The other, intended for the reception of genuine
cases of spiritual distress and out-of-the-way afflictions of a psychic
nature, was entirely draped and furnished in a soothing deep green,
calculated to induce calmness and repose of mind. And this room was the
one in which Dr. Silence interviewed the majority of his "queer" cases,
and the one into which he had directed Barker to show his present
caller. To begin with, the arm-chair in which the patient was always directed
to sit, was nailed to the floor, since its immovability tended to
impart this same excellent characteristic to the occupant. Patients
invariably grew excited when talking about themselves, and their
excitement tended to confuse their thoughts and to exaggerate their
language. The inflexibility of the chair helped to counteract this. After repeated endeavours to drag it forward, or push it back, they
ended by resigning themselves to sitting quietly. And with the futility
of fidgeting there followed a calmer state of mind. Upon the floor, and at intervals in the wall immediately behind, were
certain tiny green buttons, practically unnoticeable, which on being
pressed permitted a soothing and persuasive narcotic to rise invisibly
about the occupant of the chair. The effect upon the excitable patient
was rapid, admirable, and harmless. The green study was further
provided with a secret spy-hole; for John Silence liked when possible
to observe his patient's face before it had assumed that mask the
features of the human countenance invariably wear in the presence of
another person. A man sitting alone wears a psychic expression; and
this expression is the man himself. It disappears the moment another
person joins him. And Dr. Silence often learned more from a few
moments' secret observation of a face than from hours of conversation
with its owner afterwards. A very light, almost a dancing, step followed Barker's heavy tread
towards the green room, and a moment afterwards the man came in and
announced that the gentleman was waiting. He was still pale and his
manner nervous. "Never mind, Barker," the doctor said kindly; "if you were not psychic
the man would have had no effect upon you at all. You only need
training and development. And when you have learned to interpret these
feelings and sensations better, you will feel no fear, but only a great
sympathy." "Yes, sir; thank you, sir!" And Barker bowed and made his escape,
while Dr. Silence, an amused smile lurking about the corners of his
mouth, made his way noiselessly down the passage and put his eye to the
spy-hole in the door of the green study. This spy-hole was so placed that it commanded a view of almost the
entire room, and, looking through it, the doctor saw a hat, gloves, and
umbrella lying on a chair by the table, but searched at first in vain
for their owner. The windows were both closed and a brisk fire burned in the grate. There were various signs--signs intelligible at least to a keenly
intuitive soul--that the room was occupied, yet so far as human beings
were concerned, it was empty, utterly empty. No one sat in the chairs;
no one stood on the mat before the fire; there was no sign even that
a patient was anywhere close against the wall, examining the Böcklin
reproductions--as patients so often did when they thought they were
alone--and therefore rather difficult to see from the spy-hole. Ordinarily speaking, there was no one in the room. It was undeniable. Yet Dr. Silence was quite well aware that a human being _was_ in the
room. His psychic apparatus never failed in letting him know the
proximity of an incarnate or discarnate being. Even in the dark he
could tell that. And he now knew positively that his patient--the
patient who had alarmed Barker, and had then tripped down the corridor
with that dancing footstep--was somewhere concealed within the four
walls commanded by his spy-hole. He also realised--and this was most
unusual--that this individual whom he desired to watch knew that
he was being watched. And, further, that the stranger himself was
also watching! In fact, that it was he, the doctor, who was being
observed--and by an observer as keen and trained as himself. An inkling of the true state of the case began to dawn upon him, and
he was on the verge of entering--indeed, his hand already touched the
door-knob--when his eye, still glued to the spy-hole, detected a slight
movement. Directly opposite, between him and the fireplace, something
stirred. He watched very attentively and made certain that he was not
mistaken. An object on the mantelpiece--it was a blue vase--disappeared
from view. It passed out of sight together with the portion of the
marble mantelpiece on which it rested. Next, that part of the fire
and grate and brass fender immediately below it vanished entirely, as
though a slice had been taken clean out of them. Dr. Silence then understood that something between him and these
objects was slowly coming into being, something that concealed them and
obstructed his vision by inserting itself in the line of sight between
them and himself. He quietly awaited further results before going in. First he saw a thin perpendicular line tracing itself from just above
the height of the clock and continuing downwards till it reached the
woolly fire-mat. This line grew wider, broadened, grew solid. It was
no shadow; it was something substantial. It defined itself more and
more. Then suddenly, at the top of the line, and about on a level with
the face of the clock, he saw a round luminous disc gazing steadily at
him. It was a human eye, looking straight into his own, pressed there
against the spy-hole. And it was bright with intelligence. Dr. Silence
held his breath for a moment--and stared back at it. Then, like some one moving out of deep shadow into light, he saw
the figure of a man come sliding sideways into view, a whitish face
following the eye, and the perpendicular line he had first observed
broadening out and developing into the complete figure of a human
being. It was the patient. He had apparently been standing there in
front of the fire all the time. A second eye had followed the first,
and both of them stared steadily at the spy-hole, sharply concentrated,
yet with a sly twinkle of humour and amusement that made it impossible
for the doctor to maintain his position any longer. He opened the door and went in quickly. As he did so he noticed for
the first time the sound of a German band coming in gaily through the
open ventilators. In some intuitive, unaccountable fashion the music
connected itself with the patient he was about to interview. This sort
of prevision was not unfamiliar to him. It always explained itself
later. The man, he saw, was of middle age and of very ordinary appearance;
so ordinary, in fact, that he was difficult to describe--his
only peculiarity being his extreme thinness. Pleasant--that is,
good--vibrations issued from his atmosphere and met Dr.