Avon Fantasy Reader No. 13 — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

; { & “How curious?” | “Tt was sort of weird, sir. I never heard anything like it before. One part of it gave me the creeps. And some of it sounded like discords, sir.” The doctor drew a long breath. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Beacon. I think that will do for now.” : The housekeeper rose. “Yes, sir,” she said. “And if there’s anything I can do—oh, you will let me help, won’t you, sir?” she pleaded. : “Yes Mrs. Beacon, we will let you help,” he answered kindly, and closed the door upon her pathetic figure. ae “You know, Will,” he said, turning back to me, “there’s something mighty curious about this—I’m hanged if I understand it.” | I was just about to reply when there happened the first of the extraordi- nary incidents that made this case so remarkable. I had just seated myself on the piano bench, with my back to the instrument. I remember I was leaning backward with my elbows resting on the music-ledge above - the keyboard. : At Dr. John’s remark I must have shifted my position slightly, for one of my elbows slipped off the rack and hit the keys with a thump, sending a crashing, jangling discord reverberating through the room. At the same in- stant there came a sharp rap from the floor near at hand. With the roots of my hair tingling, I turned toward the divan. Hoorne’s right hand had slipped from his side to the floor, a large seal ring he wore striking sharply its pol- ished surface. And as I looked at his face, I caught just the fleeting end of a convulsive jerk of the lips as they steadied again into immobility. “Good God!” ejaculated Dr. Johns, as we started toward the divan. “Did you see that?” We were both trembling violently as we examined the body. The con- vulsion had passed. Hoorne was in the same state of living death as before. That was the first intimation I had of the connection of music with the case. What Dr. Johns knew and conjectured he was soon to tell me. We were sitting beside the table, and Dr. Johns was idly fingering the volume of Freud. ; “There’s something mighty curious about this,” he repeated slowly. “You’ve some idea,’ I pursued, “or you wouldn’t have talked to Mrs. Beacon that way.” 3 “What I had in mind, Will,” he answered, turning the leaves of the book in his hand—“you know how interested Norton was in psychic phenomena?” “Of course.” “We were talking about it at the club a week or so ago. He confided some- thing to me then—something he said he had never told anyone. It seems for some time he had been experimenting with a theory that through the power of a new style of music he had evolved, the soul could be transported tem- porarily out of its body and brought back at will. You know there are peo- pic who claim to be able to send their astral body with its soul wandering into other planes while their human body lies inert and helpless?” “IT know.” “Well, Norton said he had found that he could do just that by using certain 46 : 7 = comicoooks