XLVI. — OUT OF THE OCCULT
“HOW DID IT HAPPEN?”
“I scarcely know. We went up to play with the dog. It was unwilling to leave the place, and Aradna teasingly tried to push her off on to the steps. She succeeded, but—well, it was all over that quick. The Aradna was gone!”
But the Spot had by this time lost a good deal of its terror. Knowing what was on the other side, and who, made a great difference. As the doctor said later in a private consultation with Chick and Harry:
“It's not so bad. That is, if Hobart Fenton is at work there. I think he is. Really, I only regret that we didn't know of this beforehand; we could have sent a message through to him.”
And the professor went on to explain what he meant. At the time he spoke, it was twenty-four hours after the Aradna's going; another twenty-four hours would see the evening of the Last Day—the sixteenth of the sacred Days of Life—what the Rhamdas alluded to as “the Day of Judgment.” And the Mahovisal was a seething mass of humanity, all bent upon seeing the fulfillment of their highest hopes.
“Bear in mind that if the Spot should not open at the last moment, you and I are done for. We will be self-condemned 'False Ones'; our lives will not last one minute after midnight tomorrow night if we fail to get through!
“That Prophecy means EVERYTHING to the Thomahlians. There was a time when they accepted it on faith; now it is an intellectual conviction with every last one of them. And one and all look forward to a new and glorious life beyond the Spot—in the occult world—our world!
“Now, the ticklish part of the job will be to open the Spot just long enough to permit us to get through, yet prevent the whole Prophecy from coming to pass. We've got to get through, together with that black case of mine, and then shut the door in the face of all Thomahlia!”
Nothing more was said on the subject until late the following afternoon, as the doctor, Harry, and Chick sat down to a light meal. They ate much as if nothing whatever was in the wind. From where they sat, in one part of a wing of the temple, they could look out into the crowded streets, in which were packed untold numbers of pilgrims, all pressing towards the great square plaza in front of the temple. No guards were to be seen; the solemnity of the occasion was sufficient to keep order. But the terrific potentiality of that semi-fanatical host did not cause the doctor's voice to change one iota.
“There is no telling what may happen,” he said. “For my own part I shall not venture near the Spot of Life until just at the end. I shall remain in the chamber underneath.
“But you two ought to show yourselves immediately after sundown. Certain ancient writings indicate it. You, and the Nervina, will have to mount the stair to the Spot, and remain in sight until midnight—until the end.
“So we must be prepared for accidents.” He took some papers from his pocket, and selected two, and gave one to each of his pupils. “Here are the details of what must be done. In case only one of us gets through, it will be enough.”
“But—how can these be of any use, on such short notice?” Harry asked.
“Cudgel your brains a bit, gentlemen,” he chided good-humouredly. “You will soon see my drift. This is one of those occasions when the psychic elements involved are such that, without doubt, it were best if you reacted naturally to whatever may happen.
“Now you will note that I have made a drawing of the Blind Spot region; also certain calculations which will explain themselves.
“Moreover, I have written out the combination to my laboratory safe in my house in Berkeley. The green stone is there. Bertha will help, as soon as she understands that it is my wish; no explanation will be needed.
“You may leave the rest to me, young gentlemen. Act as through you had no notion that I was down below the Spot. I shall be merely experimenting a bit with that circle of jewels, to see if the phenomena which affected the Aradna cannot be repeated. I fancy it was not mere accident, but rather the working of a 'period.'”
He said no more about this, except to comment that he hoped to get into direct communication with Hobart Fenton before midnight should arrive. However, he did say, in an irrelevant sort of manner:
“Oh, by the way—do either of you happen to recall which direction the house at Chatterton Place faces?”
“North,” replied Harry and Chick, almost in the same breath.
“Ah yes. Well, the temple faces south. Can you remember that?”
They thought they could. The rest of the meal was eaten without any discussion. Just as they arose, however, the doctor observed:
“It may be that Hobart Fenton has got to come through. I wish I knew more about his mentality; it's largely a question of psychic influence—the combined, resultant force of the three material gems, and the three degrees of psychic vibration as put forth by him and you two. We shall see.
“Something happened today—the Geos told me about it—which may link up Hobart very definitely. It was about one o'clock when one of the temple pheasants began to behave very queerly up on the great stair. It had been walking around on the snow-stone, and flying a bit; then it started to hop down the steps.
“About sixteen steps down, Geos says the pheasant stopped and began to flutter frantically, as though some unseen person were holding it. Suddenly it vanished, and as suddenly reappeared again. It flew off, unharmed. I can't quite account for it, but—well, we'll see!”
He spoke no more, but led the way out into the entrance to the wing. There they waited only a moment or two, before the Nervina and her retinue arrived. Without delay a start was made for the great black stairway.
The doctor alone remained behind.
There was a guard-lined lane through the crowd, allowing the Nervina and the rest access to the foot of the steps. Reaching that point she paused for a look around.
The sun had just gone down; the artificial lights of the temple had not yet been turned on. Overhead, the great storm-cloud hung portentously, even more ominous than in the brighter light. The huge waterspout columns, the terrific size of the auditorium, were none the less impressive for the incalculable horde that filled every bit of floor space. At the front of the building the archway gave a glimpse of the vastly greater throng waiting outside.
But all was quiet, with the silence of reverence and supreme expectation.
The long flight of stairs was lined on either side, from bottom to top, with the Rhamdas. On the landing there stood only two of the three chairs that Chick had seen on the previous occasion. The green one had been brought down and placed in the centre of an open spot just at the foot of the stairs.
In this chair sat the Bar Senestro. Deployed about him, at a respectful distance, was a semi-circle of the Bars, many hundreds in number. Behind the Bars, separating them from the crowds at their backs, were grouped the crimson and blue guardsmen. Among them, no doubt, were the Jan Lucar and the MacPherson, but Chick could locate neither.
The Nervina, taking Harry's arm, ascended the steps. Chick followed, with the Rhamda Geos at his side. At the top of the flight the Nervina was escorted to one of the chairs, while Chick placed the Geos in the other.
It left the two Californians on their feet, to move around to whatever extent seemed commensurate with dignity. Chick drew Harry aside.
“What do you suppose,” said Chick, indicating the handsome, confident figure in the chair at the base of the stairs—“what do you suppose friend Senestro is thinking about?”
Harry frowned. “You know him better than I do. You don't think he has reformed?”
“Not on your life; not the Bar. He's merely adjusted his plans to the new situation. He sees that the Prophecy is likely to be fulfilled; so, he counts on being the first to get through, after the Nervina. Then, whether the rest of the Thomahlia follows or not—he calls himself the divinely appointed leader now, I understand—he will get through and marry the two Queens anyhow!”
Perhaps it was because the crowd was so terrifically large. Or, there may have been something in the destiny of things that would not permit the chief actors to feel nervous. Certain it is that neither of the two men experienced the least stage fright. Had they been on display before a crowd one-tenth the size, anywhere else, both would have been ill at ease. This was different—enormously so.
No longer was there any circulation in the crowd. People remained in their places now, just as they expected the end to find them. Chick and Harry marvelled at their composure, strangely in contrast with the ceaseless activities of the temple pheasants darting everywhere overhead.
Suddenly Harry remarked:
“I've got an idea, Chick! It's this: How does the professor expect to send a message to Hobart?” Chick could not guess.
But already Harry had taken his sheet of instructions from his pocket, and was rolling it into a compact pellet. Then he went to Queen, and with a ribbon borrowed from the Nervina, tied the message tightly to the dog's collar.
“Hobart will be certain to see it,” said he. “I wonder if the doctor's figured it out yet?”
“He's playing with a tremendous force,” observed Chick, thoughtfully. He reached out and touched the snow-stone with his foot, just as he had done before, and fancied that he could feel that electric thrill even through the leather of his shoes. “Still, it's worth any risk he may be taking down in that chamber. If only he could send Queen through! Hobart—”
He never finished the sentence. He staggered, thrown off his balance by reason of the fact that he had been resting the weight of one foot on the stone and—it moved!
Moved—shifted about its axis, just as it had done forty-eight hours previously, when the Aradna had dropped through.
And Chick had only a flash of a second for a glimpse of the startled faces of Harry, the Nervina and the Geos, the huge multitude below the stair, Queen on the other side, and the fateful Prophecy on the walls above him, before—
A figure came into existence at his side. It was that of a powerfully built man, on whose wrists were curious red circles. And Chick shouted in a great voice:
“Hobart!”
And then came blackness.
XLVII. — THE LAST LEAF
Watson's story was now completed. During the entire recital his auditors had spoken scarcely a word. It had been marvellous—almost a revelation. With the possible exception of Sir Henry Hodges, not one had expected that it would measure up to this. For the whole thing backed up Holcomb's original proposition:
“The Occult is concrete.”
Certainly, if what Watson had told them was true, then Infinity had been squared by itself. Not only was there an infinity that we might look up to through the stars, but there was another just as great, co-existent, here upon the earth. The occult became not only possible, but unlimited.
The next few minutes would prove whether or not he had told the truth.
It was now close to midnight.
Jerome and General Hume had returned from Berkeley. Their quest had been successful; Watson now had the missing green stone. A number of soldiers were stationed about the house. Watson noted these men when he had finished his account, and said:
“Good. We may need them, although I hope not. Fortunately the Spot is small, and a few of us can hold it against a good many. What we must do is to extricate our friends and close it. Afterward we may have time for more leisurely investigation. But we must remember, above all things, that black case of Professor Holcomb's! It holds the secrets.
“Now I must ask you all to step out of this room. This library, you know, is the Blind Spot.”
He directed them to take positions along the balustrade of the stairway, out in the hall—through the wide archway, where they could have a clear view, yet be safe.
It was a curious test. With nothing but his mathematics and his drawing to go by, Watson was about to set the three stones in their invisible sockets. He spread the map out carefully, likewise his calculations; they gave him, on this floor, the precise positions that he charted on the earth of the cellar. A glance toward the front of the house—north—then a little measuring, three chalk-marks on the carpet, and he was ready for the final move.
He took the fateful ring and with a penknife pried up the prongs that held the stone. As it popped out he caught it with one hand. Then he looked at the row of wondering faces along the stair.
“I think it will work,” he said. “But, remember—don't come near! I shall get out as best I can myself; don't try to save me.”
With that he held the jewel on the first of the three chalk-marks on the circumference of the great circle. He held it tight against the carpet and then let go. Up it flashed about one foot—and disappeared.
There was no sound. Next Watson took the red stone. With it, the process was inverted. Instead of holding it to the floor he raised it as high as he could reach, directly above the second mark. Then he let it drop.
It did not reach the floor. It fell a little more than halfway, and vanished.
The third stone, the green one, was still remaining. Watson took it to the third and final mark on the circle, taking care to keep outside the circumference that marked the Spot. This mark was directly in front of the archway. He turned to them.
“Watch carefully,” he spoke. “I do not know what has transpired in the temple during the past few hours. Be ready for ANYTHING. All of you!”
He dropped the stone.
With the same motion he dodged out into the hall.
Though there was no sound there was something that every one felt—a sibilant undertone and cold vibration—a tense flash of magnetism. Then the dot of blue—a string of incandescence; just as had been spoken.
The Blind Spot was opening.
Watson silently warned the others to remain where they were and himself crowded back against the stair. And as he did so, someone came noiselessly down the steps from the floor above, passed unnoticed behind the watchers and thence across into the hall.
It was a slender, frail figure in white—the Aradna, walking like one in the grip of a higher will. Before they could make a move she had stepped into the Blind Spot, under the dot of blue, and into a string of light. And then—she was gone.
It was as swift as a guess. It was inexorable and unseen; and being unseen, close akin to terror. The group watched and waited, scarcely breathing. What would happen next?
There came a sudden, jarring click—like the tapping of iron. And next instant—
The Spot opened to human sight.
The library at 288 Chatterton Place was gone. Instead, the people on the stairs were gazing down from the Spot of Life, straight into the colossal Temple of the Jarados.
It was as Chick had described it—immense—beyond conception. Through the great doors and out into the plaza beyond was gathered all Thomahlia, reverent, like those waiting for the crack of doom.
Above the horde, high on the opposite wall, stood out the monster Clover Leaf of the Jarados; three-coloured—blazing like liquid fire; it was ominous with real life.
At that moment the whole concourse rippled with commotion. Arms were uplifted; one and all pointed towards the dais. They, too were looking through the Spot. Then the multitude began to move.
It heaved and surged and rolled toward the centre. The guards were pressed in upon the Bars, the Bars upon the Rhamda-lined stair. There was no resisting that flood of humanity. On and up it came, sweeping everything before it.
Directly in the foreground lay the snow-stone. On its centre stood the dog Queen, crouching, waiting, bristling. By her side Harry Wendel crouched on one knee, as if awaiting the signal. Behind him, the Nervina, supporting the awakening Aradna. And in front of all, the powerful bulk of Hobart Fenton, standing squarely at the head of the stair, ready to grapple the first to reach the landing.
But most important of all, there stood the doctor himself. He was at the Nervina's side; in his hand, the case of priceless data. He was gazing through the Spot and making a signal of some kind to Watson, whereupon the latter leaped to the edge of the unseen circle.
Something had gone wrong. The Spot was not fully open. Nothing but sight could get through.
Yet there was no time for anything. Up the stairs came the Bars, leading and being pressed forward by the horde. At their head dashed the Bar Senestro, handsome as Alexander. Hobart stepped forward to meet him, but the doctor stopped him with a word.
Only a few seconds elapsed between death and salvation. Again Dr. Holcomb signed to Watson; not a sound came through. Watson hesitated.
The dog Queen shot to her feet. Then the Senestro, out-distancing all the rest and dodging Hobart, had leaped upon the dais.
Upon the wall across the temple the great Leaf of the Jarados stood out like sinister fire. It pulsed and vibrated—alive. The top petal—the blue one—suddenly broke into a seething wave of flame.
Still Watson held back. He could not understand what Holcomb meant.
Queen waited only until the Senestro set foot on the dais. She crouched, then leaped.
It was done.
With a lightning shift of his nimble feet, the high-tempered Bar kicked the shepherd in the side. Caught at full leap, she was knocked completely over and fell upon the snow-stone.
It was the Sacrilege!
Even the Bars beyond the Senestro stopped in horror. The Four-Footed One—sacred to the Jarados—it was she who had been touched! Had the Senestro undone all on the Spot of Judgment, What would be the end?
Fenton acted. He caught the Senestro before he could get his balance and with a mighty heave hurled him over the side of the stair. A second, and it was over.
Another second was the last. For the great Leaf of the Jarados had opened.
The green and red stood still; but out of the blue came a dazzling light, a powerful beam; so brilliant, it seemed solid. It shot across the whole sweep of the temple and touched the Prophecy. Over the golden scrolls it traced its marvellous colour, until it came to the lines:
Beware ye of sacrilege! Lest I take from ye all that I
have given ye, and the day be postponed—beware ye of
sacrilege!
For a moment the strange light stood still, so that the checked millions might read. Then it turned upon the dais.
There it spread, and hovered over the group, until it seemed to work them together—the Nervina to Harry, the Aradna to Hobart. Not one of them knew what it was; they obeyed by impulse—it was their destiny; the Chosen, and the queens.
The light stopped at the foot of Dr. Holcomb. Then the strangest thing happened.
Out of the light—or rather, from where it bathed the snowstone—came a man; a man much like Holcomb, bearded and short and kindly.
He was the real Jarados!
Unhesitatingly the professor stepped up beside him. Then followed Hobart and the Aradna, Harry and the Nervina, and lastly, from the crowd of Bars, MacPherson. The whole concourse in the temple stopped in awe and terror.
Only for a second. Then the Jarados and all at his side—were gone.
And upon the snow-stone there stood a sword of living flame.
It stood there for just a breath, exactly where the group had been.
And it was gone.
That was all.
No; not quite all. For when the Blind Spot closed that night at 288 Chatterton Place, there came once more the deep, solemn peal of the Bell of the Jarados.
XLVIII. — THE UNACCOUNTABLE
Were this account merely a work of fiction, it would harmonise things so as to have no unaccountables in it. As it is, the present writers will have to make this quite clear:
It is not known why the Rhamda Avec failed to show himself at the crucial moment. Perhaps he could have changed everything. We can only surmise; he has not been seen or heard from since.
Which also is true of Mr. Chick Watson. He disappeared immediately after the closing of the Spot, saying that he was going to Bertha Holcomb's home. No trace has been found of either to date. Doubtless the reader has noted advertisement in the papers, appealing to the authorities to report any one of Watson's description applying for a marriage licence.
As for his two friends, Wendel and Fenton, together with the Aradna and the Nervina, they and MacPherson and the doctor absolutely vanished from all the knowledge, either of the Thomahlia or the earth. The Jarados alone can tell of them.
Mme. Le Fabre, however, feels that she can explain the matter satisfactorily. Abridged, her theory runs:
“There is but one way to explore the Occult. That way is to die.
“For all that we were so strongly impressed with the reality of Mr. Watson, I am firmly convinced that he was simply a spirit; that everything we saw was spirit manifestation.
“Dr. Holcomb and all the rest have simply gone on to another plane. We shall never see them again. They are dead; no other explanation will hold. They are spirits.”
Giving this version to the public strictly for what it is worth, the present writers feel it only right to submit the conclusions reached by Dr. Malloy and concurred in by Drs. Higgins and Hansen, also, with reservations, by Professor Herold and by Miss Clarke.
“To a certain extent, and up to a certain point, it is possible to account for the astonishing case of the Blind Spot by means of well-known psychological principles. Hallucinations will cover a great deal of ground.
“But we feel that our personal experiences, in witnessing the interior of the Thomahlia cannot be thus explained away. Our accounts tally too exactly; and we are not subject to group hypnosis.
“To explain this we believe a new hypothesis is called for. We submit that what we saw was not unreal. Assuming that a thing is real or unreal, and can never be in a third state which is neither one nor the other, then we should have to insist that what we saw was REAL.
“We stand ready and prepared to accept any theory which will fit all facts, not merely a portion.”
Again refraining from any comment we pass on to the more exhaustive opinion of Sir Henry Hodges. Inasmuch as this seems to coincide very closely with the hypothesis of Professor Holcomb, and as the reputation of Sir Henry is a thing of weight, we are quoting him almost verbatim:
“There is a well-known experiment in chemistry, wherein equal quantities of water and alcohol are mixed. Let us say, a pint of each. Now, the resulting mixture ought to be a quart; but it is not. It is somewhat less than a quart.
“Strange, indeed, to the novice, but a commonplace to every student of the subject. It is strange only that, except for Dr. Holcomb and this man Avec, science has overlooked the stupendous significance and suggestion of this particular fact.
“Now, consider another well-known fact: No matter how you try you cannot prevent gravity from acting. It will pull every object down, regardless of how you try to screen it from the earth.
“Why? Because gravity penetrates all things. Again, why? Why should gravity penetrate all things?
“The answer is, because gravity is a function of the ether. And the ether is an imponderable substance, so impalpable that it passes right through all solids as though they were not there.
“These are two highly suggestive points. They show us, first, that two substances can exist within the space formerly thought to be completely filled by one. Second, they show that ALL substances are porous to the ether.
“Very well. Bear in mind that we know nothing whatever directly about the ether; our knowledge is all indirect. Therefore—
“It may be that there is more than one ether!
“Conceive what this means. If there were another ether, how could we become aware of it? Only through the medium of some such phenomenon as the Blind Spot; not through ordinary channels. For the ordinary channels are microscopes and test-tubes, every one of which, when traced to the ultimate, is simply a concrete expression of THE ONE ETHER WE KNOW!
“In the nature of the case our five senses could never apprehend a second ether.
“Yet, knowing what we do about the structure of the atom, of electronic activity, of quantels, we must admit that there is a huge, unoccupied space—that is, we can't see that it is occupied—in and between the interstices of the atom.
“It is in the region, mingled and intertwined with the electrons which make up the world we know so well, that—in my opinion—the Thomahlian world exists. It is actually coexistent with our own. It is here, and so are we. At this very instant, at any given spot, there can be, and almost certainly is, more than one solid object—two systems of materiality, two systems of life, two systems of death. And if two, why, then, perhaps there are even more!
“Holcomb is right. We are Infinity. Only our five senses make us finite.”
Charlotte Fenton does not indulge in speculation. She seems to bear up wonderfully well in the face of Harry Wendel's affinity for the Nervina, and also in the face of her brother's disappearance. And she philosophically states:
“When Columbus returned from his search for the East Indies, he triumphantly announced that he had found what he sought.
“He was mistaken. He had found something else—America.
“It may be that we are all mistaken. It may be that something entirely different from what any one has suspected has been found. Time will tell. I am willing to wait.”
To make it complete, it is felt that the following statement of General Hume is not only essential, but convincing to the last degree.
“My view regarding this mystery is simply this: I have eyes, and I have seen. I don't know whether the actors were living or dead. I am no scientist; I have no theory. I only know. And I will swear to what I saw.
“I am a soldier. The two men who are bringing this to press have shown me their copy.
“It is correct.”
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