How The Unexpected Happened

: The Mystery Of The Green Ray

When I came to myself I was lying with my head pillowed on Garnesk's

arm. My coat and collar were on the ground beside me, and my head and

shoulders were dripping with water.



"Ah!" said my companion, with a sigh of relief, "that's better. You'll

be all right in a few minutes, Ewart. Take it easy, old chap, and

rest."



"Where am I?" I asked. "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, as I heard my own

voice, and sat bolt upright in my astonishment, "I thought I was

dumb!"



"Well, never mind about that now, old fellow," Garnesk advised. "We'll

hear all about that later. Shut your eyes and rest a minute."



"All right," I agreed, "pass me my pipe and I will."



Garnesk laughed aloud as he leaned over to reach my coat pocket.



"When a man shouts for his pipe he's a long way from being dead or

dumb or anything else," he said.



Truth to tell, I was feeling very queer. I was dizzy and confused, but

I felt that I wanted my pipe to help me collect my thoughts. So I lay

there for some minutes quietly smoking, and indeed I felt as if I

could have stayed like that for ever.



"I must have fainted," I explained presently, overlooking the fact

that Garnesk probably knew more about my ridiculous seizure than I did

myself. "I don't know when I did a thing like that before," I added,

beginning to get angry with myself.



"Well, I hope you won't do it again," said my friend fervently. "It's

not a thing to make a hobby of. And don't you come near this infernal

river any more until we know something definite."



"You mean that the place has got on my nerves," I said. "I suppose it

has; I'm very sorry."



"Do you feel well enough to tell me all about it?" he asked, "or would

you rather wait till we get up to the house?"



"Oh, I'll tell you now," I agreed readily. "We mustn't say anything

about this at the house." So I told him exactly how I had felt.



"When did it first come on?" he asked.



"When I heard you shout, and jumped up to see what it was. By the way,

what was it?"



"Well," he replied, "we'll discuss the matter if you wouldn't mind

releasing my arm?"



"My dear fellow," I cried, sitting up suddenly, as I realised that he

was still propping up my head, "I'm most awfully sorry."



"Now then," he said, as he lighted his pipe and made himself

comfortable, "we'll go into the latest development. You remember what

made me rush off and leave you there?"



"I remember saying something about the sunlight, and you suddenly

dashed off."



"To tell you the truth, I had very little faith in the theory that at

this hour, above all, the spook of the Chemist's Rock was active,

until you pointed out that only about that time is the whole of the

river course up to the rock, and the whole of the rock itself, flooded

with sunlight. Then, when you made that remark, I suddenly felt that I

ought to be on the cliff on the look out for this unknown yacht. We

connect the two together in some way which we don't yet understand, so

I meant to go and have a look for the ship. I saw nothing of any

importance until I shouted to you. Just then I was looking through the

glasses at the shore. I turned them on the landing-stage and along the

beach, and I had just lighted on the bay where we explored this

morning when suddenly, for half a second or so, all the shadows of the

rocks turned a vivid green, and then as suddenly resumed their natural

colour again."



"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "Green again! Can you make anything of it

at all, Garnesk? I'm sorry I'm such a duffer as to faint at the

critical moment, when I might have been of some assistance to you.

What in God's name can it all mean?"



"I'm no further on," he replied bitterly; "in fact, I'm further back."



"Further back!" I cried. "How? I don't see how you can be."



"I'll tell you what my theory was about all this affair, and it struck

me as a good one--strange, of course, but then, this is a strange

business."



"It is, indeed," I agreed ruefully. "Well, go on."



"I had an idea, Ewart, that we should find some sort of wireless

telegraphy at the bottom of this business. I had almost made up my

mind that we had stumbled across the path of some inventor who was

working with a new form of wireless transmission. I felt that in that

way we might account for Miss McLeod's blindness and the blindness of

the dog. It also seemed to hold good as to the disappearance of

Sholto. The inventor hears of the extraordinary effect of his

invention, and is afraid he will get into a mess if it is found out.

The yacht to experiment from fitted in beautifully. But now all that's

knocked on the head."



"Why?" I asked. "It seems to me, Garnesk, that you are doing all the

thinking in this affair, as if you had been used to it all your life.

Your only trouble is that you're too modest. I take it that because

you didn't see the yacht when you noticed the green flash you are

taking it for granted you were wrong to expect it. I must say, old

chap, I think you've done thundering well, as the General would put

it, and even if you are prepared to admit your theory has been

knocked on the head I'm not--at any rate, not until I have a jolly

good reason. Yet it doesn't seem to matter much what I say or do if

I'm going to faint like a girl at the first sign of danger. If you

hadn't come to my rescue I might still be lying there waiting to come

round, or something," I finished in disgust.



My companion looked at me thoughtfully.



"Ewart," he said, and solemnly shook his head, "you have brought me to

the very thing that made me say my theory was exploded."



"What thing?" I asked. "Surely my fainting can't have made any

difference to conclusions you had already come to?"



"But then you see," my friend replied, "you didn't faint. And if I had

not seen you were in difficulties you would probably never have

recovered."



"Didn't faint?" I exclaimed. "Well, I don't know what the medical term

for it is, and I daresay there are several technical phrases for the

girlish business I went through. That idea of being dumb was simply

imagination, but I assure you it was just what I should call a

fainting fit."



"I don't want to alarm you if you're not feeling well," he began

apologetically.



"Go on," I urged. "I'm as fit as I ever was."



"Well," the young specialist responded, in a serious tone, "if you

want to know the truth, Ewart, you were suffocated."



"Suffocated!" I shouted, jumping to my feet. "What in heaven's name do

you mean?"



"I can't tell you exactly what I mean because I don't know, but yours

was certainly not an ordinary fainting fit. To put the whole thing in

non-medical terms, you were practically drowned on dry land!"



I sat down again--heavily at that. Should we never come to an end of

these mysterious attacks which were hurled at us in broad daylight

from nowhere at all?



"I'm not sure that you hadn't better rest before we go into this

fully, Ewart," Garnesk remarked doubtfully. "You're not by any means

as fit as you've ever been, in spite of your emphatic assurance."



"Tell me what you think, why you think it, and what you feel we ought

to do. Why, man, Myra might have been here alone, with no one to

rescue her and--and----"



"Quite so," said Ewart sympathetically. "So you must comfort yourself

with the knowledge that it may be a great blessing that she has

temporarily lost her sight. Now, I say you didn't faint, because,

medically, I know you didn't. For the same reason I say you were

suffocating as surely as if you had been drowning. Hang it, my dear

chap, it's my line of business, you know. I can't account for it, but

there is the naked fact for you."



"How does this affect your previous conclusions?" I asked. "Before you

tell me what you think brought on this suffocation I should like to

hear why you give up your theory."



"Simply because no wireless, or other electric current, could have

that effect upon you. If you had had an electric shock in any of its

many curious forms I could have said it bore me out; but, you see,

it's impossible. And, as I refuse to believe that we are continually

bumping into new mysteries which have no connection with each other,

it follows that if this suffocation was not caused by the supposed

wireless experiments, the other can't have been either."



"I'm not making the slightest imputation on your medical knowledge," I

ventured, "but are you absolutely certain that you are not mistaken?"



"My dear fellow," he laughed, "for goodness sake don't be so

apologetic. I can quite see that you find it difficult to believe. But

I am prepared to swear to it all the same. For one thing, the symptoms

were unmistakable; for another, it seems impossible that we should

both faint at exactly the same time and place for no reason at all."



"You didn't faint too, surely?" I cried.



"No," he admitted, "but we might very easily have been suffocated

together--smothered as surely as the princes in the Tower. When I saw

you were in difficulties I shouted to you. Obviously you didn't hear

me. I naturally didn't wait to see what would happen to you; I

cleared down the cliff, and sprinted to you as fast as I could. When I

came to within about twenty yards of you I found a difficulty in

breathing. I went on for a couple of paces, and realised that the air

was almost as heavy as water. So I rushed back, undid my collar, took

a deep breath; and bolted in to you, picked you up, and carted you

here. Voila! But I very nearly joined you on the ground, and then we

would never have regained consciousness, either of us. I applied the

simplest form of artificial respiration to you, dowsed your head, and

now you're all right. On the whole, Ewart, we can consider ourselves

very well out of this latest adventure."



"What you're really telling me," I pointed out gratefully, "is that

you saved my life at the risk of your own. I'm no good at making

speeches, or anything of that sort, Garnesk, but I thank you, if you

know what that means. And Myra will----"



"Not a word to her, Ewart," my companion interrupted eagerly.

"Whatever you do, don't on any account worry that poor girl with this

new complication. Anything on earth but that."



"No," I agreed; "you're right there. Myra must be kept in the dark."



"Yes," he replied, with a look of relief. "It might have a serious

effect on her chances of recovery if she had this additional worry.

And I don't think it would be advisable to tell the old man either. I

think we had better keep it to ourselves absolutely. Tell no one,

Ewart, except your friend when he comes."



"Very well," I answered, for I was very anxious to spare both Myra and

her father from the knowledge of any further trouble. "I'll tell

Dennis when he comes, but otherwise it is our secret."



"Good," said Garnesk. "Now put your coat on, old chap, and we'll

stroll back to the house."



I got up and buttoned my collar, retied my bow, and slipped into my

jacket. I was rather uncomfortably damp, and I felt a bit shaky and

queer, and decided that I could do with a complete rest from the

mysteries of the green ray. But the subject remained uppermost in my

mind, and my tired brain still strove to unravel the tangled threads

of the puzzle.



"By the way," I said, as we walked slowly up to the house, "you have

not yet explained what there was in my remark about the sunlight that

made you think of the yacht."



"Well," he replied, "you see I had an idea that perhaps they might

come here when the gorge, through which the river flows, was flooded

with light, so that they could see if any strange effects were

produced. But that suffocation was not brought about by any electrical

experiment, and I am beginning to be afraid that, after all, we may be

up against some strange natural phenomena, some terrible combination

of the forces of Nature, which has not yet been observed, or at any

rate recorded."



"Why afraid?" I asked, for although I had been glad to believe that we

were faced with a problem which would prove to have a human solution,

the revulsion had come, and I should have welcomed the knowledge that

some weird, freakish application of natural power might be held

accountable.



"Afraid?" queried Garnesk, with a note of surprise. "I am very often

afraid of Nature. She is a devoted slave, but a cruel mistress. I

don't think that I should ever be very much scared by a human being,

even in his most fiendish aspect, but Nature--I tell you, Ewart, there

are things in Nature that make me shudder!"



"Yes," I agreed heavily, "you're right, of course. That's how I have

felt for the past twenty-four hours. It was a tremendous relief to me

to feel that we were men looking for men. But the last few minutes I

have had an idea that it would be comforting to explain it all out of

a text-book of physics. Still, you're right. It is better far to be

men fighting men than to be puny molecules tossed in the maelstrom of

immutable power which created the world, and may one day destroy it."



"I'm glad you agree," he said simply. "You see you could not possibly

live for a second in electrically produced atmosphere which was

so thick that you couldn't hear yourself speak. Death would be

instantaneous. It couldn't have been our unknown professor's wireless

experiments after all. Yet it seems impossible that a sudden new power

should crop up suddenly at one spot like this. Imagine what would

happen if this had occurred in a city, in a crowded street. Hundreds

would have been stricken blind, then hundreds would have been

suffocated. Vehicles would have run amok, and the result would have

been an indescribable chaos of the maimed, mangled and distraught. A

flash like this green ray (which blinded Miss McLeod and her dog,

deluded the General, and nearly suffocated us) at the mouth of a

harbour, say, the entrance to a great port--Liverpool, London, or

Glasgow--would be responsible for untold loss of life. If this

terrible phenomenon spread, Ewart, it would paralyse the industry of

the world in twenty-four hours. If it spread still farther the face of

the globe would become the playing-fields of Bedlam in a moment. Think

of the result of this everywhere! Some suffocated, some blinded, and

millions probably mad and sightless, stumbling over the bodies of the

dead to cut each other's throats in the frenzy of sudden imbecility."



"Don't, Garnesk," I begged. "It won't bear thinking about. We have

enough troubles here to deal with without that!"



"Yes," my companion admitted, "we need not add to them by any idle

conjectures of still more hideous horrors to come. But it is an

interesting, if terrible speculation. And it means one thing to us,

Ewart, of the very greatest importance. We must solve the riddle

somehow."



"You mean," I cried, as I realised the tremendous import of his

words--"you mean that the sanity of the universe may rest with us! You

mean that if we can solve this riddle we, or others, may be able to

devise some means of prevention, or at least protection? You mean that

we are in duty bound to keep at this night and day until we find out

what it is?"



"That is just what I do mean," he replied seriously. "It is a solemn

duty; who knows, it may be a holy trust. Ewart, we agree to get to the

bottom of this? We have agreed once, but are we still prepared to go

on with this now that we know we may be crushed in the machinery that

controls the solar system and lights the very sun?"



"I shall certainly go on," I replied eagerly. "But we can hardly

expect you to run risks on our behalf."



"It may be in the interests of civilisation," he answered, "and in

that case it is our duty. Now look here, Ewart, this will have to be a

secret. It is essential that we should not get ourselves laughed at

because, for one thing, the scoffers may get into serious trouble if

they start investigating our assertions in a spirit of levity. You

and I must keep this to ourselves entirely. What about your friend?"



"I can trust him," I replied simply.



"Then tell him everything," Garnesk advised. "If you know you can rely

upon him he may be of great assistance to us."



"What about Hilderman?" I asked. "He knows a good deal already."



"There is no need for him to know any more. He may be of some use to

us. I had thought he might be of the greatest use, but he may be able

to help us still. We should decrease, rather than augment, his

usefulness by telling him these new complications."



"How do you mean?" I asked.



"Well, for instance, he might think we are mad, although he's a very

shrewd fellow."



"Yes," I agreed, "I think he's pretty cute. Funny that Americans so

often are. Anyway, he's been cute enough to make sufficient to retire

on at a fairly early age, and retire comfortably too."



"H'm," was my companion's only comment.



After dinner that evening we discussed all sorts of subjects, mainly

the war, of course, and went to bed early.



"Now, Ron," exclaimed Myra, as we said good-night, "if Mr. Garnesk is

really going to leave us on Monday, you mustn't let him worry about

things to-morrow. Do let him have one day's holiday while he is with

us, anyway."



"I will," I agreed. "We'll have a real holiday to-morrow. Suppose we

all go up Loch Hourn in the motor-boat in the afternoon?"



So it was arranged that we should have an afternoon on the sea and a

morning's fishing on the loch. Garnesk fell in with the idea readily.



"It will do you good," he declared. "You won't be feeling too frisky

in the morning after your adventure this afternoon."



As it turned out he was quite right, for I awoke in the morning with a

slight headache and a tendency to ache all over. So we fished the loch

in a very leisurely fashion for an hour or two, and after lunch the

four of us went up to Kinlochbourn. We took a tea-basket with us, and

very nearly succeeded in banishing the green ray altogether from our

minds. I had taken my Kodak with me, and we ran in shore, and

otherwise altered our course occasionally in order to enable me to

record some choice peep of the magnificent scenery. When we got back

to the lodge we were all feeling much the better for the outing. After

dinner Myra, who had taken the greatest interest in the photographs,

although, poor child, she could not see what I had taken, and would

not be able to see the result either, was anxious to know how they had

turned out.



"I should love to know if the snapshots are good," she said,

"particularly the one at Caolas Mor. Develop them in the morning,

Ronnie, won't you? If you don't you'll probably take them away, and

forget all about them."



Garnesk looked at me. He was always on the qui vive for any

opportunity to give Myra a little pleasure. He felt very strongly that

she must be kept from worrying at all costs.



"Why not develop them now, Ewart?" he suggested.



"Certainly," I said, "if everybody will excuse me."



"Dad's in the library," Myra replied, "but everybody else will come

with you if you ask us nicely. Besides, I shall have to tell you where

everything is. There's plenty of room for us all."



"Right you are," I agreed readily, and went out to get a small folding

armchair from the verandah. We went up to the dark-room at the top of

the house, and Myra sat in the corner, giving me instructions as to

the position of the bottles, etc. I prepared the developer while

Garnesk busied himself with the fixing acid.



"Now we're ready," I announced, as I made sure that the light-tight

door was closed, and lowered the ruby glass over the orange on Myra's

imposing dark-room lamp; she believed in doing things comfortably; no

messing about with an old-fashioned "hock-bottle" for her. I took the

spool from my pocket and began to develop them en bloc.



"How are they coming along?" Myra asked, leaning forward interestedly.



"They're beginning to show up," I replied; "they look rather

promising."



"It's rather warm in here," said the girl presently; "do you think it

would matter if I removed my shade, Mr. Garnesk?"



"Not if you put it on again before we put the light up," the

specialist answered. Myra took off the shade and the heavy bandage

with a sigh of relief, and leaned her elbow on the table beside her.



"There's a glass beaker just by your arm, dear," I said; "just a

minute and I'll put it out of reach."



"All right," said Garnesk, moving forward, "I'll move it; don't you

worry."



But before he could reach the table there was a crash. The beaker went

smashing to the floor. I turned with a laugh, which died on my lips.

Myra was standing up with her hand to her head.



"What is it, darling?" I cried, dropping the length of film on the

floor. Garnesk made a grab for the shade. Myra gave a short, shrill

little laugh, which had a slightly ominous, hysterical note in it.



"Don't be alarmed, dear," she said quietly, in a curiously tense

voice, "I can see!"