



Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from
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THE PROFESSOR'S MYSTERY




[Illustration: No good ever comes of half understandings]




THE PROFESSOR'S
MYSTERY


BY
WELLS HASTINGS
AND
BRIAN HOOKER


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
HANSON BOOTH

[Illustration]

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS




COPYRIGHT 1911
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
      I IN WHICH THINGS ARE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN                         1
     II THE MEADOW OF ILLUSION                                        17
    III AN ALARM IN THE NIGHT                                         26
     IV AN INSULT IN THE MORNING                                      41
      V BESIDE THE SUMMER SEA: AN INTERLUDE                           51
     VI A RETURN TO THE ORIGINAL THEME                                65
    VII SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT CONFIRMED WITH COSTS                   77
   VIII HOW WE MADE AN UNCONVENTIONAL JOURNEY TO TOWN                 90
     IX HOW WE ESCAPED FROM WHAT WE FOUND THERE                      104
      X AND HOW WE BROUGHT HOME A DIFFICULTY                         116
     XI EXPRESSIONS OF THE FAMILY AND IMPRESSIONS OF THE PRESS       127
    XII AN AMATEUR MAN-HUNT WHEREIN MY OWN POSITION IS SOMEWHAT
            ANXIOUS                                                  143
   XIII THE PRESENCE IN THE ROOM                                     161
    XIV A DISAPPEARANCE AND AN ENCOUNTER                             172
     XV MENTAL RESERVATIONS                                          187
    XVI MEAGER REVELATIONS                                           197
   XVII THE BORDERLAND AND A NAME                                    212
  XVIII DOCTOR REID REMOVES A SOURCE OF INFORMATION                  223
    XIX IN WHICH I CAN NOT BELIEVE HALF I HEAR                       235
     XX NOR UNDERSTAND ALL I SEE                                     247
    XXI CONCERNING THE IDENTITY OF THE MAN WITH THE HIGH VOICE       258
   XXII I LEARN WHAT I HAVE TO DO                                    271
  XXIII I STAND BETWEEN TWO WORLDS                                   284
   XXIV THE CONSULTATION OF AN EXPERT AND A LAYMAN                   302
    XXV FIGHTING WITH SHADOWS                                        317
   XXVI AND REDISCOVERING REALITIES                                  332




THE PROFESSOR'S MYSTERY




CHAPTER I

IN WHICH THINGS ARE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN


"Has the two-forty-five for Boston gone yet?"

The train announcer looked at me a long time; then he shifted his plug
of tobacco to the other cheek and drawled:

"Naouw. Reported forty minutes late."

At this point I believe I swore. At least I have no recollection of not
doing so, and I should hardly have forgotten so eminent an act of virtue
under such difficult circumstances. It was not only that I had worked
myself into a heat for nothing. But the train could hardly fail of
losing yet more time on its way to Boston, and my chances of making the
steamer were about one in three. My trunk would go to Liverpool without
me, a prey to the inquisitive alien; and as for me I was at the mercy of
the steamship company. For a moment I wondered how I could possibly
have doubted my desire to go abroad that summer and to go on that boat
though the heavens fell. I thought insanely of automobiles and special
trains. Then came the reaction and I settled back comfortably hopeless
into the hands of fate. After all I did not care an improper fraction
whether I stayed or went: let the gods decide. Only I wished something
would happen. The shining rails reached away to lose themselves in a
haze of heat. Somewhere a switching engine was puffing like a tired dog.
Knots of listless humanity stood about under the dingy roof of the
platform; and the wind across the harbor brought a refreshing aroma of
tidal mud and dead clams. It occurred to me that my collar was rather
sticky on the inside.

I walked the platform fanning myself with my hat. I bought cigarettes,
magazines and a shine. I explored the station, scrutinizing faces and
searching vainly for matters of interest. I exhausted my resources in
filling up fifteen minutes, and the hand of the electric clock seemed as
tremulous with indecision as it had before been jerky with haste.
Nothing happened. Nothing would happen or could happen anywhere. Romance
was dead.

Feet scraped; a bell chattered; then breathing flame and smoke, and
with a shriek that would have put Saint George to utter rout, the down
express rumbled between me and the sky, and ground heavily to a
standstill. And there, framed in the wide Pullman window, was a face
that altered all the colors of the day, and sent me