Voice of the Conqueror. John Russell Fearn

heavens’ name, how did I get up here?”

      “You got there because I commanded it,” her father replied, holding up his hand to help her descend. “I have satisfied myself on three things. One, the control beam pro­duces absolute mastery of the subject; two, the subject can be made to do things beyond the normal; and three, an ability in a certain direction can be instantly developed with­out the need of wearisome training. That satisfies the point that the body doesn’t matter. It’s the mind that does the work. Believe a thing sufficiently and nothing can stand in your way, and least of all the body. You, Vera, are not a strongwoman of the circus variety, yet you tossed that arm­chair about with perfect ease. You’re not a professional athlete either, yet you took a jump worthy of any sports­woman. Finally, you are not a singer, yet you sang an aria with all the clarity of a prima Donna.”

      “I did?” Vera jabbed a finger towards herself and blinked. “But—but I don’t remember it!”

      “How could you? My mind, amplified by this apparatus, carried the commands. The outflowing beam being so power­ful, your own individual will foundered beneath it.… Now you see what I mean when I say I can have the world at my feet! Not a living soul can stand against this!”

      If Albert expected intelligent reaction he was disappointed, for the whole business was too utterly overpowering. He gave a rather grave smile.

      “You should consider yourselves privileged in that you have had this little demonstration,” he said. “There is a great deal more than this, though, far too complicated for me to waste my time telling you. You’ll see just how far-reaching this system can be as time goes on. Now perhaps you under­stand why I say that henceforth I shall be the master, not only of and in everyday affairs, but also in my own house?”

      “But—but you can’t mean that you intend to use that ter­rible thing on us!” Emily cried, horrified.

      “That is up to you. If you desist from your constant ridi­cule—and that applies to all of you—and treat me with the respect to which I’m entitled as the head of the household, then all will be well. If you do not—well, I have all your frequency numbers, which each one of you has unwittingly given me when prowling around my private outhouse, and to each number there is the control counterpart. It’s up to you,” Albert finished, laying a hand on the instrument, and his smile was full of significance.