The Darrow Enigma, Melvin L. Severy [free biff chip and kipper ebooks TXT] 📗
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The Darrow Enigma
by Melvin L. Severy
CONTENTS
THE EPISODE OF THE DARKENED ROOM
* CHAPTER I
* CHAPTER II
* CHAPTER III
* CHAPTER IV
THE EPISODE OF THE SEALED DOCUMENT
* CHAPTER I
THE EPISODE OF RAMA RAGOBAH
* CHAPTER I
* CHAPTER II
THE EPISODE OF THE PARALLEL READERS
* CHAPTER I
* CHAPTER II
* CHAPTER III
THE EPISODE OF THE TALETALE THUMB
* CHAPTER I
* CHAPTER II
* CHAPTER III
* CHAPTER IV
* CHAPTER V
THE EPISODE OF THE DARKENED ROOM
What shall we say when Dream-Pictures leave their frames
of night and push us from the waking world?
As the part I played in the events I am about to narrate was rather
that of a passive observer than of an active participant, I need say
little of myself. I am a graduate of a Western university and, by
profession, a physician. My practice is now extensive, owing to my
blundering into fame in a somewhat singular manner, but a year ago
I had, I assure you, little enough to do. Inasmuch as my practice
is now secure, I feel perfectly free to confess that the cure I
effected in the now celebrated case of Mrs. P-was altogether the
result of chance, and not, as I was then only too glad to have
people believe, due to an almost supernatural power of diagnosis.
Mrs. P-was not more surprised at the happy result than was I; the
only difference being that she showed her astonishment, while I
endeavoured to conceal mine, and affected to look upon the whole
thing as a matter of course.
My fame spread; the case got into the medical journals, where my
skill was much lauded, and my practice became enormous. There is
but one thing further I need mention regarding myself: that is,
that I am possessed of a memory which my friends are pleased to
consider phenomenal. I can repeat a lecture, sermon, or
conversation almost word for word after once hearing it, provided
always, that the subject commands my interest. My humble abilities
in this direction have never ceased to be a source of wonderment to
my acquaintance, though I confess, for my own part, when I compare
them with those of Blind Tom, or of the man who, after a single
reading, could correctly repeat the London Times, advertisements
and all, they seem modest indeed.
It was about the time when, owing to the blessed Mrs. P -, my
creditors were beginning to receive some attention, that I first met
George Maitland. He had need, he said, of my professional services;
he felt much under the weather; could I give him something which
would brace him up a bit; he had some important chemical work on
hand which he could not afford to put by; in fact, he didn’t mind
saying that he was at work upon a table of atomical pitches to match
Dalton’s atomic weights; if he succeeded in what he had undertaken
he would have solved the secret of the love and hatred of atoms,
and unions hitherto unknown could easily be effected.
I do not know how long he would have continued had not my interest
in the subject caused me to interrupt him. I was something of an
experimenter myself, and here was a man who could help me.
It was a dream of mine that the great majority of ailments could be
cured by analysing a patient’s blood, and then injecting into his
veins such chemicals as were found wanting, or were necessary to
counteract the influence of any deleterious matter present. There
were, of course, difficulties in the way, but had they not already
at Cornell University done much the same for vegetable life? And
did not those plants which had been set in sea sand out of which
every particle of nutriment had been roasted, and which were then
artificially fed with a solution of the chemicals of which they were
known to be composed, grow twice as rank as those which had been set
in the soil ordinarily supposed to be best adapted to them? What
was the difference between a human cell and a plant cell? Yes, since
my patient was a chemist, I would cultivate his acquaintance.
He proceeded to tell me how he felt, but I could make nothing of it,
so I forthwith did the regulation thing; what should we doctors do
without it! I looked at his tongue, pulled down his eyelid, and
pronounced him bilious. Yes, there were the little brown spots under
his skin - freckles, perhaps - and probably he had an occasional
ringing in his ears. He was willing to admit that he was dizzy on
suddenly rising from a stooping posture, and that eggs, milk, and
coffee were poison to him; and he afterward told me he should have
said the same of any other three articles I might have mentioned, for
he looked so hale and vigorous, and felt so disgracefully well, that
he was ashamed of himself. We have had many a laugh over it since.
The fact of the matter is the only affliction from which he was
suffering was an inordinate desire to make my acquaintance. Not for
my own sake - oh, dear, no! - but because I was John Darrow’s family
physician, and would be reasonably sure to know Gwen Darrow, that
gentleman’s daughter. He had first met her, he told me after we had
become intimate, at an exhibition of paintings by William T. Richards,
- but, as you will soon be wondering if it were, on his part, a case
of love at first sight, I had best relate the incident to you in his
own words as he told it to me. This will relieve me of passing any
judgment upon the matter, for you will then know as much about it as
I, and, doubtless, be quite as capable of answering the question, for
candour compels me to own that my knowledge of the human heart is
entirely professional. Think of searching for Cupid’s darts with a
stethoscope!
“I was standing,” Maitland said, “before a masterpiece of sea and
rock, such as only Richards can paint. It was a view of Land’s End,
Cornwall, and in the artist’s very best vein. My admiration made
me totally unmindful of my surroundings, so much so, indeed, that,
although the gallery was crowded, I caught myself expressing my
delight in a perfectly audible undertone. My enthusiasm, since it
was addressed to no one, soon began to attract attention, and people
stopped looking at the pictures to look at me. I was conscious of
this in a vague, far-off way, much as one is conscious of a
conversation which seems to have followed him across the borderland
of sleep, and I even thought that I ought to be embarrassed. How
long I remained thus transported I do not know. The first thing I
remember is hearing someone close beside me take a quick, deep
breath, one of those full inhalations natural to all sensitive
natures when they come suddenly upon something sublime. -I turned
and looked. I have said I was transported by that canvas of sea
and rocks, and have, therefore, no word left to describe the emotion
with which I gazed upon the exquisite, living, palpitating picture
beside me. A composite photograph of all the Madonnas ever painted,
from the Sistine to Bodenhausen’s, could not have been more lovely,
more ineffably womanly than that young girl, radiant with the divine
glow of artistic delight - at least, that is my opinion, which, by
the bye, I should, perhaps, have stated a little more gingerly,
inasmuch as you are yourself acquainted with the young lady. Now,
don’t look incredulous [noticing my surprise]. Black hair - not
brown, black; clear pink and white complexion; large, deep violet
eyes with a remarkable poise to them.” - Here I continued the
description for him: “Slight of figure; a full, honest waist,
without a suggestion of that execrable death-trap, Dame Fashion’s
hideous cuirass; a little above middle height; deliberate, and
therefore graceful, in all her movements; carries herself in a way
to impress one with the idea that she is innocent, without that
time-honoured concomitant, ignorance; half girl, half woman; shy,
yet strong; and in a word, very beautiful - that’s Gwen Darrow.”
I paused here, and Maitland went on somewhat dubiously: “Yes, it’s
not hard to locate such a woman. She makes her presence as clearly
felt among a million of her sex as does a grain of fuchsine in a
hogshead of water. If, with a few ounces of this, Tyndall could
colour Lake Geneva, so with Gwen Darrow one might, such is the power
of the ideal, change the ethical status of a continent.”
He then told me how he had made a study of Miss Darrow’s movements,
and had met her many times since; in fact, so often that he fancied,
from something in her manner, that she had begun to wonder if his
frequent appearance were not something more than a coincidence. The
fear that she might think him dogging her footsteps worried him, and
he began as sedulously to avoid the places he knew she frequented,
as he previously had sought them. This, he confessed, made him
utterly miserable. He had, to be sure, never spoken to her, but it
was everything to be able to see her. When he could endure it no
longer he had come to me under pretence of feeling ill, that he
might, when he had made my acquaintance, get me to introduce him to
the Darrows.
You will understand, of course, that I did not learn all this at our
first interview. Maitland did not take me into his confidence until
we had had a conference at his laboratory devoted entirely to
scientific speculations. On this occasion he surprised me not a
little by turning to me suddenly and saying: “Some of the grandest
sacrifices the world has ever known, if one may judge by the
fortitude they require,=20and the pain they cause, have occurred in
the laboratory.” I looked at him inquiringly, and he continued:
“When a man, simply for the great love of truth that is in him, has
given his life to the solution of some problem, and has at last
arrived, after years of closest application, at some magnificent
generalisation - when he has, perhaps, published his conclusions,
and received the grateful homage of all lovers of truth, his life
has, indeed, borne fruit. Of him may it then be justly said that
his
”’… life hath blossomed downward like
The purple bell-flower.’
But suddenly, in the privacy of his laboratory, a single fact arises
from the test-tube in his trembling hand and confronts him! His
brain reels; the glass torment falls upon the floor, and shatters
into countless pieces, but he is not conscious of it, for he feels
it thrust through his heart. When he recovers from the first shock,
he can only ejaculate: ‘Is it possible?’ After a little he is able
to reason. ‘I was fatigued,’ he says; ‘perhaps my senses erred. I
can repeat the experiment again, and be sure. But if it overthrow
those conclusions for which I
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