The Land Of Mist

«No, no! You must not be angry – you really must not,» said the lady sweetly. «I was told that you were a perfectly terrible person, but really you are rather a dear.»

«Who are you? What do you want? Are you aware that I am one of the most busy men in London?»

Miss Freeman fished about in her bag once more. She was always fishing in that bag, extracting sometimes a leaflet on Armenia, sometimes a pamphlet on Greece, sometimes a note on Zenana Missions, and sometimes a psychic manifesto. On this occasion it was a folded bit of writing-paper which emerged.

«From Dr. Ross Scotton,» she said. It was hastily folded and roughly scribbled – so roughly as to be hardly legible. Challenger bent his heavy brows over it.

Please, dear friend and guide, listen to what this lady says. I know it is against all your views. And yet I had to do it. You s aid yourself that I had no hope. I have tested it and it works. I know it seems wild and crazy. But any hope is better than no hope. If you were in my place you would have done the same. Will you not cast out prejudice and see for yourself? Dr. Felkin comes at three.

J. Ross Scotton.

Challenger read it twice over and sighed. The brain was clearly involved in the lesion: «He says I am to listen to you. What is it? Cut it as short as you can.»

«It's a spirit doctor,» said the lady.

Challenger bounded in his chair.

«Good God, am I never to get away from this nonsense!» he cried. «Can they not let this poor devil lie quiet on his deathbed but they must play their tricks upon him?»

Miss Delicia clapped her hands and her quick little eyes twinkled with joy.

«It's not his deathbed. He is going to get well.»

«Who said so?»

«Dr. Felkin. He never is wrong.»

Challenger snorted.

«Have you seen him lately?» she asked.

«Not for some weeks.»

«But you wouldn't recognise him. He is nearly cured.»

«Cured! Cured of diffused sclerosis in a few weeks!»

«Come and see.»

«You want me to aid and abet in some infernal quackery. The next thing, I should see my name on this rascal's testimonials. I know the breed. If I did come I should probably take him by the collar and throw him down the stair.»

The lady laughed heartily.

«He would say with Aristides: 'Strike, but hear me'. You will hear him first, however, I am sure. Your pupil is a real chip of yourself. He seems quite ashamed of getting well in such an unorthodox way. It was I who called Dr. Felkin in against his wish.»

«Oh, you did, did you? You took a great deal upon yourself.»

«I am prepared to take any responsibility, so long as I know I am right. I spoke to Dr. Atkinson. He knows a little of psychic matters. He is far less prejudiced than most of you scientific gentlemen. He took the view that when a man was dying, in any case it could matter little what you did. So Dr. Felkin came.»

«And pray how did this quack doctor proceed to treat the case?»

«That is what Dr. Ross Scotton wants you to see.» She looked at a watch which she dragged from the depths of the bag. «In an hour he will be there. I'll tell your friend you are coming. I am sure you would not disappoint him. Oh!» She dived into the bag again. «Here is a recent note upon the Bessarabian question. It is much more serious than people think. You will just have time to read it before you come. So good-bye, dear Professor, and au revoir!»

She beamed at the scowling lion and departed.

But she had succeeded in her mission, which was a way she had. There w as something compelling in the absolutely unselfish enthusiasm of this small person who would, at a moment's notice, take on anyone from a Mormon Elder to an Albanian brigand, loving the culprit and mourning the sin. Challenger came under the spell, and shortly after three he stumped his way up the narrow stair and blocked the door of the humble bedroom where his favourite pupil lay stricken. Ross Scotton lay stretched upon the bed in a red dressing-gown, and his teacher saw, with a start of surprised joy, that his face had filled out and that the light of life and hope had come back into his eyes.

«Yes, I'm beating it!» he cried. «Ever since Felkin held his first consultation with Atkinson I have felt the life-force stealing back into me. Oh, chief, it is a fearful thing to lie awake at night and feel these cursed microbes nibbling away at the very roots of your life! I could almost hear them at it. And the cramps when my body – like a badly articulated skeleton – would all get twisted into one rigid tangle! But now, except some dyspepsia and urticaria of the palms, I am free from pain. And all on account of this dear fellow here who has helped me.»

He motioned with his hand as if alluding to someone present. Challenger looked round with a glare, expecting to find some smug charlatan behind him. But no doctor was there. A frail young woman, who seemed to be a nurse, quiet, unobtrusive, and with a wealth of brown hair, was dozing in a corner. Miss Delicia, smiling demurely, stood in the window.