At the
parting of the ways its angles delayed it for a moment, undecided which
way to take. It wobbled. And upon that moment's wobbling hung tragic
issues--issues of life and death. Unknowing (yet assuredly not unknown), it chose the trough. It swung
light-heartedly into the tearing sluice. It whirled with the gush of
water towards the wheel, banged, spun, trembled, caught fast in the
side where the cogs just chanced to be--and abruptly stopped the wheel. At any other spot the pressure of the water must have smashed it into
pulp, and the wheel have continued as before; but it was caught in
the _one_ place where the various tensions held it fast immovably. It
stopped the wheel, and so the machinery of the entire mill. It jammed
like iron. The particular angle at which the double-handed saw, held by
two weary and perspiring men, had cut it off a year before just enabled
it to fit and wedge itself with irresistible exactitude. The pressure
of the tearing water combined with the weight of the massive wheel
to fix it tight and rigid. And in due course a workman--it was the
foreman of the mill--came from his post inside to make investigations. He discovered the irritating item that caused the trouble. He put his
weight in a certain way; he strained his hefty muscles; he swore--and
the scrap of wood was easily dislodged. He fished the morsel out, and
tossed it on the bank, and spat on it. The great wheel started with a
mighty groan. But it started a fraction of a second before he expected
it would start. He overbalanced, clutching the revolving framework with
a frantic effort, shouted, swore, leaped at nothing, and fell into
the pouring flood. In an instant he was turned upside down, sucked
under, drowned. He was engaged to be married, and had put by a thousand
_kronen_ in the _Tiroler Sparbank._ He was a sober and hard-working
man.... There was a paragraph in the local paper two days later. The
Englishman, asking the porter of his Gasthaus for something to wrap
up a present he was taking to his cousin in the sanatorium, used that
very issue. As he folded its crumpled and recalcitrant sheets with
sentimental care about the precious object his eye fell carelessly upon
the paragraph. Being of an idle and reflective temperament, he stopped
to read it--it was headed "Unglücksfall," and his poetic eye, inherited
from his foolish, rhyming father, caught the pretty expression
"fliessandes Wasser." He read the first few lines. Some fellow, with
a picturesque Tyrolese name, had been drowned beneath a mill-wheel;
he was popular in the neighbourhood, it seemed; he had saved some
money, and was just going to be married. It was very sad. "Our readers'
sympathy" was with him.... And, being of a reflective temperament,
the Englishman thought for a moment, while he went on wrapping up the
parcel. He wondered if the man had really loved the girl, whether
she, too, had money, and whether they would have had lots of children
and been happy ever afterwards. And then he hurried out towards the
sanatorium. "I shall be late," he reflected. "Such little, unimportant
things delay one...!" XIII

A VICTIM OF HIGHER SPACE


"There's a hextraordinary gentleman to see you, sir," said the new man. "Why 'extraordinary'?" asked Dr. Silence, drawing the tips of his thin
fingers through his brown beard. His eyes twinkled pleasantly. "Why
'extraordinary,' Barker?" he repeated encouragingly, noticing the
perplexed expression in the man's eyes. "He's so--so thin, sir. I could hardly see 'im at all--at first. He was
inside the house before I could ask the name," he added, remembering
strict orders. "And who brought him here?" "He come alone, sir, in a closed cab. He pushed by me before I could
say a word--making no noise not what I could hear. He seemed to move so
soft like----"

The man stopped short with obvious embarrassment, as though he had
already said enough to jeopardise his new situation, but trying hard to
show that he remembered the instructions and warnings he had received
with regard to the admission of strangers not properly accredited. "And where is the gentleman now?" asked Dr. Silence, turning away to
conceal his amusement. "I really couldn't exactly say, sir. I left him standing in the
'all----"

The doctor looked up sharply. "But why in the hall, Barker? Why not
in the waiting-room?" He fixed his piercing though kindly eyes on the
man's face. "Did he frighten you?" he asked quickly. "I think he did, sir, if I may say so. I seemed to lose sight of him,
as it were----" The man stammered, evidently convinced by now that he
had earned his dismissal. "He come in so funny, just like a cold wind,"
he added boldly, setting his heels at attention and looking his master
full in the face. The doctor made an internal note of the man's halting description;
he was pleased that the slight signs of psychic intuition which had
induced him to engage Barker had not entirely failed at the first
trial. Dr. Silence sought for this qualification in all his assistants,
from secretary to serving man, and if it surrounded him with a somewhat
singular crew, the drawbacks were more than compensated for on the
whole by their occasional flashes of insight. "So the gentleman made you feel queer, did he?" "That was it, I think, sir," repeated the man stolidly. "And he brings no kind of introduction to me--no letter or anything?" asked the doctor, with feigned surprise, as though he knew what was
coming. The man fumbled, both in mind and pockets, and finally produced an
envelope. "I beg pardon, sir," he said, greatly flustered; "the gentleman handed
me this for you." It was a note from a discerning friend, who had never yet sent him a
case that was not vitally interesting from one point or another. "Please see the bearer of this note," the brief message ran, "though I
doubt if even you can do much to help him." John Silence paused a moment, so as to gather from the mind of the
writer all that lay behind the brief words of the letter. Then he
looked up at his servant with a graver expression than he had yet worn. "Go back and find this gentleman," he said, "and show him into the
green study. Do not reply to his question, or speak more than actually
necessary; but think kind, helpful, sympathetic thoughts as strongly
as you can, Barker. You remember what I told you about the importance
of _thinking_, when I engaged you. Put curiosity out of your mind, and
think gently, sympathetically, affectionately, if you can." He smiled, and Barker, who had recovered his composure in the doctor's
presence, bowed silently and went out. There were two different reception-rooms in Dr. Silence's house. One
(intended for persons who imagined they needed spiritual assistance
when really they were only candidates for the asylum) had padded walls,
and was well supplied with various concealed contrivances by means of
which sudden violence could be instantly met and overcome. It was,
however, rarely used.