On the fourth day, I removed the dressing and strapped him once more to the table; then I allowed his consciousness to return—for I would not deprive him of his personality without giving him some of the hideous mental torture he had caused me. To see his fear, terror, and despair! To hear him rave! Oh, that would be music to my ears!
At last, his eyes opened, and he looked wonderingly around; then he saw me and stared. A flicker of recollection came into those strange brown eyes, and he gasped hoarsely:
"What has happened, Horace? Why am I here?" at that moment, he discovered the straps, and shrank before the wild gleam in my eyes. "Horace!"he cried, horror in his tone. "Horace, you—you—"
He paused as I silently held a mirror before him. For a moment, he stared in bewilderment at the face reflected, every feature of which was strange to him; then the terrible realization stunned him—he understood my revenge!
"You fiend—you fiend from hell!" he mouthed through hard, dry lips.
Oh, the unspeakable joy of that moment! I was repaid for all my suffering! If he was horrified now, how would he feel when he knew the rest? I must tell him!
"Just a small payment on the debt I owe you, Wyn, dear boy!" I laughed uncontrollably. "You snatched me from heaven to cast me into hell, so why shouldn't I be a fiend?" Then my laughter ceased, and I glared with hate. "I loved you as a brother, yet you tore out my heart and trampled upon it! You sent me to hell—you made me a fiend—you suggested that I use for my own ends the discovery I hoped would make the world better, and now, by God, you will be the first to undergo it! Do you hear?" I shrieked, and he seemed to shrink within himself. "Do you hear? I am going to relieve you of your personality!"
The result of my announcement far exceeded my fondest hopes! With the scream of a madman, he wrenched and tore at the straps which bound him; then, finding this fruitless, he raved and cursed—all of which I thoroughly enjoyed until I realized he was about to escape me! The light of insanity gleamed in his eyes—the bloody froth which flecked his lips warned me his reason was going!
With the anesthetic crushed to his face, I watched his struggles grow less wild and finally cease. Five minutes later, I had him prepared, and in half an hour, he was back in the bed. In the meantime, I had dissected out the center which I knew, from my operation on the criminal, to be the one which controlled personal recollection.
IT WAS done! My revenge was complete and beyond recall! No other living man knew of the existence of my ganglion, and, even I, if I ever so wished, could not replace that which I had removed! It was gone forever—removed by an operation which I, alone of all men, could perform!
With my lust for revenge satiated, I sat beside him to await returning consciousness; and when it came, I repeated in his ear a personal history—that his would not be a blank. I chuckled at its plausibility, for it was that of a man—not unlike him in build—who had told me his story in France, then—died. With what I told him, Selwyn Morris could take up the life of Anthony Jones, and the substitution never be suspected.
I had no doubt as to the result—it could not fail, yet I was overjoyed when, in answer to my question later in the day, he repeated the words I had impressed upon his semi-conscious brain, and asked if I would help him to find employment! Imagine my satisfaction when he accepted my offer and became my man-servant!
***
Two weeks have elapsed since the operation, and gradually I am reaching the conviction that it was not a complete success—that I removed something more than personal recollection. As Anthony Jones, he appears perfectly normal, yet I feel there is something—something lacking. There is no life, no fire in his eye—it is dull and expressionless. He takes no interest in anything, is stolid, devoid of emotion, and mechanical (that expresses it exactly) in all his actions. He obeys orders to the letter, and has given no cause for the uneasiness I feel; yet he is getting on my nerves—so much so, I am beginning to fear him! Why? I do not know.
***
HORRIBLE! Inconceivable!
A few minutes ago, Betsy, my little fox terrier, angered by a kick from—Jones, snapped at his leg. Then followed a scene so brutal, so disgustingly fiendish that my soul revolted, and I crouched in terror behind my chair! With a quick grab, Jones seized the little animal and deliberately twisted the head from the body! Nauseated as I was by the sight, I saw something which made me shudder with loathing for myself and my crime!
As he stood there, the dripping carcass in his hands, I saw there was no anger—no resentment—no excitement—there was absolutely no expression whatsoever in his eyes!
Then I knew! And the knowledge almost crazed me! Like Frankenstein, I had created a monster who would destroy me with as little compunction as he had taken the life of the helpless little animal!
God forgive me! No man ever sinned as I! I had robbed him of that something men call a soul!
To my half crazed brain, he appeared in his true light, as he was—a man—no, not a man—a Thing without a soul! A hideous monstrosity!
Fixing those vacant eyes upon me, he advanced—slowly—nearer and nearer until I lost control of myself and sprang up to cover behind the table!
"No—no! Don't touch me—go away!" I screamed in a frenzy, then collapsed half fainting when he turned and strode mechanically from the room!
Only for a moment did my terror allow me to lie there! I staggered to my feet—it was his life or mine! I knew the outcome if he attacked me, unless—unless I could take him unaware!
With throbbing heart and quaking limbs, I stole softly after him. Leaning from a window which opens on the narrow, well-like air shaft, I found him; and from his attitude, I knew he had just tossed poor Betsy's body down the shaft. If I could only reach him before he discovered me! What an opportunity! Sick with dread lest he turn about, I crept forward as stealthily as ever a starving tiger stalked a doe! Surely the terrible pounding of my heart would arouse him! No—he still gazed downward! Nearer—nearer I crept until my outstretched hands almost touched him, I gathered my strength and leaped! Clasping his knees, I shot him out into the darkness, in spite of the grip he obtained on the sill!
Leaning out perilously, I listened; then my brain whirled, and I staggered back to my chair! An icy hand seemed to grip my throat—chills coursed my spine!
In God's name, what was it I had hurled from the window? Not a cry—not a sound of impact on the stones below! I had listened, but no sound came up! Could he have caught something and stayed his plunge down these four stories?
The thought sent me running, and a moment later I was again leaning from the window examining the shaft with
