The Last Miracle

by M. P. Shiel

As to this officer, Langler himself spoke to me that same evening when I happened to be in his study, saying: "you saw, Arthur, the officer who called to-day?"

"Yes," I answered, "I am afraid he must have bored you to death."

"Well, he means well," he answered, "and we are none of us perfect in grace and wisdom. This man in particular must be very impressed just now with the limitations of our human intelligence, for he stands almost ludicrously dumfoundered before the facts which we know about Robinson; dumfoundered, above all, before the fact that Robinson should have been shown to me in an unconscious state at Hallam Castle at the hour of seven-fifteen, and in that state should have been conveyed away through a peopled countryside without being seen, though by eight p.m. the constabulary had been warned by me, and have been searching for him ever since. Before the failure to find some trace the mind stands as staggered as if in the presence of unearthly agents. To the questions Where is Robinson now? in a house? in the grave? conscious? still unconscious? why can he contrive to give no sign? our minds can begin to form no guess. Well, we are a small infantry, just wise enough to learn to be meek, and of few days, and full of trouble. But what I wanted to tell you as to this officer is that I took occasion to lay before him all we know about Father Max Dees in his Styrian dungeon, and to ask what I could do for this poor man."

I had forgotten Max Dees in the excitement of what had lately happened! "Well, what did the officer advise?" I asked.

"He seemed unreceptive of the whole matter," was the answer: "to people of stolid minds the unique is apt to seem unreal; and the mere fact that our knowledge of Dees was brought us by a wren appeared to obstruct this man's concern in the case. However, he remarked with truth that we had no evidence that, of the three Barons Gregor, the one whom we suspect is really the gaoler of Dees; that, in any case, the English police have nothing to do with the incident; but that, with regard to the Austrian authorities, my best course before approaching them is to 'make sure of the facts.' In truth, he doesn't half believe in Dees—the wren being to blame. The man actually recommended me, with a smile, to go myself to Styria in order to 'make sure of the facts.'"

"Well, that might be done," I said: "by all means let us go, for I would go, too."

Langler looked at me, and smiled, hardly taking me seriously, I fancy.

But this question of "going to Styria" was destined, alas, to arise again. The very next (Sunday) morning, in the breakfast-room, Miss Emily, to my surprise, said to me: "who, then, is Max Dees?"

As I knew that nothing had been told her of the wren's message, I could only think that she had overheard Langler's talk with me on the Saturday evening, and, anyway, had now to tell her all—of Dees' imprisonment, of his prayer "for God's sake," of our almost certainty that Baron Kolár was his gaoler, of the paper found at the inn at Mins stating that "Dr Burton is another Max Dees," of the disappearances, like Robinson's, which Langler had found to have been going on over Europe, and so on. That morning Langler had not risen from bed—he had flutters of the heart—so I had time to tell a long tale, to which Miss Emily listened without comment, and remained museful throughout the day.

In the evening we were all at Ritching church to hear Dr Burton's farewell before his departure for Lincoln, and I don't know who took care of Swandale during the office, for Langler was now most strict in having every soul about the place at each church-service. He had risen from bed, and we three walked somewhat ahead, with the knot of retainers following. I have an idea that in some recess of Miss Emily's mind these church-goings were not regarded with emotions quite utterly saintly; but whatever resentment rankled in her she breathed no word of it, but went meekly in the pilgrimages with her brother.