“I swear to God,” said Linden, “that from the time I entered the cabinet until I found myself upon the floor I knew nothing.” He had staggered to his feet and was shaking all over in his agitation, so that he could not hold the glass of water which his wife had brought him.
Challenger shrugged his shoulders.
“Your excuses,” he said, “only open up fresh abysses of credulity. My own duty is obvious, and it will be done to the uttermost. Whatever you have to say will, no doubt, receive such consideration as it deserves from the magistrate.” Then Professor Challenger turned to go as one who has triumphantly accomplished that for which he came. “Come, Enid!” said he.
And now occurred a development so sudden, so unexpected, so dramatic, that no one present will ever cease to have it in vivid memory.
No answer was returned to Challenger’s call.
Everyone else had risen to their feet. Only Enid remained in her chair. She sat with her head on one shoulder, her eyes closed, her hair partly loosened—a model for a sculptor.
“She is asleep,” said Challenger. “Wake up, Enid. I am going.”
There was no response from the girl. Mailey was bending over her.
“Hush! Don’t disturb her! She is in trance.”
Challenger rushed forward. “What have you done? Your infernal hankey-pankey has frightened her. She has fainted.”