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Out of the Darkness
By
CH ARLES J. DUTTON
CHAPTER Xlll—Continued.
—2o—
interrupted to say, “But,
, y, if the lights are turned out, how
£ .S that you <Ud not wrlto
*5 mpesaces yourself?”
*ZZ ,"smile on his face Bartley
‘"i- I did not intend to turn out
repl ? d ‘ l am going to do what few
“‘a™ 'eve? atSpt to do: that is.
IS It we can secure a message on
t 0 ,-n fun light. There have
frauds in slate-writing
JSnces that a test made in the dark
rpoke he tore the wrapping
from the package and disclosed a mm-
f ber o ordinary school slates tied to
gether with a string. When he had
S the String and placed the slates
on the table before lnm, he added.
You might claim that these slates
gjready have a message written on
them, so 1 will wash the surface of
each with water. If there was any
writing on them, it will be wiped out.
With our eyes following every move
ment, he took a piece of cloth, dipped
it into the glass of water, and care
fully washed one side of a slate. As
be was beginning to wash the other
side be paused and said to Currie,
“You may think I have not washed
the slate thoroughly enough; suppose,
Currie, you take It and wash the
other side yourself. Make a good job
of it”
Currie’s earnestness was almost
laughable as he took the slate and
turned it over and over, examining
both surfaces. When he had finished
he whispered to me, ‘‘There was not
a darned thing on that slate.”
The same method was employed
with the other slates.
When I had finished my task, Bart
ley took one of the slates and said:
“You have seen there was no writing
of any kind on these slates. I am go
ing to give one to each of you. Miss
Potter should place hers under her
feet; Currie might sit on his; the rest
of you can place them under your
coats.”
Bartley, who had glanced at his
watch several times, waited for five
minutes to pass before he said, “Sup
pose, Currie, you look at your slate."
Currie grinned, as if to say he con
sidered it all foolishness, but did as
requested. As he glanced at his slate,
the smile left his face, his jaw
dropped, and his eyes grew big with
wonder. He looked at it several sec
onds as if he could not believe his
eyes, then slowly passed It to me, I
took it eagerly, glanced at it, and in
my turn was startled. There, how
ever, In a sprawling hand, running
across the slate that had been blank
a few moments before, was written,
“Currie, people who steal whisky out
of a vault at midnight will come to
a bad end."
Almost unable to credit my eyes,
I stared at the slate. Both sides had
been so thoroughly washed that when
Currie had taken it they were still
wet. How the writing had gotten
on the slate, I could not imagine.
Miss Potter gave a sudden cry. She
had risen to her feet with shining
eyes. Holding her slate In one trem
bling hand, she tried to spe failed,
then cried triumphantly: “It’s a mes
sage—a message from Jdr. Slykel I
knew it would come,” and sank back
kito her chair, adding, as if unable
to believe the evidence of her own
senses, “it’s in his own handwriting,
his very own, and he tells me what
to do.”
Bartley took the slate from her
rembling fingers, a curious expres
sion on his face. He placed it on the
able and we crowded round to exam
,Tllls tlme the entire surface
the slate was covered with writing,
J the same sprawling hand that had
■tten on Currie’s and mine. The
etters were large and looked as If
he pe rSO n who had wrltten thfi meg _
ished r, , 6 ? Very Weak * To ° aston -
Ue bent and read:
those w be Well wlth 11,6 If y° u aw
lnlnL h are try,ng to d,scov er who
Sen , For my do this:
*° n th . e medium—” and the mes
“irl \i ed o off In a large s
ter ■ , Slyke ’ s wrl ting,” Miss Pot-
Ther" , excltedly - “I recognize It
1 Dlar-e-' 1 D< i thlne on tbe slat e when
1 plarefi my feet on It”
•omening her rave! * with
me rho h manner that gave
fi il SoS eSB J 0n that he was not at
p rlsed at what was happening,
n you are absolutely sure It is
\ b!s writing?” he asked.
m*y SS h" 561 ' t 0 EPGak ’ Bhe
moment the bell rang, and
-er passed through the room on
before LI \ e door ’ In the sec °nd
steal ‘f turn - 1 saw Doctor King
thest rt,?, at h ' S s,ate ’ and - from
th. • laok on hls f ace, I knew
M- *• r y jr> ’ received a message,
wo- ; eyes ‘ he gave me a faint
ioubtfuiiv SID P ° nd Shook hi3 hea<l
The man whom the butler ushered
In was the medium that Bartley had
secured in New York. He was very
tall and thin, dressed In black, with
white, unhealthy face, shifty eyes, and
hair a bit too long.
After he had been introduced, Bart
ley told us that we were to begin the
seance at once. The first thing to be
done was to place the medium in a
chair in the corner and tie hls hands
and feet firmly.
At Bartley’s suggestion we seated
ourselves around the table. It was a
small one, not very heavy in construc
tion. We placed our hands on its
surface as directed, and linked them
together by hooking the thumb and
little finger of each hand around the
finger of the hand next to it. We
were told that under no circumstance
were we to break this circle.
Bartley spent some time In making
sure that we were arranged in the
proper manner. I was seated with
Currie on my left, my little finger
clasped around his thumb, and Bart
ley himself on my right. He rose and
turned off the lights, then gropad his
way back to my side, and a second
later hls finger closed around mine.
I confess that I felt a bit like a fool
as I waited there in the pitch dark
ness. What we were doing seemed
childish; yet back of it all there was
such a general air of expectancy that
I was tense with excitement. The
great draperies had been drawn over
the windows, and not even a ray of
light penetrated the room. Just what
it was that we were waiting for I
did not know.
Someone drew a deep breath, and
I thought the table had started to
move. Then a silence followed, so
deep that I could not hear even my
neighbor breathing. I felt as if I
were all alone In the darkness. Only
the reassuring touch of the fingers on
each side of me drew me hack to
sanity.
Suddenly, when I was least expect
ing It, I felt the table under my fin
gers sway back and forth for a sec
ond, then fall back upon the floor with
a little bang. Currie breathed hard,
as if afraid; and his grasp on my
fingers tightened. Then without
warning came a series of ten knocks,
faintly, as if someone were knocking
at a distant door. I could not tell
where they came from. They seemed
to be in the air, on the floor, every
where but on the table. One thing
was sure; they did not come from the
direction in which the medium sat.
Besides, lie had been tied too tightly
In his chair to have been able to
make them.
Silence again, then more raps, quick
little running raps, never very loud,
that would start and stop a second,
then trip away like little feet run
ning to and fro.
“Are you there T Bartley’s voice
asked, hesitatingly.
Almost before hls words had died
away, there came a series of loud
raps, almost falling over each other.
Then Bartley’s voice again, cool but
low, “Can you communicate with us?”
I had expected that the raps would
reply at once, but instead there was
a long silence. Several times Bartley
repeated the question, and still no
answer.
At length he asked, “Shall we try
some other method?”
Raps answered, tumbling over each
other in their eagerness, and the table
tipped so violently that I expected it
would fall over. It returned to an
upright position with a bang, then
silence again. A deep moan from the
direction of the medium startled me,
then more moans interspersed with
sighs.
A shrill, thin voice, ghostly and far
away, said brokenly, “Oh —o-oh—I—
fll-feel you; I know —you .re —there —
there —”
A silence, in which I hardly dared
to breathe. The table tipped a second
time and a deep voice which seemed
familiar, though I could not place It,
said, “I am here—here, though you
(jo—not see —me. I was murdered
by—by —”
What it might have added we never
knew. Miss Potter suddenly cried
out, not in fear but In joy, “It’s Mr.
Slyke—ills voice—”
Bartley, afraid that she might rise
In her excitement and break the circle,
whispered to her, and she settled
back.
I now recognized the voice as that
of Slyke, a little changed, it is true,
but enough like it to be easily identi
fied. I was too dazed to think; the
raps, the darkness, the voice, and the
fear that was creeping Into my heart,
were almost more than I could bear.
Silence again, broken only by the
uneasy moans of the medium. Then,
without warning, someone cried In
terror, “Look! The stairs, the
stairs!”
Almost In front of us was the stair
way leading to the tower room. There
upon the top step, was a tiny light
unlike any light that I had ever seem
It was hardly larger than a silver
dollar, of an unearthly whiteness;
THE DANIELSVILLE MONITOR, DANIELSVILLE, GEORGIA.
then it began to grow larger and
larger, until It changed Into a lumi
nous arm floating in the air. I heard
someone gasp in fear, then all was
silence again. The light continued to
change. Now there were two arms,
then the trunk of a body, and then.
Out of nothing, an entire human figure
appeared, glowing with a soft, pale
light in the darkness. A misty figure
with ghostly, shining feet and hands,
but no head I It began to float down
the stairs, a step at a time, seemingly
upon the air.
Currie’s hand trembled under mine;
and I controlled my own fear with an
effort, as I pressed it reassuringly.
Half way down the stairs a head
appeared above the body. One mo
ment there was nothing there; the
next, a face with burning eyes and
tangled hair. I knew instinctively
whose it was. It belonged to Slyke,
the murdered man. A voice that
seemed to come from the mouth said,
“I have come back to place my hand
on the person that killed me.”
The figure took a step toward us,
the table before us fell over on the
floor with a crash, and a voice almost
at my elbow cried In terror, “For
God’s sake, turn on that light. Don’t
let that d—d thing touch me."
As suddenly as it had appeared, the
figure vanished, and we were left in
the darkness.
CHAPTER XIV
The Murderer Speaks.
Who turned on the lights I do not
know. As soon as they flashed on, we
looked at each other inquiringly, our
eyes filled with fear. Who had cried
out in terror and broken the circle?
Bartley motioned to us to sit down
again, and took his stand back of the
table. He seemed to me to be very
weary, and his eyes rested on us
sadly, as if he were reluctant to pro
ceed further. It was not until we
moved restlessly under his Intent gaze
that he said, “I am not going to make
any comment on what we have just
seen.” He paused for a second, then
added Impressively, “But I think I
ought to tell you that I know who
killed both Slyke and Brlfifeur."
There was a murmur of astonish
ment. Currie looked at me appeal
ingly, but I knew no more than he.
Roche whispered to Black, and they
exchanged looks of bewilderment.
Bartley still hesitated, as if he were
very reluctant to continue.
“I know that some of you doubt If
we can prove that Mr. Slyke was mur
dered. You say there are no clues,
and I admit that I have never seen a
case In which there were so few.
There is no doubt, however, that he
was murdered, though it i. difficult
to say what the motive was. In the
case of Briffeur, It was very simple.”
“Simple!” Roche gasped.
“Yes, simple. There was but one
reason and one way, and even one
person, that could have killed him.”
This statement vns too much for
Roche; he fihook Ms heard in disbe
lief."
“Let’s consider Mr. ..dyke's death
for a moment,” Bartley continued.
“After the party was over, Slyke
asked Mr. Lawrence to stay behind
and offered to sell him some whisky.
They had a drink, then Lawrence
went home. But we found three
glasses, showing that someone besides
Lawrence had drunk with Slyke. Let
us say this third person killed Slyke.
Understand me: I do not believe that,
when he came, he had any intention
of killing him—that came later. We
will assume that Slyke and this third
person went upon the balcony, for
what reason I cannot say, but lain
sure that Slyke was the one that sug
gested going there. No murderer
would have selected It, voluntarily,
as a place in which to kill his victim.”
He paused for a second, then con
tinued: “After Slyke had been killed,
the thought occurred to the murderer
that It was possible to make his death
look like suicide. He undressed the
body in the room above the bedroom,
and later carried hls clothing down
stairs, placing it on a chair beside
the bed. But he overlooked a stock
ing that had fallen on the floor behind
the door of the room above. Crimi
nals, no matter how shrewd, always
make some mistake that betrays
them; this person drew the bed
clothes up around Slyke’s neck. If
he had not done that, I doubt if we
would ever have suspected that Slyke
was murdered. The shot took effect
at once. It would have been impos
sible for him to have drawn the bed
clothes up around hls own neck, and
placed his bauds by his side before
he died.”
The doctor's voice sounded per
plexed as he said, “But, Mr. Bartley,
this is all a rather fine-spun theory.”
“I expected that someone would say
that,” Bartley smiled. “It Is
than an unsupported theory. How
ever, let us proceed. The murderer
went down to the living room and
brought back with him two cards,
which he threw on the floor of the
room where the glasses were. If its
being suicide was questioned, then
the finding of the cards would throw
suspicion on the members of the card
party.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.!
Light Station, Heron Neck, Maine.
By JOHN OLIVER LA GORCE, Vice
President National Geographic
Society.
Realization of the great age of the
earth and the long periods Involved
in the birth of mountain ranges and
the disappearance of continents often
obscures the fact thnt changes are tak
ing place rapidly enough actually to
lie watched and measured. In places
the clock of geologic time runs so fast,
in fact, that we may, as it were, see
the minute hand moving upon the dial.
One of the most conspicuous places
by which to Illustrate this remark
aide condition Is the coast-line of the
southeastern United States from the
Virginia capes to the Rio Grande.
Here, as along every other coast-line
on the face of the earth there Is per
petual warfare between the land and
tlie sen, with the wind as a shifting
ally* now throwing its weight Into the
balance on the one side and now on
the other. Here the land Is tnking
the offensive, driving the sea back
foot by foot, always with the aid of
the wind ; there the sea assumes the
offensive and eftts its way landward
slowly and laboriously, but none the
less successfully. The varying for
tunes of this relentless and age-long
war, which neither truce nor treaty
will ever bring to an end, can be read
in the shifting sands of the seashore.
At many points along the coast of the
northeastern states are found bold
cliffs, and the charging sea attacks
them with the shot and shell of loose
shingle. Some of them, however, are
adamant and impregnable in their
frontal fortifications and hold out
against the sorest siege, hut between
them have occurred stretches of
softer rock which have been literally
pounded to dust by the ocean's heavy
artillery, thus permitting flank attacks
on the hitherto unconquered defenses.
Along the southeastern coast, how
ever, the rock-bound cliff is the excep
tion and the long stretches of glitter
ing sand the rule. Here the sandy
beach readies out farther and far
ther Into the sen, and the water is
thus enabled to penetrate farther and
farther into the land, because the at
tack of the sea Is ucually a frontal
movement and that of the land fre
quently a wedge attack; thus we can
account for the long, straight shore
on the one hand and the spit on the
other.
Cape Henry’s Sand Dune.
Cape Henry, Virginia, where the
great Chesapeake hay empties Into the
Atlantic, Is one of the most Interest
ing points along the South Atlantic
coast. It affords an excellent oppor
tunity to study the battle royal be
tween the sea, the winds and the
sands, and It Is remarkable also for
the weird beauty of Its storm-buffeted
beach, extending In broken masses of
sand as far as the eye can reach,
picked out here and there along the
land edge by gnarled and stunted
trees, beach grass and hardy shrubs,
which make a/ brave fight against the
ever-encroaching enemy.
At Cape Henry in 1791 was erected
the first lighthouse built by the young
United States government. After
many years nf faithful service the an
cient beacon gave way to a more pre
tentious structure, which was erected
In 1881, but the old lighthouse still
stands on its great hill of sand and
rock like a sentinel of a forgotten
army ready to spring to arms when
called.
Stretching inland behind the origi
nal lighthouse Is a great dune, or
rather a mountain of sand, which has
been the savings bank of the winds
for untold centuries. The dune Is
more than 100 feet high in many
places, and the great plateau on its
erest, stretching back into the country
for several miles, covers an area of
many acres. Slowly but surely the
zreat mass of Band crystals is making
its way toward the interior, being
pushed back Inch by inch by the rest
less wind, and it Is mercilessly engulf
ing a great pine forest. It Is even
rapidly filling up the Lynnhnven river,
n small fresli-water stream famous for
its oysters.
Retreat of the Shore Line.
On the shore of Cape Cod, near
Chatham, the land Is retreating at tho
rate of a foot a year, and on the
southern shore of Martha’s Vineyard
it Is giving up the fight to the enemy
at the rate of three feet every twelve
mouths, while on the southern face of
Nantucket the retreat has been as
much ns six feet a year, the records
tell us.
From Portland, Me., to Cape Florida
there Is n fairly well-connected har
rier of sand-reefs, nil of them built up
by the sea and its ally, the wind, from
the material pounded from the shore
line by the waves. From Chesapeake
bay to Biscayne bay, Florida, u dis
tance of 700 miles, there Is a natural
rampart of sand so continuous, fenc
ing such an unbroken series of lagoons
in from the sea, that It Is possible to
make the entire journey through in
land waters without exposure to the
open sen.
In Its incessant warfare against the
land, tfie sea literally takes Its cap
tured hosts and makes them do battle
under Its command. The boulders
that are shattered from the face of a
cliff are dashed up against It again
and again, hammering others loose,
the while being worn round and
smooth ns the projectiles of big guns
must be. As the process goes on, these
huge shells are worn down and
crumbled until there remains nothing
to tell the story of forced fighting
against their own stronghold save
grains of sand on some distant bench
or the soft carpet spread upon the
floor of the sen many fathoms deep.
The waves always find a most vain
able ally In the wind while their work
of coast-line transformation goes on.
The possibilities of the wind as a
worker in conjunction with the waves
are revealed when we consider that
during a violent storm the nlr mny
hold In suspension as much ns 120,000
tons of sand to the cubic mile. This
sand, driven hither and thither, finds
a resting place somewhere, and that
resting place is usually a dur%! along
the shore.
How Sand Dunes Are Made.
A sand dune always has n humble
beginning. A piece of wreckage cast
up by the waves may start it, or any
sort of obstacle lying upon the shore
may cause it to come into being. Once
started, the dune becomes a trap to
catch sand in. It takes its toll of
every passing gust of wind, and thus
continues to grow and grow. Often
they keep advancing until they bury
orchards, forests, and even buildings,
like great drifts of snow. Along the
coast of New Jersey one mny see or
chards which have been covered by
wind-blown sand within the memory
of man so that only the tops of the
trees now protrude above the surface.
It Is not exceptional to see n forest
invaded and sometimes even complete
ly buried. To watch the struggles of
the trees against their encroaching
enemy Is one of the most remarkable
sights of nature. As the sand rises
around their trunks new’ roots are put
out near the surface, and they con
tinue to fight their battle month In
and month out, but generally they are
finally completely engulfed.
The alternating burial and resurrec
tion of forests Is due mainly to the
tendency of sand dunes to migrate.
On Hatteras Island, North Carolina,
the migration of a dune literally
robbed a cemetery of its dead, dashing
down the gravestones and exposing the
hones of the bodies burled there, says
Professor Cobb, an authority on the
subject of beach formations.