He had always been fighting. But the fiercest of his campaigns had hitherto been as child’s play by comparison with this contest with the Unknown. Once again he was “taking the Kingdom of Heaven by violence!” This time literally.
The mad whim had possessed him through no conscious volition of his own; and he had acted upon it without reflection. He was matching his mortal power against the Infinite.
He was doing what Science knew could not be done; what the most hysterical spiritualist had never claimed power to achieve. He was trying, by force of personality and sheer desire, to check the flight of a soul upon the Borderland.
And over and over again his voice swelled, untiring, through the room, in that one all-compelling demand:—a demand that held no note of entreaty, nor of aught else save utter, fierce domination.
“Dey! Come back!”
The doctor, scared, irresolute, slipped from the room. This type of mania was outside his experience. In time it would wear itself out. In the meanwhile, his nerves could not endure the sound of that ceaseless calling; the sight of the tense, furiously masterful face.
It was two hours later that Dr. Colfax, the first of the summoned New York specialists, arrived. Jack Hawarden met him at the entrance of the hotel and briefly explained the case.
“I wish,” the boy added, “you would go in and see what you can do for Mr. Conover. I’m afraid he has lost his mind. I looked into the room several times and—”
He shuddered at the picture conjured up. His nerves had gone to pieces.