As it was, as far as I can make
out, the impression of the flame was conveyed to my retina by rays of
light that did not travel in a straight path. They climbed over and
surrounded the interposed object first, and thus gave me a slightly
distorted image of the flame; and instead of revealing the obstacle
which they had to overcome in transit, all they did was to indicate
vaguely its situation. Thus, above and below the indiscernible point
where their straight and proper course was interfered with I perceived
a misty, indefinable haze. And at the point where the rays seemed to
reassemble and readjust themselves to the resumption of their ordinary
business there was a blur. Perhaps the best way to depict the effect
was to present the hypothesis of a weak flame held up before a stronger
one. This does not exactly describe the phenomenon I witnessed and
investigated, but it approximates as closely as I can manage. The chief
points of difference are, that every flame casts a shadow, and this
thing did not, unless a blur of light be a shadow; and furthermore, a
flame may be seen even confronted with a stronger flame, and this thing
I held was destitute of a perceptible outline. The pity was that I was
then working without a single clue to any comprehension of the thing;
and the greater pity is that though my knowledge became fuller, I am
still ignorant of the action of the properties which made the thing
visually impalpable. I can only guess at them. But I think I guess
correctly when I conjecturally assert that it was surface coated with
some essence which had the power to compel the great majority of the
light rays to travel along its sides and surface and to resume their
original direction afterwards. I do not pretend to understand how this
essence could so interfere with and control the laws of light. But
granting that it could, the explanation is a natural one. And though
scientists may frown at me for advancing a theory which I am unable
to substantiate, I prefer to incur their scorn rather than adopt the
alternative--supernatural agency. I simply decline to believe in the
supernatural. It is my profound conviction that nothing has ever
happened on this planet, however mysterious and inexplicable, which
has not been produced by a purely and perfectly natural cause. And the
longer I live the more certain do I become that, deep and wonderful as
our scientific acquaintance with Nature undoubtedly is, we have not yet
even thoroughly explored the porch of her palace of secrets, her vast
treasure-house of wonders. But I stray from my subject. It is my present business to relate
events, not to discuss their basic principles. To resume then, after a great while spent in experimenting with the
thing which poor Weldon had given me, before the light, I was obliged
to confess myself baffled. I then fell back upon my other four senses. I got out a pair of scales and weighed the thing. It weighed exactly
seven ounces. Then I smelt it. The thing was odourless. I bit it, but
it was tasteless. Yet it yielded to my teeth like stiff rubber or
leather. Next I placed it on a sheet of paper and traced its outlines
with a pencil. That was the first really definite result I got. The
tracing showed a bulbous object four inches wide by five long. It was
shaped something like a pear. Its base contained four indentations with
corresponding rounded protuberances like knuckles. The apex was ragged. Next I took a knife and with the blade scratched its surface. A moment
later a long streak of dark, dry tissue was revealed. I could see it
plainly. I shook all over with excitement. The mystery seemed to be
clearing up. But even as I took up the knife again I paused, convulsed
with a wild, improbable idea. What if?--but there. I held my breath and
took the thing before the fire to think its problem out. I sat down. My nerves were all jangled. The fire needed replenishing. It was low
and I was cold. I stooped down and heaped on some coal. Then came a
thought. I put the thing on a shovel and held it over the grate. Heat! Yes, heat! The greatest of great resolvents. Fool not to have thought
of it before. Fool, indeed! One minute--two--three. There was a shadow
on the shovel. I bent forward. Instantly my nostrils were assailed
with the unforgettable perfume of the tomb of Ptahmes! Ah! the flood
of recollections that came surging at its bidding to my brain! But I
fought them back. I bent right over the fire--and I made out presently,
lying on the shovel, the dim form of a tight-clenched human hand. Chapter XXIII

I Set Out for the East


It was the hand of a mummy. It had been half snapped, half torn from
the forearm, just above the wrist. Thus the edges of the stock were
ragged and the tendons were drawn out and torn; the bone, however, had
fractured clearly, just as glass breaks, leaving a hard, smooth edge. But the hand was not an ordinary mummy's hand. The bones were covered
with mummified flesh truly, but, although dry, it was neither stiff
nor brittle. On the contrary, it possessed the tough consistency of
leather and was resilient and kneadable like rubber. The phalanges,
when pulled straight, returned to their ordinary and original position,
like springs, immediately the pressure was removed. The colour of the
skin was a very dark chocolate. It was marvellously preserved. The very
pores were still discernible, and the veins and arteries beneath the
epidermis, which had been converted by age into fine black cords, could
be traced with ease. Now, whose hand was it? From what mummy torn? And
how had Weldon become possessed of it? I gave up the attempt to solve
the first two problems as soon as I had mentally propounded them. The
third, however, answered itself. I knew Weldon too thoroughly to admit
a doubt that he would ever have carried about with him such a ghastly
trophy. Like most healthy young Englishmen, he had a horror of such
things. Well, then he must have snatched the hand, then invisible,
from the grasp of someone--in the very moment in which he had been
falling to his death. But no one had been near him. That is, no one
visible to us or him. But since the hand had been practically invisible
until I had subjected it to the influence of heat, was it not just
as likely that it might have been--nay, must have been--carried by
an invisible person? But that invisible person must have been very
near Weldon. He must have been close enough to have saved Weldon had
he chosen. Why had he not chosen? Why, indeed, unless he had wished
Weldon to die? And if he had wished Weldon to die, would it not have
been easy for him--because invisible--to help Weldon to die? Easy! Good heavens, how easy! How appallingly easy! And then I remembered
how astonished I had been to see Weldon stagger back, step after step,
to the platform's edge--three steps at least. I understood it now--and
his startled outcry. He had been assailed by an invisible adversary. He had been forced back.