The Complete Works of Arthur Morrison (Illustrated). Arthur Morrison

nervous state than Miss Garth has been lately? Remember, too, on the visit of last Saturday, while Miss Garth says she only showed Mellis to the door, both you and the nurse speak of their being gone some little time. Miss Garth must have forgotten what took place then, when Mellis hypnotised her, and impressed on her the suggestion that she should take Mr. Holford’s will that night, long after he — Mellis — had gone, and when he could not be suspected of knowing anything of it. Further, that she should, at that time when her movements would be less likely to be observed, secrete that will in a place of hiding known only to himself.”

      “Dear, dear, what a rascal! Do you really think he did that?”

      “Not only that, but I believe he came here yesterday morning while you were out to get the will from the recess. The recess, by the bye, I expect he discovered by accident on one of his visits (he has been here pretty often, I suppose, altogether), and kept the secret in case it might be useful. Yesterday, not finding the will there, he hypnotised Miss Garth once again, and conveyed the suggestion that, at midnight last night, she should take the will from wherever she had put it and pass it to him under the front door.”

      “What, do you mean it was he you chased across the grounds last night?”

      “That is a thing I am pretty certain of. If we had Mr. Mellis’s boot here we could make sure by comparing it with the piece of paper I cut out, as you will remember, in the entrance hall. As we have the will, though, that will scarcely be necessary. What he will do now, I expect, will be to go to the recess again on the vague chance of the will being there now, after all, assuming that his second dose of mesmerism has somehow miscarried. If Miss Garth were here he might try his tricks again, and that is why I got you to send her out.”

      “And where did you find the will?”

      “Now you come to practical details. You will remember that I asked about the handyman’s toolhouse? Well, I paid it a visit at six o’clock this morning, and found therein some very excellent carpenter’s tools in a chest. I took a selection of them to the small staircase, and took out the tread of a stair — the one that the pivoted framing-plank rested on.”

      “And you found the will there?”

      “The will, as I rather expected when I examined the recess last night, had slipped down a rather wide crack at the end of the stair timber, which, you know, formed, so to speak, the floor of the recess. The fact was, the stair-tread didn’t quite reach as far as the back of the recess. The opening wasn’t very distinct to see, but I soon felt it with my fingers. When Miss Garth, in her hypnotic condition on Saturday night, dropped the will into the recess, it shot straight to the back corner and fell down the slit. That was why Mellis found it empty, and why Miss Garth also found it empty on returning there last night under hypnotic influence. You observed her terrible state of nervous agitation when she failed to carry out the command that haunted her. It was frightful. Something like what happens to a suddenly awakened somnambulist, perhaps. Anyway, that is all over. I found the will under the end of the stair-tread, and here it is. If you will come to the small staircase now you shall see where the paper slipped out of sight. Perhaps we shall meet Mr. Mellis.”

      “He’s a scoundrel,” said Mr. Crellan. “It’s a pity we can’t punish him.”

      “That’s impossible, of course. Where’s your proof? And if you had any I’m not sure that a hypnotist is responsible at law for what his subject does. Even if he were, moving a will from one part of the house to another is scarcely a legal crime. The explanation I have given you accounts entirely for the disturbed manner of Miss Garth in the presence of Mellis. She merely felt an indefinite sense of his power over her. Indeed, there is all the possibility that, finding her an easy subject, he had already practised his influence by way of experiment. A hypnotist, as you will see in the books, has always an easier task with a person he has hypnotised before.”

      As Hewitt had guessed, in the corridor they met Mr. Mellis. He was a thin, dark man of about thirty-five, with large, bony features, and a slight stoop. Mr. Crellan glared at him ferociously.

      “Well, sir, and what do you want?” he asked.

      Mr. Mellis looked surprised. “Really, that’s a very extraordinary remark, Mr. Crellan,” he said. “This is my late uncle’s house. I might, with at least as much reason, ask you what you want.”

      “I’m here, sir, as Mr. Holford’s executor.”

      “Appointed by will?”

      “Yes.”

      “And is the will in existence?”

      “Well — the fact is — we couldn’t find it ”

      “Then, what do you mean, sir, by calling yourself an executor with no will to warrant you?” interrupted Mellis. “Get out of this house. If there’s no will, I administrate.”

      “But there is a will,” roared Mr. Crellan, shaking it in his face. “There is a will. I didn’t say we hadn’t found it yet, did I? There is a will, and here it is in spite of all your diabolical tricks, with your scoundrelly hypnotism and secret holes, and the rest of it! Get out of this place, sir, or I’ll have you thrown out of the window! ”

      Mr. Mellis shrugged his shoulders with an appearance of perfect indifference. “If you’ve a will appointing you executor it’s all right, I suppose, although I shall take care to hold you responsible for any irregularities. As I don’t in the least understand your conduct, unless it is due to drink, I’ll leave you.” And with that he went.

      Mr. Crellan boiled with indignation for a minute, and then turning to Hewitt, “I say, I hope it’s all right,” he said, “ connecting him with all this queer business?”

      “We shall soon see,” replied Hewitt, “if you’ll come and look at the pivoted plank.”

      They went to the small staircase, and Hewitt once again opened the recess. Within lay a blue foolscap envelope, which Hewitt picked up. “See,” he said, “it is torn at the corner. He has been here and opened it. It’s a fresh envelope, and I left it for him this morning, with the corner gummed down a little so that he would have to tear it in opening. This is what was inside,” Hewitt added, and laughed aloud as he drew forth a rather crumpled piece of white paper. “It was only a childish trick after all,” he concluded, “but I always liked a small practical joke on occasion.” He held out the crumpled paper, on which was inscribed in large capital letters the single word — “SOLD.”

      The Case of the Missing Hand.

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      I THINK I have recorded in another place Hewitt’s frequent aphorism that “there is nothing in this world that is at all possible that has not happened or is not happening in London.” But there are many strange happenings in this matter-of-fact country and in these matter-of-fact times that occur far enough from London. Fantastic crimes, savage revenges, mediaeval superstitions, horrible cruelty, though less in sight, have been no more extinguished by the advent of the nineteenth century than have the ancient races who practised them in the dark ages. Some of the races have become civilized, and some of the savageries are heard of no more. But there are survivals in both cases. I say these things having in my mind a particular case that came under the personal notice of both Hewitt and myself — an affair that brought one up standing with a gasp and a doubt of one’s era.

      My good uncle, the Colonel, was not in the habit of gathering large house parties at his place at Ratherby, partly because the place was not a great one, and partly because the Colonel’s gout was. But there was an excellent bit of shooting for two or three guns, and even when he was unable to leave the house himself, my uncle was always pleased if some good friend were enjoying a good day’s sport in his territory. As to myself, the good old soul was in a perpetual state of offence because I visited him so seldom, though whenever my scant holidays fell in a convenient time of the year I was never insensible to the attractions of the Ratherby stubble. More than once