Part 20 (1/2)
”I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Prichard.
”You needn't wait,” said Philip.
The coincidence puzzled him; but by the time he had read the morning papers he had forgotten about it, and it was not until he had emerged into the street that it was forcibly recalled. The street was crowded with people; and as Philip stepped in among them, It was as though every one at whom he looked began to talk aloud. Their lips did not move, nor did any sound issue from between them; but, without ceasing, broken phrases of thoughts came to him as clearly as when, in pa.s.sing in a crowd, s.n.a.t.c.hes of talk are carried to the ears. One man thought of his debts; another of the weather, and of what disaster it might bring to his silk hat; another planned his luncheon; another was rejoicing over a telegram he had but that moment received. To himself he kept repeating the words of the telegram--”No need to come, out of danger.” To Philip the message came as clearly as though he were reading it from the folded slip of paper that the stranger clutched in his hand.
Confused and somewhat frightened, and in order that undisturbed he might consider what had befallen him, Philip sought refuge from the crowded street in the hallway of a building. His first thought was that for some unaccountable cause his brain for the moment was playing tricks with him, and he was inventing the phrases he seemed to hear, that he was attributing thoughts to others of which they were entirely innocent.
But, whatever it was that had befallen him, he knew it was imperative that he should at once get at the meaning of it.
The hallway in which he stood opened from Bond Street up a flight of stairs to the studio of a fas.h.i.+onable photographer, and directly in front of the hallway a young woman of charming appearance had halted.
Her glance was troubled, her manner ill at ease. To herself she kept repeating: ”Did I tell Hudson to be here at a quarter to eleven, or a quarter past? Will she get the telephone message to bring the ruff?
Without the ruff it would be absurd to be photographed. Without her ruff Mary Queen of Scots would look ridiculous!”
Although the young woman had spoken not a single word, although indeed she was biting impatiently at her lower lip, Philip had distinguished the words clearly. Or, if he had not distinguished them, he surely was going mad. It was a matter to be at once determined, and the young woman should determine it. He advanced boldly to her, and raised his hat.
”Pardon me,” he said, ”but I believe you are waiting for your maid Hudson?”
As though fearing an impertinence, the girl regarded him in silence.
”I only wish to make sure,” continued Philip, ”that you are she for whom I have a message. You have an appointment, I believe, to be photographed in fancy dress as Mary Queen of Scots?”
”Well?” a.s.sented the girl.
”And you telephoned Hudson,” he continued, ”to bring you your m.u.f.f.”
The girl exclaimed with vexation.
”Oh!” she protested; ”I knew they'd get it wrong! Not m.u.f.f, ruff! I want my ruff.”
Philip felt a cold s.h.i.+ver creep down his spine.
”For the love of Heaven!” he exclaimed in horror; ”it's true!”
”What's true?” demanded the young woman in some alarm.
”That I'm a mind reader,” declared Philip. ”I've read your mind! I can read everybody's mind. I know just what you're thinking now. You're thinking I'm mad!”
The actions of the young lady showed that again he was correct. With a gasp of terror she fled past him and raced up the stairs to the studio.
Philip made no effort to follow and to explain. What was there to explain? How could he explain that which, to himself, was unbelievable?
Besides, the girl had served her purpose. If he could read the mind of one, he could read the minds of all. By some unexplainable miracle, to his ordinary equipment of senses a sixth had been added. As easily as, before that morning, he could look into the face of a fellow-mortal, he now could look into the workings of that fellow-mortal's mind. The thought was appalling. It was like living with one's ear to a key-hole.
In his dismay his first idea was to seek medical advice--the best in London. He turned instantly in the direction of Harley Street. There, he determined, to the most skilled alienist in town he would explain his strange plight. For only as a misfortune did the miracle appear to him.
But as he made his way through the streets his pace slackened.
Was he wise, he asked himself, in allowing others to know he possessed this strange power? Would they not at once treat him as a madman?
Might they not place him under observation, or even deprive him of his liberty? At the thought he came to an abrupt halt His own definition of the miracle as a ”power” had opened a new line of speculation. If this strange gift (already he was beginning to consider it more leniently) were concealed from others, could he not honorably put it to some useful purpose? For, among the blind, the man with one eye is a G.o.d. Was not he--among all other men the only one able to read the minds of all other men--a G.o.d? Turning into Bruton Street, he paced its quiet length considering the possibilities that lay within him.
It was apparent that the gift would lead to countless embarra.s.sments.
If it were once known that he possessed it, would not even his friends avoid him? For how could any one, knowing his most secret thought was at the mercy of another, be happy in that other's presence? His power would lead to his social ostracism. Indeed, he could see that his gift might easily become a curse. He decided not to act hastily, that for the present he had best give no hint to others of his unique power.