Page:Amazing Stories Volume 01 Number 04.djvu/13

Rh ary delusion one could imagine. What do you make of him now?"

"Absolutely no change. In my opinion, if it is trance, it must end in death, with probably nothing to show the precise moment of the change. Do these writings of his throw any light on how he came in the position in which we found him?"

"So far as it is written out, no; but half of it is still in the original shorthand. This I can't read myself, and I rather hesitate about putting it in the hands of any one on board who can."

"Well, as you propose to hand the papers to me, I'll see what I can make of it. If it's Pitman's and fairly well written, I think I may be able to make it out, and if you wish, I'll write it out for you."

"Thanks. If it's anything like the record of the day previous, I confess I should like to see it, wild delusion though it be. But take it and read it. Its very existence, from beginning to end, shows how unfit he was for the secret service of one of these stations. Where his madness began I leave you to decide. At all events he seems mad enough towards the finish."

"What do you suppose caused him to lose his reason?"

"I don't feel the least doubt about that," said Captain Evered. "He was a young fellow of considerable ability, but of the nervous, imaginative sort, unsuited in any case to the life incidental to such a post; and when the event happened that left him there alone, under circumstances that would have been trying to any one, he simply went all to pieces. However, read the first part of this, that is already written out, and tell me what you think of it."

Brain and nerve disorders had always been the branch of his profession that had special attraction for Dr. Anderson, and the vagaries of unhinged and abnormal minds had been a particular study of his. It was, therefore, with scientific interest that he took Macrae's writings for perusal. After reading the part that has already been repeated here, he came to the point where Macrae, in the signal-room, finished his daily entry or letter with the avowed intention of going to the instrument and putting on the receiver or headpiece; to quote his own words, "as though called upon" to do so.

HAT Dr. Anderson began to read in his cabin ran as follows:—

It is not very agreeable, my dear May, to write what I feel must inevitably make you to believe me to be perfectly mad. And will you be, far wrong? That is the question I am constantly asking myself. At all events, here are what appear to me to be the exact particulars of my experience.

After finishing my letter to you yesterday, I went and put on the headpiece, without knowing myself quite why I did so. Almost immediately after the receivers were covering my ears I heard a voice, and it at once struck me as a very peculiar voice, very pleasant and musical, but quite different somehow from any I had ever heard. It said, "Macrae, are you there?"

Having answered, I was surprised, after a short interval, to hear the voice repeat the same question, as though I had not been heard. But then it occurred to me that I had replied in a very low tone, instead of the rather loud and distinct manner of speaking we are instructed to use. So I endeavored this time to reply louder, but found that I seemed to have almost entirely lost my voice. I could only answer in the same manner as before. There was a minute's silence, and then the same question repeated. My inability to reply otherwise than as before was most disconcerting, for, I reflected, while that state of things continued, I was, for the purpose of radio telephony, absolutely useless. As the only one at the station, this would be serious. "Using my best effort, but without any extra result from it, I answered, "Yes! I am attending. Who are you?" Once more the same question came through the receiver. While I sat still, wondering what I should do about it, the voice spoke again. I had been heard.

And now, dear May, try to believe me, however difficult. Think, should I choose such a terrible time as this for romancing? No! either this great marvel has really happened, or else I am—but no; I must, must keep away that terrible thought.

HE voice said, "You attend! Now, listen, and do not be induced to leave the instrument, or fail in the closest attention, by the surprise of what you hear. Also understand that six minutes will elapse before any answer can reach you in reply to any question or remark of yours. I am not speaking to you from any point on your planet, but from your nearest neighboring world, which you call Venus." "But," I interrupted, "you called me by name!"

"This," went on the voice, "is an event in the history of your world, the immense importance of which, others of your fellow-beings will be much better able to realize than you. Of greater importance to your world than ours, in view of the fact that we are more advanced in intellect and knowledge than yourselves, and have therefore less to learn from you than you from us. Having gleaned all we can from yourself, I will, pending arrangements that must be made for your savants to converse with us, give you some information respecting ourselves and the world from which I speak to you. Yes; I called you by name! You do not remember, but we have been in conversation already for twenty hours—as long as your nature could hold out. This I will at once explain to you.

"What you call radio telegraphy is the launching through space of etheric impulses, which travel outward from the generating centre indefinitely in all directions. The medium in which these impulses are propagated is universal. Unlike sound signals, which, propagated in the air, must be bounded by the atmosphere, these etheric signals have no definite bounds; they are easily detectable here, and much further. Consequently, your radio conversations have been eagerly listened to on my world, and have aroused an interest that you will scarcely understand.

"From a time, thousands of years before your recorded history commences, we have desired to converse with you. During all these ages we have been able to see you, but not to speak to you. This