ads:
The Stolen Body
H.G. Wells
Mr. Bessel was the senior partner in the firm of Bessel, Hart, and Brown, of St. Paul's
Churchyard, and for many years he was well known among those interested in psychical
research as a liberal-minded and conscientious investigator. He was an unmarried man, and
instead of living in the suburbs, after the fashion of his class, he occupied rooms in the
Albany, near Piccadilly. He was particularly interested in the questions of thought
transference and of apparitions of the living, and in November, 1896, he commenced a
series of experiments in conjunction with Mr. Vincey, of Staple Inn, in order to test the
alleged possibility of projecting an apparition of one's self by force of will through space.
Their experiments were conducted in the following manner: At a pre- arranged hour Mr.
Bessel shut himself in one of his rooms in the Albany and Mr. Vincey in his sitting-room in
Staple Inn, and each then fixed his mind as resolutely as possible on the other. Mr. Bessel
had acquired the art of self-hypnotism, and, so far as he could, he attempted first to
hypnotise himself and then to project himself as a "phantom of the living" across the
intervening space of nearly two miles into Mr. Vincey's apartment. On several evenings this
was tried without any satisfactory result, but on the fifth or sixth occasion Mr. Vincey did
actually see or imagine he saw an apparition of Mr. Bessel standing in his room. He states
that the appearance, although brief, was very vivid and real. He noticed that Mr. Bessel's
face was white and his expression anxious, and, moreover, that his hair was disordered. For
a moment Mr. Vincey, in spite of his state of expectation, was too surprised to speak or
move, and in that moment it seemed to him as though the figure glanced over its shoulder
and incontinently vanished.
It had been arranged that an attempt should be made to photograph any phantasm seen, but
Mr. Vincey had not the instant presence of mind to snap the camera that lay ready on the
table beside him, and when he did so he was too late. Greatly elated, however, even by this
partial success, he made a note of the exact time, and at once took a cab to the Albany to
inform Mr. Bessel of this result.
He was surprised to find Mr. Bessel's outer door standing open to the night, and the inner
apartments lit and in an extraordinary disorder. An empty champagne magnum lay smashed
upon the floor; its neck had been broken off against the inkpot on the bureau and lay beside
it. An octagonal occasional table, which carried a bronze statuette and a number of choice
books, had been rudely overturned, and down the primrose paper of the wall inky fingers
had been drawn, as it seemed for the mere pleasure of defilement. One of the delicate chintz
curtains had been violently torn from its rings and thrust upon the fire, so that the smell of
its smouldering filled the room. Indeed the whole place was disarranged in the strangest
fashion. For a few minutes Mr. Vincey, who had entered sure of finding Mr. Bessel in his
easy chair awaiting him, could scarcely believe his eyes, and stood staring helplessly at
these unanticipated things.
Then, full of a vague sense of calamity, he sought the porter at the entrance lodge. "Where
is Mr. Bessel?" he asked. "Do you know that all the furniture is broken in Mr. Bessel's
room?" The porter said nothing, but, obeying his gestures, came at once to Mr. Bessel's
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apartment to see the state of affairs. "This settles it," he said, surveying the lunatic
confusion. "I didn't know of this. Mr. Bessel's gone off. He's mad!"
He then proceeded to tell Mr. Vincey that about half an hour previously, that is to say, at
about the time of Mr. Bessel's apparition in Mr. Vincey's rooms, the missing gentleman had
rushed out of the gates of the Albany into Vigo Street, hatless and with disordered hair, and
had vanished into the direction of Bond Street. "And as he went past me," said the porter,
"he laughed--a sort of gasping laugh, with his mouth open and his eyes glaring--I tell you,
sir, he fair scared me!--like this."
According to his imitation it was anything but a pleasant laugh. "He waved his hand, with
all his fingers crooked and clawing--like that. And he said, in a sort of fierce whisper, 'life!'
Just that one word, 'life!'"
"Dear me," said Mr. Vincey. "Tut, tut," and "Dear me!" He could think of nothing else to
say. He was naturally very much surprised. He turned from the room to the porter and from
the porter to the room in the gravest perplexity. Beyond his suggestion that probably Mr.
Bessel would come back presently and explain what had happened, their conversation was
unable to proceed. "It might be a sudden toothache," said the porter, "a very sudden and
violent toothache, jumping on him suddenly-like and driving him wild. I've broken things
myself before now in such a case . . ." He thought. "If it was, why should he say 'life' to me
as he went past?"
Mr. Vincey did not know. Mr. Bessel did not return, and at last Mr. Vincey, having done
some more helpless staring, and having addressed a note of brief inquiry and left it in a
conspicuous position on the bureau, returned in a very perplexed frame of mind to his own
premises in Staple Inn. This affair had given him a shock. He was at a loss to account for
Mr. Bessel's conduct on any sane hypothesis. He tried to read, but he could not do so; he
went for a short walk, and was so preoccupied that he narrowly escaped a cab at the top of
Chancery Lane; and at last--a full hour before his usual time--he went to bed. For a
considerable time he could not sleep because of his memory of the silent confusion of Mr.
Bessel's apartment, and when at length he did attain an uneasy slumber it was at once
disturbed by a very vivid and distressing dream of Mr. Bessel.
He saw Mr. Bessel gesticulating wildly, and with his face white and contorted. And,
inexplicably mingled with his appearance, suggested perhaps by his gestures, was an
intense fear, an urgency to act. He even believes that he heard the voice of his fellow
experimenter calling distressfully to him, though at the time he considered this to be an
illusion. The vivid impression remained though Mr. Vincey awoke. For a space he lay
awake and trembling in the darkness, possessed with that vague, unaccountable terror of
unknown possibilities that comes out of dreams upon even the bravest men. But at last he
roused himself, and turned over and went to sleep again, only for the dream to return with
enhanced vividness.
He awoke with such a strong conviction that Mr. Bessel was in overwhelming distress and
need of help that sleep was no longer possible. He was persuaded that his friend had rushed
out to some dire calamity. For a time he lay reasoning vainly against this belief, but at last
he gave way to it. He arose, against all reason, lit his gas, and dressed, and set out through
the deserted streets--deserted, save for a noiseless policeman or so and the early news
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carts--towards Vigo Street to inquire if Mr. Bessel had returned.
But he never got there. As he was going down Long Acre some unaccountable impulse
turned him aside out of that street towards Covent Garden, which was just waking to its
nocturnal activities. He saw the market in front of him--a queer effect of glowing yellow
lights and busy black figures. He became aware of a shouting, and perceived a figure turn
the corner by the hotel and run swiftly towards him. He knew at once that it was Mr. Bessel.
But it was Mr. Bessel transfigured. He was hatless and dishevelled, his collar was torn
open, he grasped a bone-handled walking-cane near the ferrule end, and his mouth was
pulled awry. And he ran, with agile strides, very rapidly. Their encounter was the affair of
an instant. "Bessel!" cried Vincey.
The running man gave no sign of recognition either of Mr. Vincey or of his own name.
Instead, he cut at his friend savagely with the stick, hitting him in the face within an inch of
the eye. Mr. Vincey, stunned and astonished, staggered back, lost his footing, and fell
heavily on the pavement. It seemed to him that Mr. Bessel leapt over him as he fell. When
he looked again Mr. Bessel had vanished, and a policeman and a number of garden porters
and salesmen were rushing past towards Long Acre in hot pursuit.
With the assistance of several passers-by--for the whole street was speedily alive with
running people--Mr. Vincey struggled to his feet. He at once became the centre of a crowd
greedy to see his injury. A multitude of voices competed to reassure him of his safety, and
then to tell him of the behaviour of the madman, as they regarded Mr. Bessel. He had
suddenly appeared in the middle of the market screaming "Life! Life!" striking left and right
with a blood-stained walking-stick, and dancing and shouting with laughter at each
successful blow. A lad and two women had broken heads, and he had smashed a man's
wrist; a little child had been knocked insensible, and for a time he had driven every one
before him, so furious and resolute had his behaviour been. Then he made a raid upon a
coffee stall, hurled its paraffin flare through the window of the post office, and fled
laughing, after stunning the foremost of the two policemen who had the pluck to charge
him.
Mr. Vincey's first impulse was naturally to join in the pursuit of his friend, in order if
possible to save him from the violence of the indignant people. But his action was slow, the
blow had half stunned him, and while this was still no more than a resolution came the
news, shouted through the crowd, that Mr. Bessel had eluded his pursuers. At first Mr.
Vincey could scarcely credit this, but the universality of the report, and presently the
dignified return of two futile policemen, convinced him. After some aimless inquiries he
returned towards Staple Inn, padding a handkerchief to a now very painful nose.
He was angry and astonished and perplexed. It appeared to him indisputable that Mr. Bessel
must have gone violently mad in the midst of his experiment in thought transference, but
why that should make him appear with a sad white face in Mr. Vincey's dreams seemed a
problem beyond solution. He racked his brains in vain to explain this. It seemed to him at
last that not simply Mr. Bessel, but the order of things must be insane. But he could think of
nothing to do. He shut himself carefully into his room, lit his fire--it was a gas fire with
asbestos bricks--and, fearing fresh dreams if he went to bed, remained bathing his injured
face, or holding up books in a vain attempt to read, until dawn. Throughout that vigil he had
a curious persuasion that Mr. Bessel was endeavouring to speak to him, but he would not
let himself attend to any such belief.
About dawn, his physical fatigue asserted itself, and he went to bed and slept at last in spite
of dreaming. He rose late, unrested and anxious, and in considerable facial pain. The
morning papers had no news of Mr. Bessel's aberration--it had come too late for them. Mr.
Vincey's perplexities, to which the fever of his bruise added fresh irritation, became at last
intolerable, and, after a fruitless visit to the Albany, he went down to St. Paul's Churchyard
to Mr. Hart, Mr. Bessel's partner, and, so far as Mr. Vincey knew, his nearest friend.
He was surprised to learn that Mr. Hart, although he knew nothing of the outbreak, had also
been disturbed by a vision, the very vision that Mr. Vincey had seen--Mr. Bessel, white and
dishevelled, pleading earnestly by his gestures for help. That was his impression of the
import of his signs. "I was just going to look him up in the Albany when you arrived," said
Mr. Hart. "I was so sure of something being wrong with him."
As the outcome of their consultation the two gentlemen decided to inquire at Scotland Yard
for news of their missing friend. "He is bound to be laid by the heels," said Mr. Hart. "He
can't go on at that pace for long." But the police authorities had not laid Mr. Bessel by the
heels. They confirmed Mr. Vincey's overnight experiences and added fresh circumstances,
some of an even graver character than those he knew--a list of smashed glass along the
upper half of Tottenham Court Road, an attack upon a policeman in Hampstead Road, and
an atrocious assault upon a woman. All these outrages were committed between half-past
twelve and a quarter to two in the morning, and between those hours--and, indeed, from the
very moment of Mr. Bessel's first rush from his rooms at half-past nine in the evening--
they could trace the deepening violence of his fantastic career. For the last hour, at least
from before one, that is, until a quarter to two, he had run amuck through London, eluding
with amazing agility every effort to stop or capture him.
But after a quarter to two he had vanished. Up to that hour witnesses were multitudinous.
Dozens of people had seen him, fled from him or pursued him, and then things suddenly
came to an end. At a quarter to two he had been seen running down the Euston Road
towards Baker Street, flourishing a can of burning colza oil and jerking splashes of flame
therefrom at the windows of the houses he passed. But none of the policemen on Euston
Road beyond the Waxwork Exhibition, nor any of those in the side streets down which he
must have passed had he left the Euston Road, had seen anything of him. Abruptly he
disappeared. Nothing of his subsequent doings came to light in spite of the keenest inquiry.
Here was a fresh astonishment for Mr. Vincey. He had found considerable comfort in Mr.
Hart's conviction: "He is bound to be laid by the heels before long," and in that assurance he
had been able to suspend his mental perplexities. But any fresh development seemed
destined to add new impossibilities to a pile already heaped beyond the powers of his
acceptance. He found himself doubting whether his memory might not have played him
some grotesque trick, debating whether any of these things could possibly have happened;
and in the afternoon he hunted up Mr. Hart again to share the intolerable weight on his
mind. He found Mr. Hart engaged with a well-known private detective, but as that
gentleman accomplished nothing in this case, we need not enlarge upon his proceedings.
All that day Mr. Bessel's whereabouts eluded an unceasingly active inquiry, and all that
night. And all that day there was a persuasion in the back of Vincey's mind that Mr. Bessel
sought his attention, and all through the night Mr. Bessel with a tear-stained face of anguish
pursued him through his dreams. And whenever he saw Mr. Bessel in his dreams he also
saw a number of other faces, vague but malignant, that seemed to be pursuing Mr. Bessel.
It was on the following day, Sunday, that Mr. Vincey recalled certain remarkable stories of
Mrs. Bullock, the medium, who was then attracting attention for the first time in London.
He determined to consult her. She was staying at the house of that well-known inquirer, Dr.
Wilson Paget, and Mr. Vincey, although he had never met that gentleman before, repaired
to him forthwith with the intention of invoking her help. But scarcely had he mentioned the
name of Bessel when Doctor Paget interrupted him. "Last night--just at the end," he said,
"we had a communication."
He left the room, and returned with a slate on which were certain words written in a
handwriting, shaky indeed, but indisputably the handwriting of Mr. Bessel!
"How did you get this?" said Mr. Vincey. "Do you mean--?"
"We got it last night," said Doctor Paget. With numerous interruptions from Mr. Vincey, he
proceeded to explain how the writing had been obtained. It appears that in her seances, Mrs.
Bullock passes into a condition of trance, her eyes rolling up in a strange way under her
eyelids, and her body becoming rigid. She then begins to talk very rapidly, usually in voices
other than her own. At the same time one or both of her hands may become active, and if
slates and pencils are provided they will then write messages simultaneously with and quite
independently of the flow of words from her mouth. By many she is considered an even
more remarkable medium than the celebrated Mrs. Piper. It was one of these messages, the
one written by her left hand, that Mr. Vincey now had before him. It consisted of eight
words written disconnectedly: "George Bessel . . . trial excavn. . . . Baker Street . . . help . . .
starvation." Curiously enough, neither Doctor Paget nor the two other inquirers who were
present had heard of the disappearance of Mr. Bessel--the news of it appeared only in the
evening papers of Saturday--and they had put the message aside with many others of a
vague and enigmatical sort that Mrs. Bullock has from time to time delivered.
When Doctor Paget heard Mr. Vincey's story, he gave himself at once with great energy to
the pursuit of this clue to the discovery of Mr. Bessel. It would serve no useful purpose here
to describe the inquiries of Mr. Vincey and himself; suffice it that the clue was a genuine
one, and that Mr. Bessel was actually discovered by its aid.
He was found at the bottom of a detached shaft which had been sunk and abandoned at the
commencement of the work for the new electric railway near Baker Street Station. His arm
and leg and two ribs were broken. The shaft is protected by a hoarding nearly 20 feet high,
and over this, incredible as it seems, Mr. Bessel, a stout, middle-aged gentleman, must have
scrambled in order to fall down the shaft. He was saturated in colza oil, and the smashed tin
lay beside him, but luckily the flame had been extinguished by his fall. And his madness
had passed from him altogether. But he was, of course, terribly enfeebled, and at the sight
of his rescuers he gave way to hysterical weeping.
In view of the deplorable state of his flat, he was taken to the house of Dr. Hatton in Upper
Baker Street. Here he was subjected to a sedative treatment, and anything that might recall
the violent crisis through which he had passed was carefully avoided. But on the second day
he volunteered a statement.
Since that occasion Mr. Bessel has several times repeated this statement--to myself among
other people--varying the details as the narrator of real experiences always does, but never
by any chance contradicting himself in any particular. And the statement he makes is in
substance as follows.
In order to understand it clearly it is necessary to go back to his experiments with Mr.
Vincey before his remarkable attack. Mr. Bessel's first attempts at self-projection, in his
experiments with Mr. Vincey, were, as the reader will remember, unsuccessful. But through
all of them he was concentrating all his power and will upon getting out of the
body--"willing it with all my might," he says. At last, almost against expectation, came
success. And Mr. Bessel asserts that he, being alive, did actually, by an effort of will, leave
his body and pass into some place or state outside this world.
The release was, he asserts, instantaneous. "At one moment I was seated in my chair, with
my eyes tightly shut, my hands gripping the arms of the chair, doing all I could to
concentrate my mind on Vincey, and then I perceived myself outside my body--saw my
body near me, but certainly not containing me, with the hands relaxing and the head
drooping forward on the breast."
Nothing shakes him in his assurance of that release. He describes in a quiet, matter-of-fact
way the new sensation he experienced. He felt he had become impalpable--so much he had
expected, but he had not expected to find himself enormously large. So, however, it would
seem he became. "I was a great cloud--if I may express it that way--anchored to my body. It
appeared to me, at first, as if I had discovered a greater self of which the conscious being in
my brain was only a little part. I saw the Albany and Piccadilly and Regent Street and all
the rooms and places in the houses, very minute and very bright and distinct, spread out
below me like a little city seen from a balloon. Every now and then vague shapes like
drifting wreaths of smoke made the vision a little indistinct, but at first I paid little heed to
them. The thing that astonished me most, and which astonishes me still, is that I saw quite
distinctly the insides of the houses as well as the streets, saw little people dining and talking
in the private houses, men and women dining, playing billiards, and drinking in restaurants
and hotels, and several places of entertainment crammed with people. It was like watching
the affairs of a glass hive."
Such were Mr. Bessel's exact words as I took them down when he told me the story. Quite
forgetful of Mr. Vincey, he remained for a space observing these things. Impelled by
curiosity, he says, he stooped down, and, with the shadowy arm he found himself possessed
of, attempted to touch a man walking along Vigo Street. But he could not do so, though his
finger seemed to pass through the man. Something prevented his doing this, but what it was
he finds it hard to describe. He compares the obstacle to a sheet of glass.
"I felt as a kitten may feel," he said, "when it goes for the first time to pat its reflection in a
mirror." Again and again, on the occasion when I heard him tell this story, Mr. Bessel
returned to that comparison of the sheet of glass. Yet it was not altogether a precise
comparison, because, as the reader will speedily see, there were interruptions of this
generally impermeable resistance, means of getting through the barrier to the material world
again. But, naturally, there is a very great difficulty in expressing these unprecedented
impressions in the language of everyday experience.
A thing that impressed him instantly, and which weighed upon him throughout all this
experience, was the stillness of this place--he was in a world without sound.
At first Mr. Bessel's mental state was an unemotional wonder. His thought chiefly
concerned itself with where he might be. He was out of the body--out of his material body,
at any rate--but that was not all. He believes, and I for one believe also, that he was
somewhere out of space, as we understand it, altogether. By a strenuous effort of will he
had passed out of his body into a world beyond this world, a world undreamt of, yet lying
so close to it and so strangely situated with regard to it that all things on this earth are
clearly visible both from without and from within in this other world about us. For a long
time, as it seemed to him, this realisation occupied his mind to the exclusion of all other
matters, and then he recalled the engagement with Mr. Vincey, to which this astonishing
experience was, after all, but a prelude.
He turned his mind to locomotion in this new body in which he found himself. For a time
he was unable to shift himself from his attachment to his earthly carcass. For a time this
new strange cloud body of his simply swayed, contracted, expanded, coiled, and writhed
with his efforts to free himself, and then quite suddenly the link that bound him snapped.
For a moment everything was hidden by what appeared to be whirling spheres of dark
vapour, and then through a momentary gap he saw his drooping body collapse limply, saw
his lifeless head drop sideways, and found he was driving along like a huge cloud in a
strange place of shadowy clouds that had the luminous intricacy of London spread like a
model below.
But now he was aware that the fluctuating vapour about him was something more than
vapour, and the temerarious excitement of his first essay was shot with fear. For he
perceived, at first indistinctly, and then suddenly very clearly, that he was surrounded by
faces! that each roll and coil of the seeming cloud-stuff was a face. And such faces! Faces
of thin shadow, faces of gaseous tenuity. Faces like those faces that glare with intolerable
strangeness upon the sleeper in the evil hours of his dreams. Evil, greedy eyes that were full
of a covetous curiosity, faces with knit brows and snarling, smiling lips; their vague hands
clutched at Mr. Bessel as he passed, and the rest of their bodies was but an elusive streak of
trailing darkness. Never a word they said, never a sound from the mouths that seemed to
gibber. All about him they pressed in that dreamy silence, passing freely through the dim
mistiness that was his body, gathering ever more numerously about him. And the shadowy
Mr. Bessel, now suddenly fear-stricken, drove through the silent, active multitude of eyes
and clutching hands.
So inhuman were these faces, so malignant their staring eyes, and shadowy, clawing
gestures, that it did not occur to Mr. Bessel to attempt intercourse with these drifting
creatures. Idiot phantoms, they seemed, children of vain desire, beings unborn and
forbidden the boon of being, whose only expressions and gestures told of the envy and
craving for life that was their one link with existence.
It says much for his resolution that, amidst the swarming cloud of these noiseless spirits of
evil, he could still think of Mr. Vincey. He made a violent effort of will and found himself,
he knew not how, stooping towards Staple Inn, saw Vincey sitting attentive and alert in his
arm-chair by the fire.
And clustering also about him, as they clustered ever about all that lives and breathes, was
another multitude of these vain voiceless shadows, longing, desiring, seeking some
loophole into life.
For a space Mr. Bessel sought ineffectually to attract his friend's attention. He tried to get in
front of his eyes, to move the objects in his room, to touch him. But Mr. Vincey remained
unaffected, ignorant of the being that was so close to his own. The strange something that
Mr. Bessel has compared to a sheet of glass separated them impermeably.
And at last Mr. Bessel did a desperate thing. I have told how that in some strange way he
could see not only the outside of a man as we see him, but within. He extended his shadowy
hand and thrust his vague black fingers, as it seemed, through the heedless brain.
Then, suddenly, Mr. Vincey started like a man who recalls his attention from wandering
thoughts, and it seemed to Mr. Bessel that a little dark-red body situated in the middle of
Mr. Vincey's brain swelled and glowed as he did so. Since that experience he has been
shown anatomical figures of the brain, and he knows now that this is that useless structure,
as doctors call it, the pineal eye. For, strange as it will seem to many, we have, deep in our
brains--where it cannot possibly see any earthly light--an eye! At the time this, with the rest
of the internal anatomy of the brain, was quite new to him. At the sight of its changed
appearance, however, he thrust forth his finger, and, rather fearful still of the consequences,
touched this little spot. And instantly Mr. Vincey started, and Mr. Bessel knew that he was
seen.
And at that instant it came to Mr. Bessel that evil had happened to his body, and behold! a
great wind blew through all that world of shadows and tore him away. So strong was this
persuasion that he thought no more of Mr. Vincey, but turned about forthwith, and all the
countless faces drove back with him like leaves before a gale. But he returned too late. In an
instant he saw the body that he had left inert and collapsed--lying, indeed, like the body of a
man just dead--had arisen, had arisen by virtue of some strength and will beyond his own. It
stood with staring eyes, stretching its limbs in dubious fashion.
For a moment he watched it in wild dismay, and then he stooped towards it. But the pane of
glass had closed against him again, and he was foiled. He beat himself passionately against
this, and all about him the spirits of evil grinned and pointed and mocked. He gave way to
furious anger. He compares himself to a bird that has fluttered heedlessly into a room and is
beating at the window- pane that holds it back from freedom.
And behold! the little body that had once been his was now dancing with delight. He saw it
shouting, though he could not hear its shouts; he saw the violence of its movements grow.
He watched it fling his cherished furniture about in the mad delight of existence, rend his
books apart, smash bottles, drink heedlessly from the jagged fragments, leap and smite in a
passionate acceptance of living. He watched these actions in paralysed astonishment. Then
once more he hurled himself against the impassable barrier, and then with all that crew of
mocking ghosts about him, hurried back in dire confusion to Vincey to tell him of the
outrage that had come upon him.
But the brain of Vincey was now closed against apparitions, and the disembodied Mr.
Bessel pursued him in vain as he hurried out into Holborn to call a cab. Foiled and terror-
stricken, Mr. Bessel swept back again, to find his desecrated body whooping in a glorious
frenzy down the Burlington Arcade. . . .
And now the attentive reader begins to understand Mr. Bessel's interpretation of the first
part of this strange story. The being whose frantic rush through London had inflicted so
much injury and disaster had indeed Mr. Bessel's body, but it was not Mr. Bessel. It was an
evil spirit out of that strange world beyond existence, into which Mr. Bessel had so rashly
ventured. For twenty hours it held possession of him, and for all those twenty hours the
dispossessed spirit-body of Mr. Bessel was going to and fro in that unheard-of middle world
of shadows seeking help in vain. He spent many hours beating at the minds of Mr. Vincey
and of his friend Mr. Hart. Each, as we know, he roused by his efforts. But the language
that might convey his situation to these helpers across the gulf he did not know; his feeble
fingers groped vainly and powerlessly in their brains. Once, indeed, as we have already told,
he was able to turn Mr. Vincey aside from his path so that he encountered the stolen body in
its career, but he could not make him understand the thing that had happened: he was
unable to draw any help from that encounter. . . .
All through those hours the persuasion was overwhelming in Mr. Bessel's mind that
presently his body would be killed by its furious tenant, and he would have to remain in this
shadow-land for evermore. So that those long hours were a growing agony of fear. And ever
as he hurried to and fro in his ineffectual excitement, innumerable spirits of that world
about him mobbed him and confused his mind. And ever an envious applauding multitude
poured after their successful fellow as he went upon his glorious career.
For that, it would seem, must be the life of these bodiless things of this world that is the
shadow of our world. Ever they watch, coveting a way into a mortal body, in order that they
may descend, as furies and frenzies, as violent lusts and mad, strange impulses, rejoicing in
the body they have won. For Mr. Bessel was not the only human soul in that place. Witness
the fact that he met first one, and afterwards several shadows of men, men like himself, it
seemed, who had lost their bodies even it may be as he had lost his, and wandered,
despairingly, in that lost world that is neither life nor death. They could not speak because
that world is silent, yet he knew them for men because of their dim human bodies, and
because of the sadness of their faces.
But how they had come into that world he could not tell, nor where the bodies they had lost
might be, whether they still raved about the earth, or whether they were closed forever in
death against return. That they were the spirits of the dead neither he nor I believe. But
Doctor Wilson Paget thinks they are the rational souls of men who are lost in madness on
the earth.
At last Mr. Bessel chanced upon a place where a little crowd of such disembodied silent
creatures was gathered, and thrusting through them he saw below a brightly-lit room, and
four or five quiet gentlemen and a woman, a stoutish woman dressed in black bombazine
and sitting awkwardly in a chair with her head thrown back. He knew her from her portraits
to be Mrs. Bullock, the medium. And he perceived that tracts and structures in her brain
glowed and stirred as he had seen the pineal eye in the brain of Mr. Vincey glow. The light
was very fitful; sometimes it was a broad illumination, and sometimes merely a faint
twilight spot, and it shifted slowly about her brain. She kept on talking and writing with one
hand. And Mr. Bessel saw that the crowding shadows of men about him, and a great
multitude of the shadow spirits of that shadowland, were all striving and thrusting to touch
the lighted regions of her brain. As one gained her brain or another was thrust away, her
voice and the writing of her hand changed. So that what she said was disorderly and
confused for the most part; now a fragment of one soul's message, and now a fragment of
another's, and now she babbled the insane fancies of the spirits of vain desire. Then Mr.
Bessel understood that she spoke for the spirit that had touch of her, and he began to
struggle very furiously towards her. But he was on the outside of the crowd and at that time
he could not reach her, and at last, growing anxious, he went away to find what had
happened meanwhile to his body. For a long time he went to and fro seeking it in vain and
fearing that it must have been killed, and then he found it at the bottom of the shaft in Baker
Street, writhing furiously and cursing with pain. Its leg and an arm and two ribs had been
broken by its fall. Moreover, the evil spirit was angry because his time had been so short
and because of the painmaking violent movements and casting his body about.
And at that Mr. Bessel returned with redoubled earnestness to the room where the seance
was going on, and so soon as he had thrust himself within sight of the place he saw one of
the men who stood about the medium looking at his watch as if he meant that the seance
should presently end. At that a great number of the shadows who had been striving turned
away with gestures of despair. But the thought that the seance was almost over only made
Mr. Bessel the more earnest, and he struggled so stoutly with his will against the others that
presently he gained the woman's brain. It chanced that just at that moment it glowed very
brightly, and in that instant she wrote the message that Doctor Wilson Paget preserved. And
then the other shadows and the cloud of evil spirits about him had thrust Mr. Bessel away
from her, and for all the rest of the seance he could regain her no more.
So he went back and watched through the long hours at the bottom of the shaft where the
evil spirit lay in the stolen body it had maimed, writhing and cursing, and weeping and
groaning, and learning the lesson of pain. And towards dawn the thing he had waited for
happened, the brain glowed brightly and the evil spirit came out, and Mr. Bessel entered the
body he had feared he should never enter again. As he did so, the silence--the brooding
silence--ended; he heard the tumult of traffic and the voices of people overhead, and that
strange world that is the shadow of our world--the dark and silent shadows of ineffectual
desire and the shadows of lost men--vanished clean away.
He lay there for the space of about three hours before he was found. And in spite of the pain
and suffering of his wounds, and of the dim damp place in which he lay; in spite of the
tears--wrung from him by his physical distress--his heart was full of gladness to know that
he was nevertheless back once more in the kindly world of men.
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