THE next morning at ten o’clock, Father Ambrose and Aubrey, assisted by Professor Bassermann, completed the preparations for their experiment. The library, always somber, was artificially darkened.

Chairs were so placed that the subject would gaze directly into the eyes of his questioner. Aubrey, Bassermann, and Father Ambrose were not concealed, for that would have distracted Isaac Laquedem’s attention, but they were so placed as not to intrude themselves upon his field of vision.

Immediately facing Laquedem’s chair, Professor Bassermann placed his traveling dictograph which, more precise than a stenographer, was to record every word that would escape the lips of the subject as well as every question of the scientific inquisition. On the table, near his chair, the Professor placed a chronometer that would register mechanically the time elapsing between question and answer. By this simple expedient, it would become evident if Laquedem was answering the questions in a straightforward manner or if he shammed. The least hesitation would be recorded instantly by a little curve.

Professor Bassermann also placed before him a gauge with a rubber tube to measure the pressure of the blood. Any emotion that conceals itself from the scrutiny of the closest observer is recorded in the pressure of the blood as it pounds from the heart to the brain. The terror that neither blanches nor reddens the cheek, the remembered lust, the mental strain recalled, but unuttered, appear in the lines of the psychologist’s chart.

All these devices of science Professor Bassermann and Aubrey explained to Father Ambrose who, being familiar with the theory underlying the various laws, found it no difficult matter to appreciate the cunning of each delicate mechanism.

Isaac Laquedem appeared preceded by Kotikokura who carried a box of cigars for his master with the same air of importance, as if he had been a court chamberlain bearing the crown jewels of a king. Laquedem was dressed in black. He was wearing his velvet smoking jacket which caressed his figure snugly. His hair, not brushed back as on previous occasions, betrayed a propensity toward curliness.

Kotikokura, an exaggerated imitation of his employer, affected the extreme London style of the period antedating the World War, trousers encircling tightly legs which to Aubrey remotely suggested something furtive and simian. His white vest and the rolled lapels of his coat served as an admirable frame for his yellow head. The cravat harmonized exquisitely with sleeve kerchief and socks. His manners were perfect and his carriage was modeled on that of Isaac Laquedem. He was a yellow caricature of his master.

At a word from Laquedem, the valet left. He was gone before one realized that the door had closed behind him. For a moment Aubrey had the weird impression that Kotikokura had crept out of the room on all fours.

Laquedem calmly lit a cigarette. He seated himself on one of the chairs sinking deeply into the velvet cushions and puffed little spirals of smoke to the ceiling.

Professor Bassermann commanded: “Relax! Relax entirely!”

“Are you going to hypnotize me?” Laquedem asked.

“No, I merely want to ease your mind. Imagine that you are going to sleep. Don’t resist my questions. Answer spontaneously and say whatever comes into your head.”

“But isn’t that hypnotism?”

“No. You will presently fall into a state of repose resembling sleep; you will give me, so to speak, the key to your soul. I shall unlock door after door until I open the gate of the unconscious. But first, we must lull to sleep the inhibitions which are posted like sentries at the threshold of the conscious mind. No thought escapes unchallenged by them. Upon every shadow that leaves the caverns of the nether brain, they fasten a mask, to protect it from recognition before it can merge into consciousness.”

He spoke slowly, monotonously, all the while gazing steadfastly into the calm eyes of Isaac Laquedem.

Professor Bassermann had hypnotized many people. It was his claim that every person was susceptible to hypnosis. But the quiet smile that quivered about the lips of the stranger rasped his sensitiveness. It had been his original intention to lull Laquedem into a mild state of semi-consciousness, but he now strained every nerve to impose his will upon the subject.

The Professor’s face twitched with exertion. Beads of cold perspiration appeared on his spacious forehead. Several minutes passed in this mental duel. The tension between the two minds was tangible in the room. It seemed to creep up and down the ornate pillars. It sank into the carpet, it laid its hold upon everyone present.

Laquedem never moved. His pupils plunged like a knife into the eyes of Professor Bassermann. The latter, overcome by a sudden faintness, held his hand to his head. He resolutely shut his eyes and turned away. Another minute and the great psychologist would have been hypnotized by his subject!

To hide his confusion, Professor Bassermann lit one of Laquedem’s cigars. Laquedem smiled. “Don’t you remember, Professor, that we met almost like this before?”

“I recall no such meeting.”

“Oh, yes. It was in England.”

“Indeed?”

“At Oxford.”

“I was there only once as a student.”

“Oh, no, no. It was long before that. In the year sixteen hundred and—” He snapped his fingers impatiently. “I forget the year.”

Was the stranger dreaming? Perhaps he was after all in a semi-hypnotic condition. Professor Bassermann examined the pupils. They were clear. There was no sign of suspended consciousness.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. Father Ambrose looked at him with startled eyes.

“I think he is shamming,” Bassermann softly whispered to Aubrey.

“No, I think there is a certain antipathy between him and you that breaks the thought current. Let me try.”

He did not attempt to put Laquedem to sleep with his unaided eyes, but used a glittering ring, a strange device showing a serpent, the symbol of infinity and of knowledge.

Perhaps the struggle with Bassermann had exhausted Laquedem’s power of resistance; perhaps the caressive stroke of Aubrey’s fingers against his temples overcame his resistance. Laquedem’s lids trembled, then a gentle haze veiled the flame of his vision. His breath came heavily like that of a sleeper, his pulse beat against the wrist with subdued regularity. The cigarette fell from his hands, burning a hole in the carpet. His hands dropped. The pupils were still visible through the half-closed lids.

Isaac Laquedem was asleep.

At that moment, a little yellow head peered into the room. Kotikokura was on guard, to see that no harm befell his master. A glance at the group seemed to reassure him and he disappeared again, unseen, with the stealthiness of one who has lived for a long time in the jungle. Only Laquedem’s left hand stirred slightly for a moment. It was as though an invisible message of assurance had passed from him to his yellow valet.

When Aubrey gently began his invasion into the mind of Isaac Laquedem, Kotikokura sat in the cell appointed for him, softly chattering to himself. Then he fetched a safety razor with a gold handle and began to shave not only his face, but his arms and his wrists which were disfigured by an ungainly growth of stubborn hair.

Professor Bassermann felt Laquedem’s pulse. “He is asleep,” he said.

Father Ambrose touched Laquedem’s forehead making, by habit, the sign of the cross. The sleeper reacted violently. A groan rose to his lips. He clutched his hands convulsively. But a few strokes from Aubrey recomposed his trembling nerves.

Isaac Laquedem was no longer asleep. Aubrey made no attempt to prolong the hypnotic spell. Hovering in a state between waking and sleeping, peculiar to psychoanalysis, Laquedem’s thoughts, like flights of birds, darting hither and thither, could alight where they pleased.