole and the scientist saw the rapt expression fade away like alamp that is turned out. Horror flashed out upon it, horror and fear.Her hands went up to her head; she swept off the brilliant helmet andflung it with a crash upon the ground.

  Then she swayed for a moment and sank into a deep swoon.

  She had been thinking of Mr. Guy Rathbone, barrister-at-law, and whather thoughts were, who can say?