The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham (ebook reader macos TXT) 📕

heartily thankful to reach the gate. They found Arthur waiting for them.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I forgot that I was not alone.”

The three of them drove slowly back to the inn.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Susie.

For a long time Arthur made no reply, and Susie thought he could not have heard her. At last he broke the silence.

“I see that I can do nothing by ordinary methods. I realize that it is useless to make a public outcry. There is only my own conviction that Margaret came to a violent end, and I cannot expect anyone to pay heed to that.”

“After all, it’s just possible that she really died of heart disease.”

Arthur gave Susie a long look. He seemed to consider her words deliberately.

“Perhaps there are means to decide that conclusively,” he replied at length, thoughtfully, as though he were talking to himself.

“What are they?”

Arthur did not answer. When they came to the door of the inn, he stopped.

“Will you go in? I wish to take a walk by myself,” he said.

Susie looked at him anxiously.

“You’re not going to do anything rash?”

“I will do nothing till I have made quite sure that Margaret was foully murdered.”

He turned on his heel and walked quickly away. It was late now, and they found a frugal meal waiting for them in the little sitting-room. It seemed no use to delay it till Arthur came back, and silently, sorrowfully, they ate. Afterwards, the doctor smoked cigarettes, while Susie sat at the open window and looked at the stars. She thought of Margaret, of her beauty and her charming frankness, of her fall and of her miserable end; and she began to cry quietly. She knew enough of the facts now to be aware that the wretched girl was not to blame for anything that had happened. A cruel fate had fallen upon her, and she had been as powerless as in the old tales Phaedra, the daughter of Minos, or Myrrha of the beautiful hair. The hours passed, and still Arthur did not return. Susie thought now only of him, and she was frightfully anxious.

But at last he came in. The night was far advanced. He put down his hat and sat down. For a long while he looked silently at Dr. Porhoët.

“What is it, my friend?” asked the good doctor at length.

“Do you remember that you told us once of an experiment you made in Alexandria?” he said, after some hesitation.

He spoke in a curious voice.

“You told us that you took a boy, and when he looked in a magic mirror, he saw things which he could not possibly have known.”

“I remember very well,” said the doctor.

“I was much inclined to laugh at you at the time. I was convinced that the boy was a knave who deceived you.”

“Yes?”

“Of late I’ve thought of that story often. Some hidden recess of my memory has been opened, and I seem to remember strange things. Was I the boy who looked in the ink?”

“Yes,” said the doctor quietly.

Arthur did not say anything. A profound silence fell upon them, while Susie and the doctor watched him intently. They wondered what was in his mind.

“There is a side of my character which I did not know till lately,” Arthur said at last. “When first it dawned upon me, I fought against it. I said to myself that deep down in all of us, a relic from the long past, is the remains of the superstition that blinded our fathers; and it is needful for the man of science to fight against it with all his might. And yet it was stronger than I. Perhaps my birth, my early years, in those Eastern lands where everyone believes in the supernatural, affected me although I did not know it. I began to remember vague, mysterious things, which I never knew had been part of my knowledge. And at last one day it seemed that a new window was opened on to my soul, and I saw with extraordinary clearness the incident which you had described. I knew suddenly it was part of my own experience. I saw you take me by the hand and pour the ink on my palm and bid me look at it. I felt again the strange glow that thrilled me, and with an indescribable bitterness I saw things in the mirror which were not there before. I saw people whom I had never seen. I saw them perform certain actions. And some force I knew not, obliged me to speak. And at length everything grew dim, and I was as exhausted as if I had not eaten all day.”

He went over to the open window and looked out. Neither of the others spoke. The look on Arthur’s face, curiously outlined by the light of the lamp, was very stern. He seemed to undergo some mental struggle of extraordinary violence. He breath came quickly. At last he turned and faced them. He spoke hoarsely, quickly.

“I must see Margaret again.”

“Arthur, you’re mad!” cried Susie.

He went up to Dr. Porhoët and, putting his hands on his shoulders, looked fixedly into his eyes.

“You have studied this science. You know all that can be known of it. I want you to show her to me.”

The doctor gave an exclamation of alarm.

“My dear fellow, how can I? I have read many books, but I have never practised anything. I have only studied these matters for my amusement.”

“Do you believe it can be done?”

“I don’t understand what you want.”

“I want you to bring her to me so that I may speak with her, so that I may find out the truth.”

“Do you think I am God that I can raise men from the dead?”

Arthur’s hands pressed him down in the chair from which he sought to rise. His fingers were clenched on the old man’s shoulders so that he could hardly bear the pain.

“You told us how once Eliphas Levi raised a spirit. Do you believe that was true?”

“I