I
never felt in my life so strongly the truth of Hamlet’s words:

     ‘There are more things in Heaven and earth....
     Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

“Let us take the ‘Fact’ side first. Here we have a man in his home;
amidst his own household; plenty of servants of different classes in
the house, which forbids the possibility of an organised attempt made
from the servants’ hall. He is wealthy, learned, clever. From his
physiognomy there is no doubting that he is a man of iron will and
determined purpose. His daughter—his only child, I take it, a young
girl bright and clever—is sleeping in the very next room to his. There is seemingly no possible reason for expecting any attack or
disturbance of any kind; and no reasonable opportunity for any outsider
to effect it. And yet we have an attack made; a brutal and remorseless
attack, made in the middle of the night. Discovery is made quickly;
made with that rapidity which in criminal cases generally is found to
be not accidental, but of premeditated intent. The attacker, or
attackers, are manifestly disturbed before the completion of their
work, whatever their ultimate intent may have been. And yet there is
no possible sign of their escape; no clue, no disturbance of anything;
no open door or window; no sound. Nothing whatever to show who had
done the deed, or even that a deed has been done; except the victim,
and his surroundings incidental to the deed! “The next night a similar attempt is made, though the house is full of
wakeful people; and though there are on watch in the room and around it
a detective officer, a trained nurse, an earnest friend, and the man’s
own daughter. The nurse is thrown into a catalepsy, and the watching
friend—though protected by a respirator—into a deep sleep. Even the
detective is so far overcome with some phase of stupor that he fires
off his pistol in the sick-room, and can’t even tell what he thought he
was firing at. That respirator of yours is the only thing that seems
to have a bearing on the ‘fact’ side of the affair. That you did not
lose your head as the others did—the effect in such case being in
proportion to the amount of time each remained in the room—points to
the probability that the stupefying medium was not hypnotic, whatever
else it may have been. But again, there is a fact which is
contradictory. Miss Trelawny, who was in the room more than any of
you—for she was in and out all the time and did her share of permanent
watching also—did not seem to be affected at all. This would show
that the influence, whatever it is, does not affect generally—unless,
of course, it was that she was in some way inured to it. If it should
turn out that it be some strange exhalation from some of those Egyptian
curios, that might account for it; only, we are then face to face with
the fact that Mr. Trelawny, who was most of all in the room—who, in
fact, lived more than half his life in it—was affected worst of all. What kind of influence could it be which would account for all these
different and contradictory effects? No! the more I think of this form
of the dilemma, the more I am bewildered! Why, even if it were that
the attack, the physical attack, on Mr. Trelawny had been made by some
one residing in the house and not within the sphere of suspicion, the
oddness of the stupefyings would still remain a mystery. It is not
easy to put anyone into a catalepsy. Indeed, so far as is known yet in
science, there is no way to achieve such an object at will. The crux
of the whole matter is Miss Trelawny, who seems to be subject to none
of the influences, or possibly of the variants of the same influence at
work. Through all she goes unscathed, except for that one slight
semi-faint. It is most strange!”

I listened with a sinking heart; for, though his manner was not
illuminative of distrust, his argument was disturbing. Although it was
not so direct as the suspicion of the Detective, it seemed to single
out Miss Trelawny as different from all others concerned; and in a
mystery to be alone is to be suspected, ultimately if not immediately. I thought it better not to say anything. In such a case silence is
indeed golden; and if I said nothing now I might have less to defend,
or explain, or take back later. I was, therefore, secretly glad that
his form of putting his argument did not require any answer from
me—for the present, at all events. Doctor Winchester did not seem to
expect any answer—a fact which, when I recognised it, gave me
pleasure, I hardly knew why. He paused for a while, sitting with his
chin in his hand, his eyes staring at vacancy, whilst his brows were
fixed. His cigar was held limp between his fingers; he had apparently
forgotten it. In an even voice, as though commencing exactly where he
had left off, he resumed his argument:

“The other horn of the dilemma is a different affair altogether; and if
we once enter on it we must leave everything in the shape of science
and experience behind us. I confess that it has its fascinations for
me; though at every new thought I find myself romancing in a way that
makes me pull up suddenly and look facts resolutely in the face. I
sometimes wonder whether the influence or emanation from the sick-room
at times affects me as it did the others—the Detective, for instance. Of course it may be that if it is anything chemical, any drug, for
example, in vaporeal form, its effects may be cumulative. But then,
what could there be that could produce such an effect? The room is, I
know, full of mummy smell; and no wonder, with so many relics from the
tomb, let alone the actual mummy of that animal which Silvio attacked. By the way, I am going to test him tomorrow; I have been on the trace
of a mummy cat, and am to get possession of it in the morning. When I
bring it here we shall find out if it be a fact that racial instinct
can survive a few thousand years in the grave. However, to get back to
the subject in hand. These very mummy smells arise from the presence
of substances, and combinations of substances, which the Egyptian
priests, who were the learned men and scientists of their time, found
by the experience of centuries to be strong enough to arrest the
natural forces of decay. There must be powerful agencies at work to
effect such a purpose; and it is possible that we may have here some
rare substance or combination whose qualities and powers are not
understood in this later and more prosaic age. I wonder if Mr.
Trelawny has any knowledge, or even suspicion, of such a kind? I only
know this for certain, that a worse atmosphere for a sick chamber could
not possibly be imagined; and I admire the courage of Sir James Frere
in refusing to have anything to do with a case under such conditions. These instructions of Mr. Trelawny to his daughter, and from what you
have told me, the care with which he has protected his wishes through
his solicitor, show that he suspected something, at any rate.