He left the room, and returned with a slate on which were certain

words written in a handwriting, shaky indeed, but indisputably

the handwriting of Mr. Bessel!



"How did you get this?" said Mr. Vincey. "Do you mean--?"



"We got it last night," said Doctor Paget. With numerous interruptions

from Mr. Vincey, he proceeded to explain how the writing had been

obtained. It appears that in her seances, Mrs. Bullock passes into

a condition of trance, her eyes rolling up in a strange way under

her eyelids, and her body becoming rigid. She then begins to talk

very rapidly, usually in voices other than her own. At the same time

one or both of her hands may become active, and if slates and pencils

are provided they will then write messages simultaneously with

and quite independently of the flow of words from her mouth. By many

she is considered an even more remarkable medium than the celebrated

Mrs. Piper. It was one of these messages, the one written by her

left hand, that Mr. Vincey now had before him. It consisted of eight

words written disconnectedly: "George Bessel . . . trial excavn. . . .

Baker Street . . . help . . . starvation." Curiously enough, neither

Doctor Paget nor the two other inquirers who were present had heard

of the disappearance of Mr. Bessel--the news of it appeared only

in the evening papers of Saturday--and they had put the message

aside with many others of a vague and enigmatical sort that

Mrs. Bullock has from time to time delivered.



When Doctor Paget heard Mr. Vincey's story, he gave himself at once

with great energy to the pursuit of this clue to the discovery of

Mr. Bessel. It would serve no useful purpose here to describe the

inquiries of Mr. Vincey and himself; suffice it that the clue was a

genuine one, and that Mr. Bessel was actually discovered by its aid.



He was found at the bottom of a detached shaft which had been sunk

and abandoned at the commencement of the work for the new electric

railway near Baker Street Station. His arm and leg and two ribs were

broken. The shaft is protected by a hoarding nearly 20 feet high, and

over this, incredible as it seems, Mr. Bessel, a stout, middle-aged

gentleman, must have scrambled in order to fall down the shaft.

He was saturated in colza oil, and the smashed tin lay beside him,

but luckily the flame had been extinguished by his fall. And his

madness had passed from him altogether. But he was, of course,

terribly enfeebled, and at the sight of his rescuers he gave way

to hysterical weeping.



In view of the deplorable state of his flat, he was taken to the

house of Dr. Hatton in Upper Baker Street. Here he was subjected to a

sedative treatment, and anything that might recall the violent crisis

through which he had passed was carefully avoided. But on the second

day he volunteered a statement.



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