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Show but enough like It to be eaHllj Identified. Identi-fied. I was loo dai.ed to think ; the raps, the darkness, tlio voice, und the fear Hint was creeping Into my heart, were almost more than 1 could bear. Silence again, broken only by the uneasy moans of the medium. Then, without warning, someone cried In terror, "Look I The stairs, the Mall's 1" Almost In front of us was the stairway stair-way leading to th(! tower room. There upon the lop step, was a tiny light, unlike any light that 1 bail ever seen. It was hardly larger than a silver dollar, of an unearthly whiteness; then It began to grow larger and larger, until It changed Into a luminous lumi-nous arm lloallng In the air. I heard someone gasp In fear, then all was silence again. The light continued to change. Now there were Iwo arms, then tlie trunk of a body, and then, out of nothing, an entire human figure appeared, glowing with a soft, pale light In the darkness. A inlsty figure Willi ghostly, shining feet and bands, but no head! It began to float down the stairs, a slcp at a lime, seemingly upon the air. Currie's hand trembled under mine; and I controlled my own fear with an effort, as I pressed It reassuringly. Half way down the stairs a head appeared above the body. One moment mo-ment there was nothing there; the next, n face with burning eyes and tangled hair. I knew Instinctively whose It was. It belonged to Slyke, the murdered man. A voice thai seemed to come from the mouth said, "I have come back to place my hand on the person that killed me." The figure took a step toward us, the table before us fell over on the floor with a crash, and a voice almost nt my elbow cried In terror, "For God's sake, turn on that light. Don't let that d d thing touch me." As suddenly as It had appeared, the figure vanished, and we were left in the darkness. CHAPTER XIV The Murderer Speaks. Who turned on the lights I do not know. As soon as they Hashed on, we looked at each other inquiringly, our eyes filled with fear. Who had cried out In terror and broken the circle? Bartley motioned to us to sit down again, and took bis stand back of the table. lie seemed to me to be very weary, and his eyes rested on us sadly, as If he were reluctant to proceed pro-ceed further. It was not until we moved restlessly under his Intent gaze that he said, "I am not going to make any comment on what we have Just seen." He paused for a second, then added Impressively, "But I think I ought to tell you that I know who killed both Slyke and Brlffeur." There was a murmur of astonishment. astonish-ment. Currie looked at me appeal-Ingly, appeal-Ingly, but I knew no more than he. Roche whispered to Black, and they exchanged looks of bewilderment. Bartley still hesitated, as If he were very reluctant to continue. "I know that some of you doubt If we can prove that Mr. Slyke was murdered. mur-dered. You say there are no clues, and I admit that I have never seen a case In which there were so few. There is no doubt, however, that he was murdered, though It is difficult to say what the motive was. In the case of Briffeur, It was very simple." "Simple!" Itoche gasped. ' "Yes, simple. There was but one reason and one way, and even one person, that could have killed him." This statement was too much for Roche; he shook his heard In disbelief. disbe-lief. "Let's consider Mr. Slyke's death for a moment," Bartley continued. "After the party was over, Slyke asked Mr. Lawrence to stay behind and offered to sell him some whisky. They had a drink, then Lawrence went home. But we found three glasses, showing that someone besides Lawrence had drunk with feiyke. Let us say this third person killed Slyke. Understand me: I do not believe that, when be came, he had any intention of killing him that came later. We will assume that Slyke and this third person went upon the balcony, for whnt reason I cannot say, but I am sure that Slyke was the one that suggested sug-gested going there. No murderer would have selected it, voluntarily, as a place in which to kill his victim." He paused for a second, then continued con-tinued : "After Slyke had been killed, the thought occurred to the murderer that it was possible to make bis death look like suicide. He undressed the body in the room above the bedroom, and later carried his clothing downstairs, down-stairs, placing it on a chair beside the bed. But he overlooked a stocking stock-ing that had fallen on the floor behind the door of the room above. Criminals, Crimi-nals, no matter how shrewd, always make some mistake that betrays them ; this person drew the bedclothes bed-clothes up around Slyke's neck. If he had not done that, I doubt if we would ever have suspected that Slyke was murdered. The shot took effect at once. It would have been impossible impos-sible for him to have drawn the bedclothes bed-clothes up around bis own neck, and placed his hands by his side before he died." The doctor's voice sounded perplexed per-plexed as he said, "But, Mr. Bartley. I Out of the I I Darkness Charles J. Dutton 1 1 i'iiiinriiiiIHiiiiiiiiii - I Coprrlght 195J br Dodd. Hasd 4 Co.. Inc. CHAPTER XIII Continued. 20 Currie Interrupted to say, "But, John, if the lights are turned out, how are we to know that you did not write those messages yourself?" Without a smile on his face Hartley replied: "I did not intend to turn out the light. I nm going to do what few mediums ever attempt to do: that is, to see if we can secure a message on these slates in full light. There have been so many frauds in slate-writing seances that a test made in the dark has no value." As he spoke he tore the wrapping from the package and disclosed a number num-ber of ordinary school slates tied together to-gether with a string. When he had cut the string and placed the slates on the table before him, he added : "You might claim that these slates already have a message written on them, so I will wash the surface of each with water. If there was any writing on them, it will be wiped out." With our eyes following every movement, move-ment, he took a piece of cloth, dipped it Into the glass of water, and carefully care-fully washed one side of a slate. As he was beginuing to wash the other side, he paused and said to Currie, "You may think I have not washed the slate thoroughly enough ; suppose, Currie, you take it and wash the other side yourself. Make a good job of it." Currie's earnestness was almost laughable as he took the slate and turned It over and over, examining both surfaces. When he had finished he whispered to me, "There was not a darned thing on that elate." The same method was employed with the other slates. First, Bartley would wash one side, then would call upon one of us to examine the slate and wash off the other side. I was left until the last, and I examined my slate very carefully before I touched it with the cloth. On the side which Bartley had washed little drops of water still clung. The unwashed side was dirty but showed no traces of having been written on. When I had finished my task, Bartley Bart-ley took one of the slates and said: "Xou have seen there was no writing of any kind on these slates. I am going go-ing to give one to each of you. Miss Potter should place hers under her feet ; Currie might sit on his ; the rest of you can place them under your coats." He gave us each a slate, and we did as he suggested. I wondered, as I placed mine under my coat, just what Bartley expected to discover. Somehow the whole thing seemed so absurd. He was so serious about It, however, that I began to believe that he must expect to receive a message of some sort. We sat silent and expectant, ex-pectant, I, for one, feeling a little foolish. Bartley, who had glanced at his watcb several times, waited for five minutes to pass before he said, "Suppose, "Sup-pose, Currie, you look at your slate." Currie grinned, as if to say he considered con-sidered it all foolishness, but did as requested. As he glanced at his slate, the smile left his face, his jaw dropped, and his eyes grew big with wonder. He looked at it several seconds sec-onds as if he could not believe his eyes, then slowly passed It to me. I took it eagerly, glanced at It, and in my turn was startled. There, however, how-ever, in a sprawling hand, running across the slate that had been blank a few moments before, was written, "Currie, people who steal whisky out of a vault at midnight will come to a bad end." Almost unable to credit my eyes, I stared at the slate. Both sides had been so thoroughly washed that when Currie had taken It they were still wet. How the writing had gotten on the slate, I could not imagine. Miss Potter gave a sudden cry. She had risen to her feet with shining eyes. Holding her slate in one trem: bllng hand, she tried to speak, failed, then cried triumphantly : "It's a message mes-sage a message from Mr. Slyke! I knew it would come," and sank back into her chair, adding, as if unable to believe the evidence of her own senses, "It's In his own handwriting, his Very own, and he tells me what to do." Bartley took "the slate from her trembling fingers, a curious expression expres-sion on his face. He placed It on the table, and w crowded round to examine exam-ine It. This time the entire surface of the slate was covered with writing, In the same sprawling hand that had written on Currie's and mine. The llettew were large and looked as if :tha person who had written the message mes-sage had been very weak, -roo astonished aston-ished to speak, we bent and read: "All will be well with me if you aid those who are trying to discover who (injured me. For my peace, do this: lllsten to the medium " and the message mes-sage trailed off In a large S. "It's Mr. Slyke's writing," Miss Poller Pol-ler cried excitedly. "1 recognize 11. There was nothing on Hie slate when I placed my feet on It." Hartley faced her gravely, with something In his manner that gae mo the Impression that he vas not al all surprised at what was happening. "Then you are absolutely sure It Is In his writing?" he asked. Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded. , At that moment, the bell rang, and the butler passed through Hie room on his way to the door. In Hie second before his return, 1 saw Koetor King steal a look at his slale, and, from the startled look on his face, I knew that he, too, had received a message. Meeting my eyes, he gave me a faint, wondering smile and shook his head doubtfully. The man whom the butler ushered in was the medium that Bartley bad secured in New York. He was very tall and thin, dressed In black, with white, unhealthy face, shifty eyes, and hair a bit too long. After be had been Introduced, Bartley Bart-ley told us that we were to begin the seance at once. The first thing to bo done was to place the medium In a chair in the corner nnd tie ids hands and feet firmly. Roche was selected to draw the rope through the rungs of the chair, tie his hands behind his hack, and place a gag In bis mouth so that he could not speak. He performed his task with the thoroughness of a police ollicer trained in the work ; nnd when he informed us that the medium could neither move nor spoak, I believed him. At Hartley's suggestion we seated ourselves around the table. It waN a small one, not very heavy In construction. construc-tion. We placed our hands on Its surface as directed, and linked them together by hooking the thumb and little finger of each hand around the finger of the hand next to It. We were told that under no circumstance ware we to break this circle. Bartley spent seme time in making sure that we were arranged In the proper manner. I was seated with Currie on my loft, my little finger clasped around his thumb, and Bartley Bart-ley himself on my right. He rose nnd turned off the lights, then groped his way back to my side, and a second later his finger closed around mine. I confess that I felt a bit like a fool as I waited there in the pitch darkness. dark-ness. Whnt we were doing seemed childish ; yet back of It all there was such a general air of expectancy that I was tense with excitement. The great draperies had been drawn over the windows, and not even a ray of light penetrated the room. Just what It was that we were waiting for I did not know. Something might or might not take place, the medium had said. We sat in silence for a number of minutes, minutes that dragged endlessly. I must confess that to me they were not the most pleasant I had ever spent. Someone drew a deep breath, and I thought the table had started to move. Then a silence followed, so deep that I could not hear even my neighbor breathing. I felt as if I were all alone In the darkness. Only the reassuring touch of the fingers on each side of me drew me back to sanity. Suddenly, when I was least expecting expect-ing it, I felt the table under my fingers fin-gers sway back and forth for a second, sec-ond, then fall back upon the floor with a little bang. Currie breathed hard, as If afraid ; and his grasp on my fingers tightened. Then without warning came a series of ten knocks, faintly, as If someone were knocking at a distant door. I could not tell where they came from. They seemed to be in the air, on the floor, everywhere every-where but on the table. One thing was sure : they did not come from the direction in which the medium sat. Besides, he had been tied too tightly In his chair to have been able to make them. Silence again, then more raps, quick little running raps, never very loud, that would start and stop a second, then trip away like little feet running run-ning to and fro. "Are you there?" Bartley's voice asked, hesitatingly. Almost before his words had died away, there came a series of loud raps, almost falling over each other. Then Bartley's voice again, cool but low, "Can you communicate with us?" I had expected that the raps would reply at once, but Instead there was a long silence. Several times Bartley repeated the question, and still no answer. At length" he asked, "Shall we try some other method?" Raps answered, tumbling over each other In their eagerness, and the table tipped so violently that I expected It would fall over. It returned to an upright position with a bang, then silence again. A deep moan from the direction of the medium startled me, then more moans interspersed with sighs. A shrill, thin voice, ghostly and far away, said brokenly, "Oh o-oh I ff-feel you ; I know you are there there" A silence, In which I hardly dared to breathe. The table tipped a second time and a deep voice which seemed familiar, though I could not place it, said, "I am here- here, though you do not see me. I was murdered by by " What It might have added we never knew. Miss Potter suddeniy cried out, not In fear but In joy, "It's Mr. Slyke his voice " Bartley, afraid that she might rise In her excitement and break the circle, whispered to her, and she settled back. I now recognized the voice as that of Slyke, a little changed, it Is true. this Is all a rather hne-spun theory." I "I expected that someone would sav that," Bartley smiled. "It is " mon than an unsupported theory. However, How-ever, let us proceed. The murderei went down to the living room and brought back with him two card.--which he threw on the floor of tin room where the glasses were. If it.-being it.-being suicide was questioned, thei the finding of the cards would thro suspicion on the members of the ca' party." (TO BF COVTINUKD.) |