CHAPTER III
THE HYPNOTIC FIASCO
I
Whilst Professor Conti was building elaborate castles in the air,Bindle with tense caution crept down the three flights of stairs thatled to the street.
Everything was quiet and dark. As he softly closed the outer doorbehind him he heard a clock striking three. Swiftly he removed thebandages that swathed his head, tucked them in his pockets and steppedout briskly.
He wanted to think, but above all he wanted food and drink.
As a precaution against the attentions of the police he began towhistle loudly. None, he argued, would suspect of being a burglar aman who was whistling at the stretch of his power. Once he stoppeddead and laughed.
"Joe Bindle," he remarked, "you been burglin', and you're mesmerised,an' you're goin' to give yerself up to the police, an' don't you forgetit, as it might 'urt the Professor's feelings."
He slapped his knee, laughed again, recommenced whistling, andcontinued on his way.
Occasionally his hand would wander in the direction of the left-handpocket of his coat, when, feeling the Professor's watch and chain andthe note to the police, his face would irradiate joy.
He _must_ think, however. He could not continue walking and whistlingfor ever. He must think; and with Bindle to think it was necessarythat he should remain still. This he dare not do for fear of arousingsuspicion.
Once in turning a corner suddenly he almost collided with a policeman.
"Tryin' to wake the whole place?" enquired the policeman. "Where areyou goin', makin' such a row about it?"
"To 'ell, same as you, ole sport," responded Bindle cheerfully."Goo'-night! See yer later!"
The policeman grumbled something and passed on. Presently Bindle sawthe lights of a coffee-stall, towards which he walked briskly. Overtwo sausages and some bacon he reviewed the situation, chaffed theproprietor, and treated to a meal the bedraggled remnants of what hadonce been a woman, whom he found hovering hungrily about the stall.
When he eventually said "Good-mornin'" to his host and guest, he hadworked out his plan of campaign.
He walked in the direction of the police-station, having first resumedhis bandages. Day was beginning to break. Seeing a man approachinghim, he quickened his pace to a run. As he came within a few yards ofthe man, who appeared to be of the labourer class, he slackened hispace, then stopped abruptly.
"Where's the police-station, mate?" he enquired, panting as if withgreat exertion.
"The police-station?" repeated the man curiously. "Straight up theroad, then third or fourth to the right, then----"
"Is it miles?" panted Bindle.
"'Bout quarter of a mile, not more. What's up, mate?" the manenquired. "Been 'urt?"
"Quarter of a mile, and 'im bleedin' to death! I got to fetch adoctor," Bindle continued. Then, as if with sudden inspiration, hethrust Professor Conti's letter into the astonished man's hands.
"In the name of the law I order yer to take this letter to thepolice-station. I'll go for a doctor. Quick--it's burglary andmurder! 'Ere's a bob for yer trouble."
With that, Bindle sped back the way he had come, praying that nopoliceman might see him and give chase.
The workman stood looking stupidly from the letter and the shilling inhis hand to the retreating form of Bindle. After a moment's hesitationhe pocketed the coin, and with a grumble in his throat and the fear ofthe Law in his heart, he turned and slowly made his way to thepolice-station.
II
When Professor Conti awoke on the morning of the burglary, he washorrified to find, from the medley of sounds without, produced byhooters and bells, that it was half-past eight.
Jumping quickly out of bed, he shaved, washed, and dressed with greatexpedition, and before nine was in a telephone call-box ringing up thepolice. On learning that his note had been duly delivered, he smiledhis satisfaction into the telephone mouthpiece.
Fortunately he was known to the sergeant who answered him, havingrecently given his services at an entertainment organised by the localpolice. After some difficulty he arranged that the charge should betaken through the telephone, although a most irregular proceeding.
"He's givin' us a lot of trouble, sir. Talks of having been given thenote, and about a burglary and attempted murder," volunteered thesergeant.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Professor.
"Ha, ha, ha!" echoed the sergeant, and they rang off.
In spite of his laugh, the Professor was a little puzzled by thesergeant's words. The man should still be under control. However, hereasoned, the fellow was caught, and he had other and more importantthings to occupy his mind. Hailing a passing taxi, he drove to theoffices of _The Evening Mail_. Sending up his card with the wordsIMPORTANT NEWS written upon it, he gained immediate access to thenews-editor.
Within ten minutes the story of the hypnotised burglar was beingdictated by the editor himself to relays of shorthand writers. Thepolice had, on the telephone, confirmed the story of a man having givenhimself up, and the whole adventure was, in the argot of Fleet Street,"hot stuff."
By half-past eleven the papers were selling in the streets, and theProfessor was on his way to the police-court. He had been told thecase would not come on before twelve. As his taxi threaded its wayjerkily westward, he caught glimpses of the placards of the noonedition of _The Evening Mail_, bearing such sensational lines as:
MESMERISM EXTRAORDINARY
AN AMAZING CAPTURE
ALLEGED BURGLAR HYPNOTISED
He smiled pleasantly as he pictured his reception that evening, as anextra turn, at one of the big music-halls.
He fell to speculating as to how much he should demand, and to whichmanager he should offer his services. "The Napoleon of Mesmerists,"was the title he had decided to adopt. Again the Professor smiledamiably as he thought of the column of description with headlines in_The Evening Mail_. He had indeed achieved success.
III
The drowsy atmosphere of the West London Police Court oppressed eventhe prisoners. They came, heard, and departed; protagonists for a fewminutes in a drama, then oblivion. The magistrate was cross, the clerkhusky, and the police anxiously deferential, for one of their numberhad that morning been severely censured for being unable todiscriminate between the effects upon the human frame of laudanum andwhisky.
Nobody was interested--there was nothing in which to be interested--andthere was less oxygen than usual in the court, the magistrate had acold. It was a miserable business, this detection and punishing ofcrime.
"Twenty shillings costs, seven days," snuffled the presiding genius.
A piece of human flotsam faced about and disappeared.
Another name was called. The sergeant in charge of the new casecleared his throat. The magistrate lifted his handkerchief to hisnose, the clerk removed his spectacles to wipe them, when somethingbounded into the dock, drawing up two other somethings behind it.
The magistrate paused, his handkerchief held to his nose, the clerkdropped his spectacles, the three reporters became eagerly alert--inshort, the whole court awakened simultaneously from its apathy to theknowledge that this was a dramatic moment.
In the dock stood a medium-sized man with nondescript features, a thinblack moustache, iron-grey hair, and dishevelled clothing. Each sideof him stood a constable gripping an arm--they were the somethings thathad followed him into the dock.
For a moment the prisoner, who seemed to radiate indignation, lookedabout him, his breath coming in short, passionate sobs.
The clerk stooped to pick up his glasses, the magistrate blew his noseviolently to gain time, the reporters prepared to take notes. Then thestorm burst.
"You shall pay for this, all of you!" shouted the man in the dock,jerking his head forward to emphasise his words, his arms being firmlyheld straight to his sides. "Me a burglar--me?" he sobbed.
"Silence in the court!" droned the clerk, who, having found hisglasses, now began to read the charg
e-sheet, detailing how the prisonerhad burglariously entered No. 13 Audrey Mansions, Queen's Club, in theearly hours of that morning. He was accustomed and indifferent topassionate protests from the dock.
The prisoner breathed heavily. The clerk was detailing how theprisoner had awakened the occupant of the premises by lifting his goldwatch from the table beside the bed. At this juncture the prisonerburst out again:
"It's a lie, it's a lie, an' you all know it! It's a plot!I'm--I'm----" He became inarticulate, sobs of impotent rage shakinghis whole body, and the tears streaming down his face.
At that moment Professor Sylvanus Conti entered the court, smiling andalert. He looked quickly towards the dock to see if his case had comeon, and was relieved to find that his last night's visitor was notthere. He had feared being late.
The magistrate cleared his throat and addressed the prisoner:
"You are harming your case by this exhibition. If a mistake has beenmade you have nothing to fear; but if you continue these interruptionsI shall have to send you back to the cells whilst your case is heard."
Turning to the officer in charge of the case, he enquired:
"Is the prosecutor present?"
The sergeant looked round, and, seeing Professor Conti, replied that hewas.
"Let him be sworn," ordered the magistrate.
To his astonishment, Professor Conti heard his name called. Thoroughlybewildered, he walked in the direction in which people seemed to expecthim to walk. He took the oath, with his eyes fixed, as if he werefascinated, upon the pathetic figure in the dock. Suddenly he becameaware that the man was addressing him.
"Did I do it?--did I?" he asked brokenly.
"Silence in the court!" called the clerk.
Suddenly the full horror of the situation dawned upon the Professor.He broke out into a cold sweat as he stood petrified in thewitness-box. Somehow or other his plan had miscarried. He lookedround him. Instinctively he thought of flight. He felt that he wasthe culprit, the passionate, eager creature in the dock his accuser.
"Am I the man?" he heard the prisoner persisting. "Am I?"
"N-no," he faltered in a voice he could have sworn was not his own.
"You say that the prisoner is not the man who entered your flat duringthe early hours of this morning?" questioned the magistrate.
"No, sir, he's not," replied Conti wearily, miserably. What hadhappened? Was he a failure?
"Please explain what happened," ordered the magistrate.
Conti did so. He told how he had been awakened, and how he conceivedthe idea of hypnotising the burglar and making him give himself up tothe police.
The prisoner was then sworn and related how he had been commanded inthe name of the law to deliver the note at the police-station; how hehad done so, and had been promptly arrested; how he had protested hisinnocence, but without result.
The Professor listened to the story in amazement, and to the subsequentremarks of the magistrate upon quack practices and police methods withdull resignation.
He did not, however, realise the full horror of the catastrophe thathad befallen him until five minutes after leaving the court, when heencountered a newsvendor displaying a placard of _The Evening Mail_bearing the words:
PROFESSOR CONTI'S GREAT HYPNOTIC FEAT
CAPTURE OF AN ALLEGED BURGLAR
He then saw that he had lost his reputation, his belief in his ownpowers, his living, and about fifty pounds' worth of property.
When he reached his flat late in the afternoon, he was astonished tofind awaiting him a small packet that had come by post, which containedthe whole of the missing property, even down to the small change, alsothe two duplicate keys that Bindle had caused to be fashioned.
"I'm a bloomin' poor burglar," Bindle had assured himself cheerfully ashe dropped the parcel containing the proceeds of his "burglary" into apillar-box, "a-returnin' the swag by post. I got to be careful wotsort o' little jokes I goes in for in future."
IV
That evening Joseph Bindle sat at home in his favourite chair readingwith great relish _The Evening Post's_ account of THE GREAT HYPNOTICFIASCO. Being at bitter enmity with _The Evening Mail_, the _Post_ hadgiven full rein to its sense of the ludicrous.
Puffing contentedly at a twopenny cigar, Bindle enjoyed to the full thestory so ably presented; but nothing gave him so much pleasure as themagistrate's closing words. He read them for the fourth time:
"Professor Conti sought advertisement; he has got it. Unfortunatelyfor him, he met a man cleverer than himself, one who is something of ahumorist." Bindle smiled appreciatively. "The conduct of the policein this case is reprehensible to a degree, and they owe it to thepublic to bring the real culprit to justice."
With great deliberation Bindle removed his cigar from his mouth, placedthe forefinger of his right hand to the side of his nose, and winked.
"Seem to be pleased with yourself," commented Mrs. Bindle acidly, asshe banged a plate upon the table. To her, emphasis was the essence ofexistence.
"You've 'it it, Mrs. B., I _am_ pleased wi' meself," Bindle replied.He felt impervious to any negative influence.
"What's happened, may I ask?"
"A lot o' things 'ave 'appened, an' a lot of things will go on'appenin' as long as your ole man can take an 'int. You're a wonderfulwoman, Mrs. B., more wonderful than yer know; but yer must give 'emsome nasty jars in 'eaven now and then."
Bindle rose, produced from his pocket the tin of salmon that inevitablyaccompanied any endeavour on his part to stand up to Mrs. Bindle, thenpicking up a jug from the dresser he went out to fetch the supper beer,striving at one and the same time to do justice to "Gospel Bells" andhis cigar.