risk their lives as often as soldiers, with less chance of worldly glory.
First his invisible excursions were confined to the house and his own grounds, then he went further afield, and to his intense astonishment one day he met the spirit of the man who hated him.
"Ah," said David Allen, "you did not live long to enjoy your ill-gotten gains."
"You are as wrong in this sphere of existence as you were in the other.
I am not dead."
"Then why are you here and in this shape?"
"I suppose there is no harm in telling you. What I wanted to discover, at the time you would not give me a hearing, was how to separate the spirit from its servant, the body—that is, temporarily and not finally. My body is at this moment lying apparently asleep in a locked room in my house—one of the rooms I begged from you. In an hour or two I shall return and take possession of it."
"And how do you take possession of it and quit it?"
Heaton, pleased to notice the absence of that rancour which had formerly been Allen's most prominent characteristic, and feeling that any information given to a disembodied spirit was safe as far as the world was concerned, launched out on the subject that possessed his whole mind.
"It is very interesting," said Allen, when he had finished.
And so they parted.
David Allen at once proceeded to the Hall, which he had not seen since the day he left it to attend the trial. He passed quickly through the familiar apartments until he entered the locked room on the first floor of the south wing. There on the bed lay the body of Heaton, most of the colour gone from the face, but breathing regularly, if almost imperceptibly, like a mechanical wax-figure.
If a watcher had been in the room, he would have seen the colour slowly return to the face and the sleeper gradually awaken, at last rising from the bed.
Allen, in the body of Heaton, at first felt very uncomfortable, as a man does who puts on an ill-fitting suit of clothes. The limitations caused by the wearing of a body also discommoded him. He looked carefully around the room. It was plainly furnished. A desk in the corner he found contained the MS. of a book prepared for the printer, all executed with the neat accuracy of a scientific man. Above the desk, pasted against the wall, was a sheet of paper headed:
"What to do if I am found here apparently dead." Underneath were plainly written instructions. It was evident that Heaton had taken no one into his confidence.
It is well if you go in for revenge to make it as complete as possible. Allen gathered up the MS., placed it in the grate, and set a match to it. Thus he at once destroyed his enemy's chances of posthumous renown, and also removed evidence that might, in certain contingencies, prove Heaton's insanity.
Unlocking the door, he proceeded down the stairs, where he met a servant who told him luncheon was ready. He noticed that the servant was one whom he had discharged, so he came to the conclusion that Heaton had taken back all the old retainers who had applied to him when the result of the trial became public. Before lunch was over he saw that some of his own servants were also there still.
"Send the gamekeeper to me," said Allen to the servant.
Brown came in, who had been on the estate for twenty years continuously, with the exception of the few months after Allen had packed him off.
"What pistols have I, Brown?"
"Well, sir, there's the old Squire's duelling pistols, rather out of date, sir; then your own pair and that American revolver."
"Is the revolver in working order?"
"Oh yes, sir."
"Then bring it to me and some cartridges."
When Brown returned with the revolver his master took it and examined it.
"Be careful, sir," said Brown, anxiously. "You know it's a self-cocker, sir."
"A what?"
"A self-cocking revolver, sir"—trying to repress his astonishment at the question his master asked about a weapon with which he should have been familiar.
"Show me what you mean," said Allen, handing back the revolver.
Brown explained that the mere pulling of the trigger fired the weapon.
"Now shoot at the end window—never mind the glass. Don't stand gaping at me, do as I tell you."
Brown fired the revolver, and a diamond pane snapped out of the window.
"How many times will that shoot without reloading?"
"Seven times, sir."
"Very good. Put in a cartridge for the one you fired and leave the revolver with me. Find out when there is a train to town, and let me know."
It will be remembered that the dining-room incident was used at the trial, but without effect, as going to show that Bernard Heaton was insane. Brown also testified that there was something queer about his master that day.
David Allen found all the money he needed in the pockets of Bernard Heaton. He caught his train, and took a cab from the station directly to the law offices of Messrs. Grey, Leason and Grey, anxious to catch the lawyer before he left for the day.
The clerk sent up word that Mr. Heaton wished to see the senior Mr.
Grey for a few moments. Allen was asked to walk up.
"You know the way, sir," said the clerk.
Allen hesitated.
"Announce me, if you please."
The clerk, being well trained, showed no surprise, but led the visitor to Mr. Grey's door.
"How are you, Heaton?" said the lawyer, cordially. "Take a chair. Where have you been keeping yourself this long time? How are the Indian experiments coming on?"
"Admirably, admirably," answered Allen.
At the sound of his voice the lawyer looked up quickly, then apparently reassured he said—
"You're not looking quite the same. Been keeping yourself too much indoors, I imagine. You ought to quit research and do some shooting this autumn."
"I intend to, and I hope then to have your company."
"I shall be pleased to run down, although I am no great hand at a gun."
"I want to speak with you a few moments in private. Would you mind locking the door so that we may not be interrupted?"
"We are quite safe from interruption here," said the lawyer, as he turned the key in the lock; then resuming his seat he added, "Nothing serious, I hope?"
"It is rather serious. Do you mind my sitting here?" asked Allen, as he drew up his chair so that he was between Grey and the door, with the table separating them. The lawyer was watching him with anxious face, but without, as yet, serious apprehension.
"Now," said Allen, "will you answer me a simple question? To whom are you talking?"
"To whom—?" The lawyer in his amazement could get no further.
"Yes. To whom are you talking? Name him."
"Heaton, what is the matter with you? Are you ill?"
"Well, you have mentioned a name, but, being a villain and a lawyer, you cannot give a direct answer to a very simple question. You think you are talking to that poor fool Bernard Heaton. It is true that the body you are staring at is Heaton's body, but the man you are talking to is—David Allen—the man you swindled and then murdered. Sit down. If you move you are a dead man. Don't try to edge to the door. There are seven deaths in this revolver and the whole seven can be let loose in less than that many seconds, for this is a self-cocking instrument. Now it will take you at least ten seconds to get to the door, so remain exactly where you are. That advice will strike you as wise, even if, as you think, you have to do with a madman. You asked me a minute ago how the Indian experiments were