Is More Mysterious
:
The Mystery Of The Green Ray
I sat and stared at the old man in astonishment. Obviously he was
fully convinced that he was giving me an accurate account of what
had happened, and equally obviously he was perfectly sane.
"That is all," he said presently. "The rock came to me."
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, suddenly brought to my senses by the
sound of his voice. "What an extraordinary thing!"
"For a moment I
thought I was mad, and sometimes, when I have thought
over it since--and the Lord knows how many times I've done that--I've
come to the conclusion that I must have fallen asleep. But even now
the fear haunts me that my mind may be going."
"You mustn't imagine anything like that, General," I advised
seriously. "Whatever you do, don't encourage any doubts of your own
sanity. There must be some explanation of this, although I can't for
the moment imagine what it can possibly be. It is a remarkable thing,
and I fancy you will find, when we do know the explanation, that
anyone else standing where you were at that time would have seen
exactly the same thing. The rock stands out of the water; it is just
above a deep pool, and probably it was a sort of mirage effect, and
not by any means a figment of your brain."
To my surprise the old man leaned back in his chair and burst out
laughing.
"Of course," he exclaimed. "I never thought of that--a sort of mirage.
Well, I'm begad thankful you suggested that, Ronald. I've no doubt
that it was something of the sort. What a begad old fool I am. Let us
pray that our poor little girl's trouble," he added solemnly, "will
have some equally simple solution."
The General was so relieved that I had given him, at any rate, some
sort of reason to believe that his brain was not yet going, that he
began to declare that he was convinced Myra would be better in a day
or two. So we arranged that I should take her up to London the next
day, and leave her in charge of her aunt, Lady Ruslit, and then, as
soon as we had heard Sir Gaire's verdict, I was to bring her back
again. General McLeod had been anxious at first to come with us, but I
pointed out that he would be of more use to Myra if he stayed behind,
and kept an eye on her interests in the neighbourhood. I promised to
wire him the result of the interview with Olvery as soon as I knew it.
And just about a quarter to ten we went to bed.
"Ronald," said the old man, as we shook hands outside my door,
"there's just one thing I wasn't frank with you about in the matter of
the Chemist's Rock. I am anxious to believe that it's a point of no
particular importance. You know the rock is a sort of sandstone, not
grey like the rest, but nearly white?"
"Yes," I answered, wondering what could be coming next.
"Well," said the old man, "that day when I saw it appearing to come
towards me it was not white, but green."
"No," I said at last, when we had spent another twenty minutes
discussing this new aspect in my room. "It's beyond me. I can't see
how the two events can be connected, and yet they are so unusual that
one would think they must be. I certainly think it is a point to put
in detail before Olvery."
"On the whole, I quite agree with you," said the General. "I am rather
afraid he may take us for a pack of lunatics, and refuse to be
bothered with the case."
"I'm sure he won't do that," I asserted confidently. "And he may have
some medical knowledge that will just shake the puzzle into place, and
explain the whole mystery to us. It seems to me a most remarkable
thing that these two strange affairs should have happened in exactly
the same place. That it is some strange freak of nature I have no
doubt, but I am absolutely at a loss to think what it can be."
It can hardly be wondered at that, as I have said before, sleep and I
were strangers that night, and I was glad enough when the time came
for me to get up.
Myra came down after breakfast, wonderfully brave and bright, but
there was no sign whatever of her sight returning to her. The
leave-taking was a wretched business, and I cannot dwell on it. Sandy
started early to sail to Mallaig with the luggage, and we followed in
the motor-boat, Angus at the engine, old Mary McNiven in the bows,
while I took the tiller, and Myra lay on a pile of cushions at my
feet, her head resting on my knee, her arm round Sholto's neck; for
she had wanted the dog to see her off at the station. The old General
managed to keep up a cheery manner as he said good-bye at the
landing-stage, but he was looking so care-worn and haggard that I was
glad that he had been persuaded not to come up to London with us. He
was certainly not in a fit state for the fatigues of a long journey.
As we passed Glasnabinnie the Baltimore slid out from the side of
the shed that stood on the edge of the miniature harbour which Nature
had thoughtfully bestowed on the place.
"I can hear a motor-boat," said Myra, suddenly sitting up.
"Yes," I replied. "It's Hilderman's."
"Is she ahead of us?" she asked.
I looked round, and saw that the Baltimore was putting out to round
the point.
"No, she's about level," I answered. "She's evidently making for
Mallaig. We are, if anything, a little ahead, but they will soon pass
us, I should think."
"Oh, Ron," cried Myra, with childish excitement, "don't let them beat
us. Angus, put some life into her. We must make the harbour first."
Angus did his best, and I set her course as near in shore as I dared
on that treacherous coast. The Baltimore glided out to sea with the
easy grace of a powerful and beautiful animal, and as we passed the
jagged promontory she was coming up about thirty yards behind us.
"Challenge him, Ron," Myra exclaimed; "you've met him."
I turned, and saw Hilderman and two other men in the boat, one a
friend apparently, and the other the mechanic. I stood up and waved to
him.
"We'll race you to Mallaig," I shouted.
"It's a bet," he agreed readily, at the top of his voice, waving back.
It was a ding-dong business across the mouth of Nevis, and the
Baltimore was leading, if anything, but we had not far to go, and
our opponents had taken a course a good deal farther out to sea than
we were. Coming up by the lighthouse, however, the Baltimore drew in
at a magnificent pace, and swept in to pass inside the lighthouse
rock. Hilderman, who was quite distinct at the short distance, stood
up in the stern of the Baltimore, and looked at us. We were making
good time, but we had no chance of outdistancing his powerful boat.
But, as he looked at us, and was evidently about to shout some
triumphant greeting, I saw him catch sight of Myra, lying at my feet,
her face hidden in the shade over her eyes. Suddenly, without the
slightest warning, he swung the tiller, and, turning out again, took
the long course round the lighthouse, and we slid alongside the
fish-table a good minute ahead of him. Myra was delighted; she had no
suspicion that we had virtually lost the race, and the trifling
excitement gave her a real pleasure. Angus, I could see, was puzzled,
but I signed to him to say nothing. My heart warmed to Hilderman; he
had seen that Myra was not well, and, divining that it would give her
some pleasure to win the race, he had tactfully given way to us. I was
really grateful to him for his kindly thought, and determined to thank
him as soon as I could. We had nearly half an hour to wait for the
mid-day train, and, after seeing Myra and Mary safely ensconced in the
Marine Hotel, I went out with Sholto to get the tickets, telegraph to
Dennis, and express my gratitude to Hilderman. But when I stepped out
of the hotel he was standing in the road waiting for me.
"Good morning, Mr. Ewart," he said, coming forward to offer me his
hand. "Is there anything the matter with Miss McLeod?"
"She's not very well," I replied. "She has something the matter with
her eyes. It was very good of you to let us win our little race. Every
little pleasure that we can give Miss McLeod just at this time is of
great value to us."
"Eyes?" said Hilderman, thoughtfully, with the same dreamy expression
that Dennis had pointed out at King's Cross. "What sort of thing is
it? I know something about eyes."
"I'm afraid I can tell you nothing," I replied. "She has suddenly lost
her sight in the most amazing and terrible manner. We are just taking
her up to London to see a specialist."
"Had she any pain?" he asked, "or any dizziness or fainting, or
anything like that?"
"No," I said; "there is absolutely nothing to go by. It is a most
extraordinary affair, and a very terrible blow to us all."
"It must be," he said gently, "very, very terrible. I have heard so
much about Miss McLeod that I even feel it myself. I am deeply grieved
to hear this, deeply grieved." He spoke very sympathetically, and I
felt that it was very kind of him to take such a friendly interest in
his unknown neighbour.
"I think you'd better join me in a brandy and soda, Mr. Ewart," he
said, laying a hand on my arm. "I don't suppose you know it, but you
look ten years older than you did yesterday."
Yesterday! Good heavens! Had all this happened in a day? I was
certainly feeling far from myself, and I accepted his invitation
readily enough. We turned into the refreshment-room outside the
station, and I had a stiff whisky and soda, realising how far away
from London I was when the man gave me the whisky in one glass and
the soda in another.
"Tell me," said Hilderman, "if it is not very rude of me to ask, or
too painful for you to speak about, what was Miss McLeod doing when
this happened? Reading, or what?" I gave him a rough outline of the
circumstances, but, in view of what the General had told me the night
before, I said nothing about the mystery of the green ray. We wanted
to retain our reputation for sanity as long as we could, and no
outsider who did not know the General personally would believe that
his astonishing experience was anything other than the strange
creation of a nerve-wrought brain.
"And that was all?" he asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, that was all," I replied.
"I suppose you haven't decided what specialist you will take her
to when you get her to London?" he queried. I was about to reply when
I heard Sholto in a heated argument with some other dog, and I bolted
out, with a hurried excuse, to bring him in. As I returned, with my
hand on his collar, the harbour-master greeted me, and told me
we might have some difficulty in reaching London, as the train
service was likely to be disorganised owing to the transport of troops
and munitions. When I rejoined Hilderman I was full of this new
development. It would be both awkward and unpleasant to be turned out
of the train before we reached London; and every moment's delay might
mean injury to my poor Myra.
"I don't think you need worry at all, Mr. Ewart," my new friend
assured me. "The trains will run all right. They may alter the
services where they have too many trains, but here they are not likely
to do so. Thank heaven, I shall not be travelling again for some time.
I hate it, although I have to run about a good deal. I have a few
modest investments that take up a considerable portion of my time. I
figure on one or two boards, you know."
I thanked him for his kindly interest, and left him. I wired to Dennis
not to meet the train, but to be prepared to put me up the following
night. Then I got the tickets, and took Myra to the train. Hilderman
was seeing his friend off; a short, somewhat stout man, with flaxen
hair, and small blue eyes peering through a pair of large spectacles.
He bowed to us as we passed, and I was struck by the kindly sympathy
with which both he and his companion glanced at Myra. Evidently they
both realised what a terrible blow to her the loss of her sight must
be. I will admit that, when it came to the time for the train to
start, my heart nearly failed me altogether. The sight of the
beautiful blind girl saying good-bye to her dog was one which I hope I
may never see again. As the train steamed out into the cutting Sholto
was left whining on the platform, and it was as much as Angus could do
to hold him back. Poor Sholto; he was a faithful beast, and they were
taking his beloved mistress away from him. Myra sat back in the
carriage, and furtively wiped away a tear from her poor sightless
eyes.
"Poor old fellow," she said, with a brave smile. "If they can't do
anything for me in London he will have to lead me about. It'll keep
him out of mischief."
"Don't say that, darling!" I groaned.
"Poor old Ron," she said tenderly. "I believe it's worse for you than
it is for me. And now that Mary has left us for a bit I want to say
something to you, dear, while I can. You mustn't think I don't
understand what this will mean to you, dear. I want you to know,
darling, that I hope always to be your very great friend, but I don't
expect you to marry a blind girl."
I shall certainly not tell the reader what I said in reply to that
generous and noble statement.
"Besides, dear," I concluded eventually, "you will soon be able to see
again." And so I tried to assure her, till presently Mary returned.
And then we made her comfortable, and I read to her in the darkened
carriage until at last my poor darling fell into a gentle sleep.
But twenty-six hours later, when I had seen Myra safely back to her
aunt's house from Harley Street, I staggered up the stairs to Dennis's
rooms in Panton Street a broken man.
Dennis opened the door to me himself.
"Ronald!" he cried, "what has happened?"
"Hello, old man," I said weakly; "I'm very, very tired."
My friend took my arm and led me into his sitting-room, and pressed me
gently on the sofa. Then he brought me a stiff brandy and soda, and
sat beside me in silence for a few minutes.
"Feel better, old boy?" he asked presently.
"Yes, thanks, Den," I answered. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."
"Tell me," he said, "when you feel well enough." But I lay, and closed
my eyes, for I was dog-tired, and could not bring myself to speak even
to Dennis of the specialist's terrible verdict. And soon Nature
asserted herself, and I fell into a deep sleep, which was the best
thing I could have done. When I awoke I was lying in bed, in total
darkness, in Dennis's extra room. I sat up, and called out in my
surprise, for I had been many miles away in my slumbers, and my first
hope was that the whole adventure had been a hideous nightmare. But
Dennis, hearing my shout, walked in to see if I wanted anything.
"Now, how do you feel?" he asked, as he sat on the side of the bed.
"Did you carry me in here and put me to bed?" I asked idly.
"You certainly didn't look like walking, and I thought you'd be more
comfortable in here," he laughed.
"Great Scott, man!" I cried, suddenly remembering his heart trouble,
"you shouldn't have done that, Dennis. You promised me you'd take no
risks."
"Heavens! that was nothing," he declared emphatically. "You're as
light as a feather. There was no risk in that."
Indeed, as events were to prove, it was only the first of many, but
being ignorant of that at the time, I contented myself with pointing
out that very few feathers turned the scale at twelve-stone-three.
"Now look here, old son," said Dennis, in an authoritative voice. "You
mustn't imagine I'm dealing with your trouble, whatever it is (for you
are in trouble, Ronald), in a matter-of-fact and unsympathetic way.
But what you've got to do now is to get up, have a tub, slip into a
dressing-gown, and have a quiet little dinner with me here. It's just
gone eight, so you ought to be ready for it."
He disappeared to turn on the bath-water, and then, when he met me in
the passage making for the bathroom, he handed me a glass.
"Drink this, old chap," he said.
"What is it?" I asked suspiciously. "I don't want any fancy
pick-me-ups. They only make you worse afterwards."
"That was prescribed by Doctor Common Sense," he answered lightly.
"It's peach bitters!"
After my tub I was able to tackle my dinner, with the knowledge that I
was badly in need of something to eat, a feeling which surprised me
very much. Throughout the meal Dennis told me of the enlistment of
Jack and poor Tommy Evans, and we discussed their prospects and the
chances of my seeing them before they disappeared into the crowded
ranks of Kitchener's Army. Dennis himself had been ruthlessly refused.
He spoke of trying his luck again until they accepted him, but I knew,
from what he told me of the doctor's remarks, that he had no earthly
chance of being passed. He seemed to have entirely mastered his regret
at his inability to serve his country in the ranks, but I understood
at once that he was merely putting his own troubles in the background
in face of my own. The meal over, we "got behind" two of Dennis's
excellent cigars, and made ourselves comfortable.
"Now then, old man," said my friend, "a complete and precise account
of what has happened to you since you left King's Cross two days ago."
"It has all been so extraordinary and terrible," I said, "that I
hardly know where to begin."
"I saw you last at the station," he said, laying a hand on my knee.
"Begin from there." So I began at the beginning, and told him just
what had happened, exactly as I have told the reader.
Dennis was deeply moved.
"And then you saw Olvery?" he asked. "What did he say?"
I got up, paced the room. What had Olvery said? Should I ever forget
those blistering words to the day of my death?
"Come, old boy," said Dennis kindly. "You must remember that Olvery is
merely a man. He is only one of the many floundering about among the
mysteries of Nature, trying to throw light upon darkness. You mustn't
imagine that his view is necessarily correct, from whichever point he
looked at the case."
"Thank you for that," I said. "I am afraid I forgot that he might
possibly be mistaken. He says he knows nothing of this case at all; he
can make nothing of it; it is quite beyond him. He is certain that no
such similar case has been brought to the knowledge of optical
science. His view is that there is the remotest possibility that this
green veil may lift, but he says he is sure that if there were any
scientific reason for saying that her sight will be restored he would
be able to detect it."
"I prefer your Dr. Whitehouse to this man any day," said Dennis
emphatically. "He took just the opposite view. This man Olvery, like
so many specialists, is evidently a dogmatic egotist."
"I'm very glad you can give us even that hope. But the eyes are such a
delicate instrument. It is difficult to see how the sight can be
recovered when once it has gone. Of course, Olvery is going to do
what he can. He has suggested certain treatment, and massage, and so
forth, and he has no objection to her going back home again. Myra, of
course, is tremendously anxious for me to take her back to her father.
She is worrying about him already; and, fortunately, Olvery knows
Whitehouse, and has the highest opinion of him."
"Go back as soon as you can, old chap," Dennis advised. "Wire me if
there is anything I can do for you at this end. I'll make some
inquiries, and see if I can find out anything about any similar cases,
and so on. But you take the girl back home if she wants to go."
While we were still talking, Dennis's man, Cooper, entered.
"Telegram for Mr. Ewart, sir," he said.
I took the yellow envelope and opened it carelessly.
"What is it?" cried Dennis, springing to his feet as he saw my face.
"Read it," I said faintly, as I handed it to him. Dennis read the
message aloud:
"Come back at once. I can't stand this. Sholto is blind.--McLEOD."