combinations of my own origination, to bring
that body back to life. And ... I have--failed!

"But," he added quickly, noting the smile that crept across my face,
"that failure was in itself worth more than the average scientist's
greatest achievement! You know, Dale, that heat, if a man is not truly
dead, will sometimes resurrect him. In a case of epilepsy, for instance,
victims have been pronounced dead only to return to life--sometimes in
the grave.

"I say 'if a man be not truly dead.' But what if that man _is_ truly
dead? Does the cure alter itself in any manner? The motor of your car
dies--do you bury it? You do not; you locate the faulty part, correct
it, and infuse new life. And so, gentlemen, after remedying the ruptured
heart of this dead man, by operation, I proceeded to bring him back to
life.

"I used heat. Terrific heat will sometimes originate a spark of new life
in something long dead. Gentlemen, on the fourth day of my tests,
following a continued application of electric and acid heat, the
patient--"

Daimler leaned over the table and took up a cigarette. Lighting it, he
dropped the match and resumed his monologue.

"The patient turned suddenly over and drew his arm weakly across his
eyes. I rushed to his side. When I reached him, the body was once again
stiff and lifeless. And--it has remained so."

The Professor stared at us quietly, waiting for comment. I answered him,
as carelessly as I could, with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Professor, have you ever played with the dead body of a frog?" I said
softly.

* * * * *

He shook his head silently.

"You would find it interesting sport," I told him. "Take a common dry
cell battery with enough voltage to render a sharp shock. Then apply
your wires to various parts of the frog's anatomy. If you are lucky, and
strike the right set of muscles, you will have the pleasure of seeing a
dead frog leap suddenly forward. Understand, he will not regain life.
You have merely released his dead muscles by shock, and sent him
bolting."

The Professor did not reply. I could feel his eyes on me, and had I
turned, I should probably had found M. S. glaring at me in honest hate.
These men were students of mesmerism, of spiritualism, and my
commonplace contradiction was not over welcome.

"You are cynical, Dale," said M. S. coldly, "because you do not
understand!"

"Understand? I am a doctor--not a ghost!"

But M. S. had turned