CHAPTER XV
THE TERRIBLE FEAR
On coming down to breakfast, I found Sarakoff already seated at thetable devouring the morning papers. I picked up a discarded one andstood by the fire, glancing over its contents. There was only onesubject of news, and that was the spread of the Blue Disease. From everypart of the north cases were reported, and in London it had broken outin several districts.
"So it's all come true," I remarked.
He nodded, and continued reading. I sauntered to the window. A thindriving snow was now falling, and the passers-by were hurrying along inthe freezing slush, with collars turned up and heads bowed before thewind.
"This is an ideal day to spend indoors by the fireside," I observed. "Ithink I'll telephone to the hospital and tell Jones to take my work."
Sarakoff raised his eyes, and then his eyebrows.
"So," he said, "the busy man suddenly thinks work a bother. The power ofthe germ, Harden, is indeed miraculous."
"Do you think my inclination is due to the germ?"
"Beyond a doubt. You were the most over-conscientious man I ever knewuntil this morning."
For some reason I found this observation very interesting. I wished todiscuss it, and I was about to reply when the door opened and myhousemaid announced that Dr. Symington-Tearle was in the hall and wouldlike an immediate interview.
"Shew him in," I said equably. Symington-Tearle usually had a mostirritating effect upon me, but at the moment I felt totally indifferentto him. He entered in his customary manner, as if the whole of Londonwere feverishly awaiting him. I introduced Sarakoff, butSymington-Tearle hardly noticed him.
"Harden," he exclaimed in his loud dominating tones, "I am convincedthat there is no such thing as this Blue Disease. I believe it all to bea colossal plant. Some practical joker has introduced a chemical intothe water supply."
"Probably," I murmured, still thinking of Sarakoff's observation.
"I'm going to expose the whole thing in the evening papers; I examined acase yesterday--a man called Wain--and was convinced there was nothingwrong with him. He was really pigmented. And what is it but merepigmentation?" He passed his hand over his brow and frowned. "Yes, yes,"he continued, "that's what it is--a colossal joke. We've all been takenin by it--everyone except me." He sat down by the breakfast tablesuddenly and once more passed his hand over his brow.
"What was I saying?" he asked.
Sarakoff and I were now watching him intently.
"That the Blue Disease was a joke," I said.
"Ah, yes--a joke." He looked up at Sarakoff and stared for a moment. "Doyou know," he said, "I believe it really is a joke."
An expression of intense solemnity came over his face, and he satmotionless gazing in front of him with unblinking eyes. I crossed towhere he sat and peered at his face.
"I thought so," I remarked. "You've got it too."
"Got what?"
"The Blue Disease. I suppose you caught it from Wain, as we did." Ipicked up one of his hands and pointed to the faintly-tintedfingernails. Dr. Symington-Tearle stared at them with an air of suchchild-like simplicity and gravity that Sarakoff and I broke into loudlaughter.
The humour of the situation passed with a peculiar suddenness and weceased laughing abruptly. I sat down at the table, and for some time thethree of us gazed at one another and said nothing. The spirit-lamp thatheated the silver dish of bacon upon the table spurted at intervals andI saw Symington-Tearle stare at it in faint surprise.
"Does it sound very loud?" asked Sarakoff at length.
"Extraordinarily loud. And upon my soul your voice nearly deafens me."
"It will pass," I said. "One gets adjusted to the extreme sensitivenessin a short time. How do you feel?"
"I feel," said Symington-Tearle slowly, "as if I were newly constructedfrom the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. After a Turkish bathand twenty minutes' massage I've experienced a little of the feeling."
He stared at Sarakoff, then at me, and finally at the spirit lamp. Wemust have presented an odd spectacle. For there we sat, three men who,under ordinary circumstances, were extremely busy and active, lollinground the unfinished breakfast table while the hands of the clocktravelled relentlessly onward.
Relentlessly? That was scarcely correct. To me, owing to some mysteriouschange that I cannot explain, the clock had ceased to be a tyrannous andhateful monster. I did not care how fast it went or to what hour itpointed. Time was no longer precious, any more than the sand of the seais precious.
"Aren't you going to have any breakfast?" asked Symington-Tearle.
"I'm not in the least hurry," replied Sarakoff. "I think I'll take asip of coffee. Are you hungry, Harden?"
"No. I don't want anything save coffee. But I'm in no hurry."
My housemaid entered and announced that the gentleman who had beenwaiting in Dr. Symington-Tearle's car, and was now in the hall, wishedto know if the doctor would be long.
"Oh, that is a patient of mine," said Symington-Tearle, "ask him to comein."
A large, stout, red-faced gentleman entered, wrapped in a thick friezemotor coat. He nodded to us briefly.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but time's getting on, Tearle. Myconsultation with Sir Peverly Salt was for half past nine, if youremember. It's that now."
"Oh, there's plenty of time," said Tearle. "Sit down, Ballard. It's niceand warm in here."
"It may be nice and warm," replied Mr. Ballard loudly, "but I don't wantto keep Sir Peverly waiting."
"I don't see why you shouldn't keep him waiting," said Tearle. "In factI really don't see why you should go to him at all."
Mr. Ballard stared for a moment. Then his eyes travelled round the tableand dwelt first on Sarakoff and then on me. I suppose something in ourmanner rather baffled him, but outwardly he shewed no sign of it.
"I don't quite follow you," he said, fixing his gaze upon Tearle again."If you recollect, you advised me strongly four days ago to consult SirPeverly Salt about the condition of my heart, and you impressed upon methat his opinion was the best that was obtainable. You rang him up andan appointment was fixed for this morning at half-past nine, and I wastold to call on you shortly after nine."
He paused, and once more his eyes dwelt in turn upon each of us. Theyreturned to Tearle. "It is now twenty-five minutes to ten," he said. Hisface had become redder, and his voice louder. "And I understood that SirPeverly is a very busy man."
"He certainly is busy," said Tearle. "He's far too busy. It is veryinteresting to think that business is only necessary in so far----"
"Look here," said Mr. Ballard violently. "I'm a man with a short temper.I'm hanged if I'll stand this nonsense. What the devil do you thinkyou're all doing? Are you playing a joke on me?"
He glared round at us, and then he made a sudden movement towards thetable. In a moment we were all on our feet. I felt an acute terror seizeme, and without waiting to see what happened, I flung open the door thatled into my consulting room, darted to the further door, across the halland up to my bedroom.
There was a cry and a rush of feet across the hall. Mr. Ballard's voicerang out stormily. A door slammed, and then another door, and then allwas silent.
I became aware of a movement behind me, and looking round sharply, I sawmy housemaid Lottie staring at me in amazement. She had been engaged inmaking the bed.
"Whatever is the matter, sir?" she asked.
"Hush!" I whispered. "There's a dangerous man downstairs."
I turned the key in the lock, listened for a moment, and then tip-toedmy way across the floor to a chair. My limbs were shaking. It isdifficult to describe the intensity of my terror. There was a coldsweat on my forehead. "He might have killed me. Think of that!"
Her eyes were fixed on me.
"Oh, sir, you do look bad," she exclaimed. "Whatever has happened toyou?" She came nearer and gazed into my eyes. "They're all blue, sir. Itmust be that disease you've got."
A sudden irritation flashed over me. "Don't s
tare at me like that.You'll have it yourself to-morrow," I shouted. "The whole of the blessedcity will have it." A loud rap at the door interrupted me. I jumped up,darted across the room and threw myself under the bed. "Don't let anyonein," I whispered. The rap was repeated. Sarakoff's voice soundedwithout.
"Let me in. It's all right. He's gone. The front door is bolted." Icrawled out and unlocked the door. Sarakoff, looking rather pale, wasstanding in the passage. He carried a poker. "Symington-Tearle's in thecoal-cellar," he announced. "He won't come out."
I wiped my brow with a handkerchief.
"Good heavens, Sarakoff," I exclaimed, "this kind of thing will lead toendless trouble. I had no idea the terror would be so uncontrollable."
"I'm glad you feel it as I do," said the Russian. "When you threatenedme with a pair of scissors this morning I felt mad with fear."
"It's awful," I murmured. "We can't be too careful." We began to descendthe stairs. "Sarakoff, you remember I told you about that dead sailor? Isee now why that expression was on his face. It was the terror that hefelt."
"Extraordinary!" he muttered. "He couldn't have known. It must have beeninstinctive."
"Instincts are like that," I said. "I don't suppose an animal knowsanything about death, or even thinks of it, yet it behaves from the veryfirst as if it knew. It's odd."
A door opened at the far end of the hall, and Symington-Tearle emerged.There was a patch of coal-dust on his forehead. His hair, usually soflat and smooth that it seemed like a brass mirror, was now disordered.
"Has he gone?" he enquired hoarsely.
We nodded. I pointed to the chain on the door.
"It's bolted," I said. "Come into the study."
I led the way into the room. Tearle walked to the window, then to achair, and finally took up a position before the fire.
"This is extraordinary!" he exclaimed.
"What do you make of it?" I asked.
"I can make nothing of it. What's the matter with me? I never feltanything like that terror that came over me when Ballard approached me."
Sarakoff took out a large handkerchief and passed it across his face."It's only the fear of physical violence," he said. "That's the onlyweak spot. Fear was formerly distributed over a wide variety ofpossibilities, but now it's all concentrated in one direction."
"Why?" Tearle stared at me questioningly.
"Because the germ is in us," I said. "We're immortal."
"Immortal?"
Sarakoff threw out his hands, and flung back his head. "Immortals!"
I crossed to my writing-table, and picked up a heavy volume.
"Here is the first edition of Buckwell Pink's _System of Medicine_. Thisbook was produced at immense cost and labour, and it is to be publishednext week. When that book is published no one will buy it."
"Why not?" demanded Tearle. "I wrote an article in it myself."
"So did I," was my reply. "But that won't make any difference. No memberof the medical profession will be interested in it."
"Not interested? I can't believe that. It contains all the recent work."
"The medical profession will not be interested in it for a very simplereason. The medical profession will have ceased to exist."
A look of amazement came to Tearle's face. I tapped the volume andcontinued.
"You are wrong in thinking it contains all the recent work. It does not.The last and greatest achievement of medical science is not recorded inthese pages. It is only recorded in ourselves. For that bluepigmentation in your eyes and fingers is due to the Sarakoff-Hardenbacillus which closes once and for all the chapter of medicine."