Monsieur Delamort
I
In his outfit as a thorough-paced chevalier d'industrie, M. Delamort
might be said to include all the more usual tools of his craft. He could
tell your fortune by the cards, by your bumps, by the tea-cup, the
crystal, or your hands; his legerdemain was a marvel of dexterity; he
dabbled in hypnotism, and at times--where a particularly weak-minded
individual was his subject--he achieved some slight measure of success. He practised medicine upon occasion, with results that were only a little more disastrous than those which frequently attend the efforts of duly qualified men.
Of all his accomplishments spiritualism was the one that afforded him the
deepest measure of pride. Thanks to an ingenious fraud, with which, by
the aid of a confederate, he had imposed upon simple folk in almost all
the rural districts of France, he had amassed a very considerable sum of
money, which is an easy explanation of his predilection for that branch
of his trickster's profession.
His confederate, unfortunately, took it into his head to apply to other
ends the dishonesty acquired in his partnership with Delamort; and so
clumsy was he that he got himself arrested for embezzling, and sentenced
to a term of three years' imprisonment.
To Delamort the loss was incalculable; nor did he think it even worth
while to take any steps to repair it, despairing of ever finding another
who could so plausibly play the part. He found himself compelled to
abandon spiritualism. He no longer held forth to gaping villagers upon
the mysteries of the spirit-world, no longer talked of "psychic forces" and the "obsessing flesh." He fell back upon the more vulgar and less remunerative craft of fortune-telling, and had to be content to pocket silver, where before he had taken gold.
And then--quite by accident--it came to him how he might resume his trade
in ghosts, single-handed though he was.
It happened at Soreau, one evening. He was sitting in the village inn, entertaining a little crowd of rustics with an exposition of sleight-of-hand, and leaving them amazed at his miracles, when the subject of spiritualism was introduced by old Grosjean.
"There was a man of your name could raise ghosts," said the villager.
Delamort flashed him a piercing glance of his black, solemn eyes as he
answered impressively: "I am that man."
There was a momentary hush, followed by a babel of questions from those
of the party who were not believers in spiritual manifestations. It was
the sort of challenge to which Delamort was accustomed, and one for which
he had often angled in the old days.
Sheer force of habit brought him to his feet, that he might reply with
fitting impressiveness, and for the next few minutes he descanted in his
sharp, metallic voice upon that vexed question, causing his audience to
gasp at the boldness of his statements.
A tall, lean figure, dressed in clothes of faded black, aquiline of nose
and clearcut of face, with long black hair brushed back from the
forehead, fiery of glance and liberal of gesture, he imposed upon those
simple men of Soreau as much by his presence, air, and voice as by the
things he said.
Yet some materialists there were whom neither his manner nor his matter
could impress, and among them was old Grosjean, who was, in his way, a
man of fair education and some reading. It was this fellow whom Delamort
singled out for his special prey upon this occasion.
A quick judge of character, he had read at a glance the cupidity so
plainly advertised in Grosjean's close-set eyes, in the lines of his
thin-lipped mouth, and in his lean, claw-like hands. To these very
apparent characteristics of the old man did he owe the notion with which
he was so suddenly inspired, and upon which he set himself at once to
act.
"You may laugh, you fools!" he thundered, with a fine assumption of
anger. "I have been laughed at before by men as ignorant. But I have
changed their mirth to terror before I had done with them; and I will do
as much for you if any here has the courage to submit to the trial."
Grosjean cackled contemptuously, whereupon Delamort swooped down upon him
as does the hawk upon the sparrow.
"Derider!" he cried fiercely. "Dare you undergo the test?"
"Bah!" snarled Grosjean. "You are an impudent swindler. I have heard of
you."