anaheim-gazette 1931-12-17
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SIGHT UNSEEN
FINAL INSTALLMENT
"She had been our first governess for the children," Ellnor said. "and she often came in. She had made a birthday smock for Buddy, and she had it in her hand. She almost fainted. I couldn't tell her about Charlie Ellingham. I couldn't. I told her we had been struggling, and that I was afraid I had shot him. She is quick. She knew just what to do. We worked fast. She said a suicide would not have fired one shot into the ceiling, and she fixed that. It was terrible. And all the time he lay there, with his eyes half open—"
The letters, it seems, were all over the place; Ellnor thought of the curtain, cut a receptacle for them, but she was afraid of the police. Finally she gave them to Clara, who was to take them away and burn them.
They did everything they could think of, all the time listening for Suzanne Gautier's return; filled the second empty chamber of the revolver, dragged the body out of the hall and washed the carpet, and called Doctor Sperry, not knowing that he was at Mrs. Dane's and could not come.
Clara had only a little time, and with the letters in her handbag she started down the stairs. There she heard someone, possibly Ellingham, on the back stairs, and in her haste, she fell, hurting her knee, and she must have dropped the handbag at that time. They knew now that Hawkins had found it later on. But for a few days they didn't know, and hence the advertisement.
"I think we would better explain Hawkins," Sperry said. "Hawkins was married to Miss Clara here some years ago, while she was with Mrs. Welis. They had kept it a secret, and recently she has broken with him."
"He was infatuated with another woman," Clara said briefly. "That's a personal matter. It has nothing to do with this case."
"It explains Hawkins' letter."
"It doesn't explain how that medium knew everything that happened," Clara put on her face.
Sperry took them away in his car, but he turned on the door-step. "Walt downstairs for me," he said. "I am coming back."
I remained in the library until he returned, uneasily pacing the floor.
For where were we after all? We had had the medium's story elaborated and confirmed but the fact remained that step by step, through her unknown 'control' the Neighborhood club had followed a tragedy from its beginning, or almost its beginning, to its end.
Was everything on which I had built my life to go? It's philosophy, its science, even its theology, before the revelations of a young woman who knew hardly the rudiments of the very things she was destroying?
Was death, then, not peace, and an awakening to new things, but a wretched and dissociated clutching after the old? A wrench which-only loosened but did not break our earthly ties?
It was well that Sperry came back when he did, bringing with him a breath of fresh night air and stalwart sanity. He found me still pacing the room.
"The thing I want to know," I said freetfully, "is where this leaves us? Where are we? For God's sake, where are we?"
"First of all," he said, "have you anything to drink? Not for me. For yourself. You look sick."
"We do not keep intoxicants in the house."
"Oh, piffle," he said. "Where is it, Horace?"
"I have a little gin."
"I think we would better explain Hawkins," Sperry said. "Hawkins was married to Miss Clara here some years ago, while she was with Mrs. Wells. They had kept it a secret, and recently she has broken with him."
"He was infatuated with another woman," Clara said briefly. "That's a personal matter. It has nothing to do with this case."
"It explains Hawkins' letter."
"It doesn't explain how that medium knew everything that happened," Clara put on, excitedly. "She knew it all, even the library paste! I can tell you, Mr. Johnson. I was close to fainting a dozen times before I finally did it."
"Did you know of our scances?" I asked Mrs. Wells.
"Yes. I may as well tell you that I haven't been in Florida. How could I? The children are there, but I——"
"Did you tell Charlie Ellingham about them?"
"After the second one I warned him and I think he went to the house. One bullet was somewhere in the ceiling, or in the floor of the nursery. I thought it ought to be found. I don't know whether he found it or not. I've been afraid to see him."
"She sat, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap. She was a proud woman, and surrender had come hard. The struggle was marked in her face. She looked as though she had not slept for days."
"You think I am frightened, she said slowly." And I am, terribly frightened. But not about discovery. That has come, and cannot be helped.
"Then why?"
"How does this woman, this medium, know these things?" Her voice rose, with an unexpected hysterical catch.
"It is superhuman. I am almost mad."
"We're going to get to the bottom of this," Sperry said soothingly. "Be sure that it is not what you think it is, Ellnor. There's a simple explanation, and I think I've got it. What about the stick that was taken from my library?"
"Will you tell me how you came to have it, doctor?"
"Yes. I took it from the lower hall the night—the night it happened."
"It was Charlie Ellingham's. He had left it there. We had to have it, doctor. Alone it might not mean much, but with the other things you knew—tell them, Clara."
"I stole it from your office," Clara said, looking straight ahead. "We had to have it. I knew at the second sitting that it was his."
"When did you take it?"
"On Monday morning, I went for Mrs. Dane's medicine, and you had promised her a book. Do you remember? I told your man and he allowed me to go up to the library. It was there, on the table. I had expected to have to search for it, but it was lying out. I fastened it to my belt, under my long coat."
"I put it in the closet in my room."
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"I stole it from your office," Clara said, looking straight ahead. "We had to have it. I knew at the second sitting that it was his."
"When did you take it?"
"On Monday morning, I went for Mrs. Dane's medicine, and you had promised her a book. Do you remember? I told your man and he allowed me to go up to the library. It was there, on the table. I had expected to have to search for it, but it was lying out. I fastened it to my belt, under my long coat."
"I put it in the closet in my room. I meant to get rid of it when I had a little time. I don't know how it got downstairs but I think—"
"Yes?"
"We are house-cleaning. A housemaid was washing closets. I suppose she found it and, thinking it was some of Mrs. Dane's, took it downstairs. That is, unness—" It was clear that, like Ellinor, she had a supernatural explanation in her mind. She looked gaunt and haggard.
"Mr. Ellingham was anxious to get it," she finished. "He had taken Mr. Johnson's overcoat by mistake one night when you were both in the house, and the notes were in it. He saw that the stick was important."
"Clara," Sperry asked, "did you see, the day you advertised for your bag, another similar advertisement?"
"I saw it. It frightened me."
"You have no idea who inserted it?"
"None whatever."
"Did you ever see Miss Jeremy before the first sitting? Or hear of her?"
"Never."
"Or between the sciences?"
"No."
Elinor rose and drew her vell down. "We must go she said. "Surely now you will cease these terrible investigations. I cannot stand much more. I am going mad."
"There will be no more scances," Sperry said gravely.
"What are you going to do?" She turned to me, I darsay because I represented what to her was her supreme derad, the law.
"My dear girl," I said, "we are not going to do anything. The Neighborhood Club has been doing a little amateur research work which is now over. That is all."
ANAHEIM GAZETTE
"I stole the stick from your office," Clara told them.
Where?"
Well," said Sperry, when he had used a cigar. "So you want to after-drew a chair before the book-which in our old-fashioned reach almost to the ceiling, and drawing a volume of Josephus, I right down the bottle. Now and then, when I have had a day," I explained, "I find that it mes me sleep."
He poured out some and I drank it, careful to rinse the glass. I would like to save something out the wreck." That's easy. Horace, you should be a art specialist, and I should have in the law. It's as plain as the alp-habet." He took his notes of the sittings from his pocket. "I'm going to read a few things. Keep what is left of your mind on them. This is the first sitting.
"The knee hurts. It is very bad. Arnica will take the pain out."
"I want to go out. I want air. If I could only go to sleep and forget it. The drawing-room furniture is scattered all over the house."
"Now the second sitting:
"It is writing.' (The stick.)" "It is writing, but the water washed it away. All of it, not a trace.' If only the pocket-book were not lost. Car-tickets and letters. It will be terrible if the letters are found.' Hawkins may have it. The curtain was much eafer.' That part's safe enough, unless it made a hole in the floor above."
"Oh, if you're going to read a lot of irrelevant material—"
"Irrelevant nothing! Wake up, Horace! But remember this. I'm not explaining the physical phenomena. We'll never do that. It wasn't extraordinary, as such things go. Our little medium in a trance condition has read poor Clara's mind. It's all here, all that Clara knew and nothing that she didn't know. A mindreader, friend Horace. And Heaven help me when I marry her!"
As I have said, the Neighborhood Club ended its investigations with this conclusion, which I believe is properly reached. It is only fair to state that there are those among us who have accepted that theory in the Well's case, but who have preferred to consider that behind both it and the physical phenomena of the scances there was an intelligence which directed both, and intelligence not of this world as we know it. Both Herbert and Alice Robinson are now pronounced spiritualists, although Miss Jeremy, now Mrs. Sperry, has definitely abandoned all investigation work.
Personally, I have evolved no theory. It seems beyond dispute that certain individuals can read minds, and that these same, or other so-called "sensitive," are capable of liberating a form of invisible energy which, however, they turn to no further account than the useless ringing of bells, moving of small tables, and flinging about of divers objects.
To me, I admit, the solution of the Wells case as one of mind-reading is more satisfactory than explanatory. For mental waves remain a mystery, acknowledged, as is electricity, but of uneven revealed. Thoughts are things. That is all we know.
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Mrs. Dane, I believe, had suspected the solution from the start.
The Neighborhood Club has recently disbanded. We tried other things, but we had been spoiled. Our Kipling winter was a failure. We read a play or two, with Sperry's wife reading the heroine, and the rest of us taking other parts. She has a lovely voice, has Mrs. Sperry. But it was all stale and unprofitable, after the Wells affair. With Herbert on a lecture tour on spirit realism, and Mrs. Dane at a sanatorium for the winter, we have now given it up, and my wife and I spend our Monday evenings at home.
THE END
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