“I _am_ the only person who knows anything. I should have warned these gentlemen; but, as they would not listen to me, I have allowed them to learn by experience. What you have done with your electricity is that you have increased the man’s vitality until he can deny death for centuries.” “Centuries!” “Yes, it will take the wear of hundreds of years to exhaust the enormous nervous energy with which you have drenched him. Electricity is life, and you have charged him with it to the utmost. Perhaps in fifty years you might execute him, but I am not sanguine about it.” “Great Scott! What shall I do with him?” cried the unhappy Marshal. Peter Stulpnagel shrugged his shoulders. “It seems to me that it does not much matter what you do with him now,” said he. “Maybe we could drain the electricity out of him again. Suppose we hang him up by the heels?” “No, no, it’s out of the question.” “Well, well, he shall do no more mischief in Los Amigos, anyhow,” said the Marshal, with decision. “He shall go into the new gaol. The prison will wear him out.” “On the contrary,” said Peter Stulpnagel, “I think that it is much more probable that he will wear out the prison.” It was rather a fiasco, and for years we didn’t talk more about it than we could help, but it’s no secret now, and I thought you might like to jot down the facts in your case-book. IX HOW IT HAPPENED She was a writing medium. This is what she wrote:-- I can remember some things upon that evening most distinctly, and others are like some vague, broken dreams. That is what makes it so difficult to tell a connected story. I have no idea now what it was that had taken me to London and brought me back so late. It just merges into all my other visits to London. But from the time that I got out at the little country station everything is extraordinarily clear. I can live it again--every instant of it. I remember so well walking down the platform and looking at the illuminated clock at the end which told me that it was half-past eleven. I remember also my wondering whether I could get home before midnight. Then I remember the big motor, with its glaring headlights and glitter of polished brass, waiting for me outside. It was my new thirty-horse-power Robur, which had only been delivered that day. I remember also asking Perkins, my chauffeur, how she had gone, and his saying that he thought she was excellent. “I’ll try her myself,” said I, and I climbed into the driver’s seat. “The gears are not the same,” said he. “Perhaps, sir, I had better drive.” “No; I should like to try her,” said I. And so we started on the five-mile drive for home.