The Stolen Body

Mr. Bessel was thesenior 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 anunmarried
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 thoughttransference
and of apparitions of the living, and in November, 1896, hecommenced
a series of experiments in conjunction with Mr. Vincey, of StapleInn,
in order to test the alleged possibility of projecting anapparition
of one's self by force of will through space.

Their experiments were conducted in the following manner: At apre-
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 eachthen
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 projecthimself
as a "phantom of the living" across the interveningspace of nearly
two miles into Mr. Vincey's apartment. On several evenings this
was tried without any satisfactory result, but on the fifth orsixth
occasion Mr. Vincey did actually see or imagine he saw anapparition
of Mr. Bessel standing in his room. He states that theappearance,
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 inthat
moment it seemed to him as though the figure glanced over itsshoulder
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 besidehim,
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 thisresult.

He was surprised to find Mr. Bessel's outer door standing open
to the night, and the inner apartments lit and in anextraordinary
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 fingershad
been drawn, as it seemed for the mere pleasure of defilement. Oneof
the delicate chintz curtains had been violently torn from itsrings
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?" Theporter
said nothing, but, obeying his gestures, came at once to Mr.Bessel's
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 hadrushed
out of the gates of the Albany into Vigo Street, hatless and with
disordered hair, and had vanished into the direction of BondStreet.
"And as he went past me," said the porter, "helaughed--a sort of
gasping laugh, with his mouth open and his eyes glaring--I tellyou,
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 muchsurprised.
He turned from the room to the porter and from the porter to the
room in the gravest perplexity. Beyond his suggestion thatprobably
Mr. Bessel would come back presently and explain what hadhappened,
their conversation was unable to proceed. "It might be asudden
toothache," said the porter, "a very sudden and violenttoothache,
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 ofmind
to his own premises in Staple Inn. This affair had given him ashock.
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 hourbefore
his usual time--he went to bed. For a considerable time he couldnot
sleep because of his memory of the silent confusion of Mr.Bessel's
apartment, and when at length he did attain an uneasy slumber itwas
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, anurgency
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 terrorof
unknown possibilities that comes out of dreams upon even thebravest
men. But at last he roused himself, and turned over and went tosleep
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 somedire
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 hisgas,
and dressed, and set out through the deserted streets--deserted,save
for a noiseless policeman or so and the early news carts--towardsVigo
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 swiftlytowards
him. He knew at once that it was Mr. Bessel. But it was Mr.Bessel
transfigured. He was hatless and dishevelled, his collar was tornopen,
he grasped a bone-handled walking-cane near the ferrule end, andhis
mouth was pulled awry. And he ran, with agile strides, veryrapidly.
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 hisfooting,
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 andsalesmen
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 andright with a
blood-stained walking-stick, and dancing and shouting withlaughter
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 araid
upon a coffee stall, hurled its paraffin flare through the window
of the post office, and fled laughing, after stunning theforemost
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 aresolution
came the news, shouted through the crowd, that Mr. Bessel hadeluded
his pursuers. At first Mr. Vincey could scarcely credit this, but
the universality of the report, and presently the dignifiedreturn
of two futile policemen, convinced him. After some aimlessinquiries
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 themidst
of his experiment in thought transference, but why that shouldmake
him appear with a sad white face in Mr. Vincey's dreams seemed
a problem beyond solution. He racked his brains in vain toexplain
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--itwas
a gas fire with asbestos bricks--and, fearing fresh dreams if he
went to bed, remained bathing his injured face, or holding upbooks
in a vain attempt to read, until dawn. Throughout that vigil hehad
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 tobed
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 forthem.
Mr. Vincey's perplexities, to which the fever of his bruise added
fresh irritation, became at last intolerable, and, after afruitless
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 anddishevelled,
pleading earnestly by his gestures for help. That was hisimpression
of the import of his signs. "I was just going to look him upin the
Albany when you arrived," said Mr. Hart. "I was so sureof 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 hadnot 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 theupper
half of Tottenham Court Road, an attack upon a policeman inHampstead
Road, and an atrocious assault upon a woman. All these outrageswere
committed between half-past twelve and a quarter to two in themorning,
and between those hours--and, indeed, from the very moment of Mr.
Bessel's first rush from his rooms at half-past nine in theevening--
they could trace the deepening violence of his fantastic career.For
the last hour, at least from before one, that is, until a quarterto
two, he had run amuck through London, eluding with amazingagility
every effort to stop or capture him.

But after a quarter to two he had vanished. Up to that hourwitnesses
were multitudinous. Dozens of people had seen him, fled from himor
pursued him, and then things suddenly came to an end. At aquarter to
two he had been seen running down the Euston Road towards BakerStreet,
flourishing a can of burning colza oil and jerking splashes offlame
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. Abruptlyhe
disappeared. Nothing of his subsequent doings came to light inspite
of the keenest inquiry.

Here was a fresh astonishment for Mr. Vincey. He had foundconsiderable
comfort in Mr. Hart's conviction: "He is bound to be laid bythe heels
before long," and in that assurance he had been able tosuspend
his mental perplexities. But any fresh development seemeddestined
to add new impossibilities to a pile already heaped beyond thepowers
of his acceptance. He found himself doubting whether his memory
might not have played him some grotesque trick, debating whetherany
of these things could possibly have happened; and in theafternoon he
hunted up Mr. Hart again to share the intolerable weight on hismind.
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 unceasinglyactive
inquiry, and all that night. And all that day there was apersuasion
in the back of Vincey's mind that Mr. Bessel sought hisattention,
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 recalledcertain
remarkable stories of Mrs. Bullock, the medium, who was thenattracting
attention for the first time in London. He determined to consulther.
She was staying at the house of that well-known inquirer, Dr.Wilson
Paget, and Mr. Vincey, although he had never met that gentlemanbefore,
repaired to him forthwith with the intention of invoking her help.
But scarcely had he mentioned the name of Bessel when DoctorPaget
interrupted him. "Last night--just at the end," hesaid, "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 youmean--?"

"We got it last night," said Doctor Paget. Withnumerous interruptions
from Mr. Vincey, he proceeded to explain how the writing had been
obtained. It appears that in her seances, Mrs. Bullock passesinto
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 sametime
one or both of her hands may become active, and if slates andpencils
are provided they will then write messages simultaneously with
and quite independently of the flow of words from her mouth. Bymany
she is considered an even more remarkable medium than thecelebrated
Mrs. Piper. It was one of these messages, the one written by her
left hand, that Mr. Vincey now had before him. It consisted ofeight
words written disconnectedly: "George Bessel . . . trialexcavn. . . .
Baker Street . . . help . . . starvation." Curiously enough,neither
Doctor Paget nor the two other inquirers who were present hadheard
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 atonce
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 wasa
genuine one, and that Mr. Bessel was actually discovered by itsaid.

He was found at the bottom of a detached shaft which had beensunk
and abandoned at the commencement of the work for the newelectric
railway near Baker Street Station. His arm and leg and two ribswere
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 besidehim,
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 subjectedto a
sedative treatment, and anything that might recall the violentcrisis
through which he had passed was carefully avoided. But on thesecond
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 tohis
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," hesays. At last,
almost against expectation, came success. And Mr. Bessel assertsthat
he, being alive, did actually, by an effort of will, leave hisbody
and pass into some place or state outside this world.

The release was, he asserts, instantaneous. "At one moment Iwas
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 mybody
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 mayexpress 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 inmy
brain was only a little part. I saw the Albany and Piccadilly and
Regent Street and all the rooms and places in the houses, veryminute
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 quitedistinctly
the insides of the houses as well as the streets, saw littlepeople
dining and talking in the private houses, men and women dining,
playing billiards, and drinking in restaurants and hotels, andseveral
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 hetold
me the story. Quite forgetful of Mr. Vincey, he remained for aspace
observing these things. Impelled by curiosity, he says, hestooped
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 todescribe.
He compares the obstacle to a sheet of glass.

"I felt as a kitten may feel," he said, "when itgoes for the first
time to pat its reflection in a mirror." Again and again, onthe
occasion when I heard him tell this story, Mr. Bessel returned tothat
comparison of the sheet of glass. Yet it was not altogether aprecise
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. Hewas
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 astrenuous
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 thisearth
are clearly visible both from without and from within in thisother
world about us. For a long time, as it seemed to him, thisrealisation
occupied his mind to the exclusion of all other matters, and then
he recalled the engagement with Mr. Vincey, to which thisastonishing
experience was, after all, but a prelude.

He turned his mind to locomotion in this new body in which hefound
himself. For a time he was unable to shift himself from hisattachment
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 thelink
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 drivingalong
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 hisfirst
essay was shot with fear. For he perceived, at firstindistinctly,
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, greedyeyes
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 elusivestreak
of trailing darkness. Never a word they said, never a sound from
the mouths that seemed to gibber. All about him they pressed inthat
dreamy silence, passing freely through the dim mistiness that was
his body, gathering ever more numerously about him. And theshadowy
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. Idiotphantoms,
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 withexistence.

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 nothow,
stooping towards Staple Inn, saw Vincey sitting attentive andalert
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 vainvoiceless
shadows, longing, desiring, seeking some loophole into life.

For a space Mr. Bessel sought ineffectually to attract hisfriend's
attention. He tried to get in front of his eyes, to move theobjects
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 glassseparated
them impermeably.

And at last Mr. Bessel did a desperate thing. I have told howthat
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 andthrust
his vague black fingers, as it seemed, through the heedless brain.

Then, suddenly, Mr. Vincey started like a man who recalls hisattention
from wandering thoughts, and it seemed to Mr. Bessel that alittle
dark-red body situated in the middle of Mr. Vincey's brainswelled
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 timethis,
with the rest of the internal anatomy of the brain, was quite new
to him. At the sight of its changed appearance, however, hethrust
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, andall
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 hehad
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 itslimbs
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 nowdancing
with delight. He saw it shouting, though he could not hear itsshouts;
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 thejagged
fragments, leap and smite in a passionate acceptance of living.
He watched these actions in paralysed astonishment. Then oncemore
he hurled himself against the impassable barrier, and then withall
that crew of mocking ghosts about him, hurried back in direconfusion
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 aglorious
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 itheld
possession of him, and for all those twenty hours thedispossessed
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 hedid
not know; his feeble fingers groped vainly and powerlessly intheir
brains. Once, indeed, as we have already told, he was able toturn
Mr. Vincey aside from his path so that he encountered the stolen
body in its career, but he could not make him understand thething
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 furioustenant,
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 theirsuccessful
fellow as he went upon his glorious career.

For that, it would seem, must be the life of these bodilessthings
of this world that is the shadow of our world. Ever they watch,
coveting a way into a mortal body, in order that they maydescend,
as furies and frenzies, as violent lusts and mad, strangeimpulses,
rejoicing in the body they have won. For Mr. Bessel was not theonly
human soul in that place. Witness the fact that he met first one,
and afterwards several shadows of men, men like himself, itseemed,
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, andbecause
of the sadness of their faces.

But how they had come into that world he could not tell, norwhere
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 rationalsouls
of men who are lost in madness on the earth.

At last Mr. Bessel chanced upon a place where a little crowd ofsuch
disembodied silent creatures was gathered, and thrusting throughthem
he saw below a brightly-lit room, and four or five quietgentlemen
and a woman, a stoutish woman dressed in black bombazine andsitting
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 hehad
seen the pineal eye in the brain of Mr. Vincey glow. The lightwas
very fitful; sometimes it was a broad illumination, and sometimes
merely a faint twilight spot, and it shifted slowly about herbrain.
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 onegained
her brain or another was thrust away, her voice and the writingof
her hand changed. So that what she said was disorderly andconfused
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 thatshe
spoke for the spirit that had touch of her, and he began tostruggle
very furiously towards her. But he was on the outside of thecrowd
and at that time he could not reach her, and at last, growinganxious,
he went away to find what had happened meanwhile to his body. Fora
long time he went to and fro seeking it in vain and fearing thatit
must have been killed, and then he found it at the bottom of theshaft
in Baker Street, writhing furiously and cursing with pain. Itsleg and
an arm and two ribs had been broken by its fall. Moreover, theevil
spirit was angry because his time had been so short and becauseof 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 theseance
should presently end. At that a great number of the shadows whohad
been striving turned away with gestures of despair. But thethought
that the seance was almost over only made Mr. Bessel the more
earnest, and he struggled so stoutly with his will against theothers
that presently he gained the woman's brain. It chanced that just
at that moment it glowed very brightly, and in that instant shewrote
the message that Doctor Wilson Paget preserved. And then theother
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, andlearning
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 neverenter
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 wasfound.
And in spite of the pain and suffering of his wounds, and of thedim
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 ofmen.