“But that is monstrous!”
“Of course, but the point has to be considered. There is still another supposition. You might have opened the door to a third person, and afterwards reclosed it.”
“Why, that is as bad as the other!”
“In the ordinary way, yes. But it chanced that I have just been reading some experiments in hypnotism, by which strange results are sometimes obtained by one mind unconsciously over another. You, I believe, in former times were often mesmerized, and, it occurred to me at once, would readily yield to the evil desires, unknowingly, of some designing scoundrel. In such a case, I say again, you may have had something to do with your husband’s death.”
“But who could do such a thing? Besides, I know no designing scoundrel. Your guess is worse than nothing at all. It is foolishness.”
Nevertheless, the face of Mrs. Booth underwent a great change. She was evidently “put darkly in doubt,” and though she spoke in bold confidence, her companion clearly saw his shot had told.
“But what you say is unnatural—horrible! All the mesmerists or hypnotists in the world cannot make a wife kill her husband and not know it. And as for what is in the newspapers, they are made up of a pack of lies, and you ought to know it as well as anybody, for did you not use to work on one?”
“It may be so. I may be wrong. Only you wanted to know a possible way that this thing might have happened, and I gave the only explanation that occurred to me. Now tell me, what do you think?”
But poor Bertha could not tell. She had no theory. Her mind was off on a new chase, weaving all the possibilities out of this new idea which she had openly scorned. It was with almost a vacant air she bade Mr. Gosper good-bye, and as the door closed she sank down on the floor, moaning.
The cup of her affliction was running over.