# Grey Face/Chapter 31
### CHAPTER XXXI
#### AWAKENING

SIR PROVOST HOPE stood upright and stared across the bed at Muir Torrington.
"A brilliant piece of diagnosis, Torrington," he said. "You will go far."
Torrington's lined face, gaunt in the light of early morning, its gauntness accentuated by his unshaven condition, flushed slightly.
"Thank you, Sir Provost," he replied.
"Presently," Sir Provost added, "I shall ask you to explain how you came to your conclusions." He turned to the elderly housekeeper, who had assumed the duties of nurse, and: "Doctor Torrington and I will remain," he said. "At the slightest change, please call us. You know what to look for?"
The woman nodded confidently.
"Yes, sir," she replied.
The famous consultant and the young physician crossed the lobby into the dining room where refreshments had been set for them. And:
"You are not annoyed," Torrington began, "because I called you?"
"My dear fellow!"—Sir Provost raised his hand—"I should have been most annoyed if you had not called me; professionally and personally. This thing strikes home, Torrington, as you know—although you don't know all. Indeed, it is unlikely that any one of us will ever know the whole truth."
Torrington, munching a sandwich, began to parade the room.
"I am not content to abide by that idea," he declared. "I am by way of being an optimist, and I look for big things from this strange business."
Sir Provost, helping himself sparingly to whisky and soda, nodded slowly.
"Don't look for too much," he warned. "One big thing has come of it already. By your treatment of the case of Mrs. Lewisham you have justified your choice of a profession. You were faced, Torrington, with a problem to have baffled a man of three times your experience. It was life or death. Any of the usual restoratives must have meant the latter. Nine men out of ten would have killed their patient. Yours is alive and, physically, almost normal."
"Ah!" Torrington began to walk back from the end of the room, his mouth full of sandwich, and a remaining fragment upheld in his right hand. "Physically, as you say, Sir Provost; but mentally, mentally? I put it to you: Why does she remain unconscious?"
Sir Provost Hope took out from his left waistcoat pocket the case which contained his tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles and tapped it reflectively upon the table.
"I am not sure," he replied, "but I have a theory. One thing is certain. If you had not adopted the measures which you did adapt, she would have died as the woman in Limehouse died."
Torrington swooped down upon the decanter.
"To think," he muttered, "that I might have saved her, too! If I had only known—if I had only realized!"
His was the soul of the true healer, and Sir Provost Hope reached out and touched his arm.
"My dear fellow," he said, "it was only because you were present at the autopsy upon that unfortunate victim that you were enabled to deal so brilliantly with this second case. You are young and very ardent, Torrington, but remember that you are only human."
Torrington drank deep and gratefully, finished the sandwich, took a second, and resumed his promenade.
"Those marks!" he cried. "What the devil do they mean?"
"I don't know," Sir Provost confessed; "but I hope to learn. By degrees, Torrington, we are nearing the truth."
Torrington, returning to the table, stood looking down at the elder man, and:
"Sir Provost," he said, "the system of treatment which has made you famous is one, as you know, which hitherto I have failed properly to understand. Tonight is a turning point in my career——"
"It is," the other interrupted. "You have accomplished the all but impossible."
Torrington's embarrassment was boyish in its intensity, but:
"To-night," he continued, "I begin to understand—I begin to understand that the most advanced text-books are only fit for junior students. I begin to see vast possibilities, some of which you have explored. Now, sir"—he rested his hands upon the table and stared down into the peculiar blue eyes of the psychologist—"is hypnotic treatment of any use in the case of Mrs. Lewisham?"
Sir Provost shook his head.
"Not of the slightest," he replied. "At any rate"—he paused—"not if applied by myself."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," was the reply, and Sir Provost's blue eyes regarded him strangely, "that I failed with Madame Sabinov. I should fail with Mrs. Lewisham."
"Good God!" Torrington exclaimed. "Yes! I see. It is the same control! Heaven forgive me! I have neglected more than half of my proper studies."
"Never mind. You are still young, and I have things to tell you which may prove to be even more illuminating than the curious features of this case. But here is our nurse."
The dining-room door opened and the woman came in. She looked across at Sir Provost, and:
"I think she is waking, sir," she reported.
Quietly, all three returned to the sick-room. The self-possessed housekeeper resumed her seat, Torrington standing beside her, whilst Sir Provost crossed to the other side of the bed. Mrs. Lewisham, her eyes still closed, was moving uneasily, clasping and unclasping her hands, and turning her head from side to side.
Early workers of London were stirring in Mount Street. Some cheerful soul, whose musical education had been permanently interrupted by the war with Germany, marched along the pavement in hob-nailed boots, whistling "Tipperary." Occasionally carts rattled by. But in the sick-room absolute silence prevailed, until Mrs. Lewisham opened her eyes, closed them again as if she found the light hurtful, and then, sitting suddenly upright, looked fearfully about her, as one who awakens in strange surroundings.
The housekeeper glanced rapidly at Sir Provost, but he shook his head. Reason was returning to Mrs. Lewisham's staring eyes. She had recognized Torrington, and:
"Doctor Torrington!" she whispered. "… the grey face—the grey face!"
Sir Provost exchanged a rapid glance with Muir Torrington.
"All's well," he said. "There is no need for me to remain. Come along to Half-Moon Street as soon as possible."
A few minutes later he walked into his own library. Douglas Carey was seated in an armchair staring with unseeing eyes at some volume which he had taken at random from the shelves. He started up as Sir Provost entered; and:
"What news, sir?" he asked.
Sir Provost nodded reassuringly.
"Torrington has saved her," he replied.
"But——" Carey began.
"Yes. It was as he suspected."
"Good God!" Carey dropped back again into his chair. "What does it all mean? Where is the beginning, and what is to be the end?"
Sir Provost Hope regarded him fixedly.
"The end," he replied, "will be Peace. 'The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small.' Scientifically, I am glad, Carey, to have lived in a generation which has witnessed a revolt, successful, to a point, against the higher laws. It opens up untold possibilities. The boundaries which we had marked to define what is ultimate in the human will have been moved. Vast, uncharted territories invite the adventurous. My studies have gone far—farther than you realize; but to-night I know that they were the studies of a child."
He paused, looking before him as one who peers into a misty cavern.
"Thank God Jasmine is back under your roof," Carey murmured. "I know now that she is safe."
Sir Provost Hope turned to him.
"Yes, I think she is safe," he said. "We may be on the side of the angels, Carey, but we have no more than a dim idea of the powers of Hell. Each generation is so smug in its discoveries, confident that its so-called 'laws' are immutable. Yet every one of us has lived to see those 'laws' turned upside down. We must go warily. We are only beginning to comprehend. A few hours ago I was visited in this room by a man who has transcended all ordinary human knowledge. Later I will explain, as far as is permissible; but here and now I may tell you that the enemy, whom yet we have to define, has successfully defied this man and all that he stands for, over a period of years. Torrington will be here presently, and although none of us is at his best, I think a brief council of war desirable. Each one has something to tell the other; all are involved in a common danger. But although the chain of evidence is not complete, I think I may venture to say that few links are missing. Apart from our personal interests, we have a common interest, Carey: the cause of Humanity."