“The whole adventure seems to have been a very vivid revival of the
memories of an earlier life, caused by coming directly into contact
with the living forces still intense enough to hang about the place,
and, by a most singular chance too, with the very souls who had taken
part with him in the events of that particular life. For the mother
and daughter who impressed him so strangely must have been leading
actors, with himself, in the scenes and practices of witchcraft which
at that period dominated the imaginations of the whole country. “One has only to read the histories of the times to know that
these witches claimed the power of transforming themselves into
various animals, both for the purposes of disguise and also to
convey themselves swiftly to the scenes of their imaginary orgies. Lycanthropy, or the power to change themselves into wolves, was
everywhere believed in, and the ability to transform themselves into
cats by rubbing their bodies with a special salve or ointment provided
by Satan himself, found equal credence. The witchcraft trials abound in
evidences of such universal beliefs.”

Dr. Silence quoted chapter and verse from many writers on the subject,
and showed how every detail of Vezin’s adventure had a basis in the
practices of those dark days. “But that the entire affair took place subjectively in the man’s own
consciousness, I have no doubt,” he went on, in reply to my questions;
“for my secretary who has been to the town to investigate, discovered
his signature in the visitors’ book, and proved by it that he had
arrived on September 8th, and left suddenly without paying his bill. He left two days later, and they still were in possession of his dirty
brown bag and some tourist clothes. I paid a few francs in settlement
of his debt, and have sent his luggage on to him. The daughter was
absent from home, but the proprietress, a large woman very much as he
described her, told my secretary that he had seemed a very strange,
absent-minded kind of gentleman, and after his disappearance she had
feared for a long time that he had met with a violent end in the
neighbouring forest where he used to roam about alone. “I should like to have obtained a personal interview with the daughter
so as to ascertain how much was subjective and how much actually took
place with her as Vezin told it. For her dread of fire and the sight of
burning must, of course, have been the intuitive memory of her former
painful death at the stake, and have thus explained why he fancied more
than once that he saw her through smoke and flame.”

“And that mark on his skin, for instance?” I inquired. “Merely the marks produced by hysterical brooding,” he replied, “like
the stigmata of the _religieuses_, and the bruises which appear on
the bodies of hypnotised subjects who have been told to expect them. This is very common and easily explained. Only it seems curious that
these marks should have remained so long in Vezin’s case. Usually they
disappear quickly.”

“Obviously he is still thinking about it all, brooding, and living it
all over again,” I ventured. “Probably. And this makes me fear that the end of his trouble is not
yet. We shall hear of him again. It is a case, alas! I can do little to
alleviate.”

Dr. Silence spoke gravely and with sadness in his voice. “And what do you make of the Frenchman in the train?” I asked
further--“the man who warned him against the place, _à cause du sommeil
et à cause des chats_? Surely a very singular incident?”

“A _very_ singular incident indeed,” he made answer slowly, “and one I
can only explain on the basis of a highly improbable coincidence----”

“Namely?”

“That the man was one who had himself stayed in the town and undergone
there a similar experience. I should like to find this man and ask him. But the crystal is useless here, for I have no slightest clue to go
upon, and I can only conclude that some singular psychic affinity, some
force still active in his being out of the same past life, drew him
thus to the personality of Vezin, and enabled him to fear what might
happen to him, and thus to warn him as he did. “Yes,” he presently continued, half talking to himself, “I suspect in
this case that Vezin was swept into the vortex of forces arising out of
the intense activities of a past life, and that he lived over again a
scene in which he had often played a leading part centuries before. For
strong actions set up forces that are so slow to exhaust themselves,
they may be said in a sense never to die. In this case they were not
vital enough to render the illusion complete, so that the little man
found himself caught in a very distressing confusion of the present
and the past; yet he was sufficiently sensitive to recognise that it
was true, and to fight against the degradation of returning, even in
memory, to a former and lower state of development. “Ah yes!” he continued, crossing the floor to gaze at the darkening
sky, and seemingly quite oblivious of my presence, “subliminal
up-rushes of memory like this can be exceedingly painful, and sometimes
exceedingly dangerous. I only trust that this gentle soul may soon
escape from this obsession of a passionate and tempestuous past. But I
doubt it, I doubt it.”

His voice was hushed with sadness as he spoke, and when he turned back
into the room again there was an expression of profound yearning upon
his face, the yearning of a soul whose desire to help is sometimes
greater than his power. CASE III

THE NEMESIS OF FIRE


I

By some means which I never could fathom, John Silence always contrived
to keep the compartment to himself, and as the train had a clear run
of two hours before the first stop, there was ample time to go over
the preliminary facts of the case. He had telephoned to me that very
morning, and even through the disguise of the miles of wire the thrill
of incalculable adventure had sounded in his voice. “As if it were an ordinary country visit,” he called, in reply to my
question; “and don’t forget to bring your gun.”

“With blank cartridges, I suppose?” for I knew his rigid principles
with regard to the taking of life, and guessed that the guns were
merely for some obvious purpose of disguise. Then he thanked me for coming, mentioned the train, snapped down the
receiver, and left me vibrating with the excitement of anticipation
to do my packing. For the honour of accompanying Dr. John Silence on
one of his big cases was what many would have considered an empty
honour--and risky. Certainly the adventure held all manner of
possibilities, and I arrived at Waterloo with the feelings of a man who
is about to embark on some dangerous and peculiar mission in which the
dangers he expects to run will not be the ordinary dangers to life and
limb, but of some secret character difficult to name and still more
difficult to cope with.