CHAPTER XXVII
LEONORA'S VOICE
"My theory," said the policeman, "is that collectin'--and by that I meanall sorts of collection, including that of money--comes from a cravingto 'ave something what other people 'aven't got. It comes from a kind o'pride which is foolish. Take a man like Morgan, for instance. Now hespent his life collecting dollars, and he never once stopped to ask'imself why he was doin' it. I 'eard a friend of mine, a socialist hewas, saying as 'ow no one had wasted his life more than Morgan. At thetime it struck me as a silly kind of thing to say. But now I seem to seeit in a different light." He meditated for some minutes. "It's thereason why--that's what we 'aven't thought of near enough."
I was about to reply when a motor-car stopped before us. It was a largegreen limousine. It drew up suddenly, with a scraping of tyres, and awoman got out of it. I recognized her at once. It was Leonora. She waswearing a motoring-coat of russet-brown material, and her hat was tiedwith a veil.
"Alexis!" she exclaimed.
Sarakoff roused himself. He stood up and bowed.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Leonora," he said, "I am so glad to see you. We are just taking theair, and discussing a few matters of general interest." He patted her onthe shoulder. "I congratulate you, Leonora. You are an Immortal. Itsuits you very well."
She was certainly one of the Immortals. The stain in her eyes waswonderfully vivid, but it did not produce a displeasing effect, as I hadfancied it would. Indeed, her eyes had lost their hard restless look,and in place of it was an expression of bewilderment.
"What has happened to me?" she exclaimed. "Alexis, what is this that youhave done to me?"
"What I told you about at the Pyramid Restaurant. You have got the germin you and now you are immortal. Sit down, Leonora. I find it warmerwhen I am sitting. My friend and I had to leave Harley Street somewhathurriedly, and I had not time to dress."
She sat down and loosened her veil.
"Last night a dreadful thing happened," she said. "And yet, although itwas dreadful, I do not feel upset about it. I have been trying to feelupset--as I should--but I can't. Let me tell you about it. I lay downyesterday afternoon in my room after tea to rest. I always do that whenI can. I think I fell asleep for a moment. Then I felt a curious lightfeeling, as if I had suddenly been for a long holiday, and I got up.Alexis, when I saw myself in the glass I was horrified. I had the BlueDisease."
"Of course," said Sarakoff. "You were bound to get it. You knew that."
"I didn't know what to do. I wasn't very upset, only I felt somethingdreadful had happened. Well, I went to the Opera as usual and everyonewas very sympathetic, but I said I was all right. But when my call cameI suddenly knew--quite calmly, but certainly--that I could not singproperly. I went on the stage and began, but it was just as if I weresinging for the first time in my life. They had to ring the curtaindown. I apologized. I was quite calm and smiling. But there the factremained--I had lost my voice. I had failed in public."
"Extraordinary," muttered Sarakoff. "Are you sure it was not justnervousness?"
"No, I'm certain of that. I felt absolutely self-possessed; far more sothat I usually do, and that is saying a lot. No, my voice has gone. TheBlue Disease has destroyed it. And yet I somehow don't feel anyresentment. I don't understand. Richard, tell me what has happened."
I shook my head.
"I don't know," I said. "I can't explain. The germ is doing things thatI never foresaw."
"I ought to be furious with you," she said.
"Try to be--if you can," smiled Sarakoff. "That's one of the strangethings. I can't be furious. I have only two emotions--perfect calmness,or violent, horrible fear."
"Fear?" she exclaimed.
"Yes, fear of the worst kind conceivable."
"I understand the perfect calmness," she said, "but the fear--no."
"You will understand in time."
The policeman listened to our conversation with grave attention. Leonorawas sitting between Sarakoff and me, and did not seem to find thepresence of the visitor surprising. The green limousine stood in theroad before us, the chauffeur sitting at the wheel looking steadily infront of him. The Heath seemed remarkably empty. The mist over Londonwas lifting under the influence of the sun.
I was revolving in my mind a theory as to why Leonora had lost hervoice. I already knew that the germ produced odd changes in the realm oflikes and dislikes. I remembered Sarakoff's words that the germ waskilling desire. My thoughts were clear, easy and lucid, and the problemafforded by Leonora's singular experience gave me a sense of quietenjoyment. If the germ really did do away with desire, why should it atthe same time do away with Leonora's wonderful voice? I recalled withmarvellous facility everything I knew about her. My memory supplied mewith every detail at the dinner of the Pyramid Restaurant. The words ofSarakoff, which had at the time seemed coarse, came back to me. He hadcalled her a vain ambitious cold-hearted woman, who thought that hervoice and her beauty could not be beaten.
My reflections were interrupted by the policeman.
"The lady," he remarked, "has lost her voice sudden-like. Now I lost my'abit of arresting people sudden-like too. I lost it this morning. Anyother time I should have taken the gentleman in the dressing-gown incharge for being improperly dressed. But this morning it don't comenatural to me. If he wants to wear a dressing-gown on the Spaniard'sWalk, he presumably 'as his own reasons. It don't concern me."
"It seems to me that the germ takes ambition out of us," said Sarakoff.
"Ambition?" said the policeman. "No, that ain't right. I've got ambitionstill--only it's a different kind of ambition."
"I have no ambition now," said Leonora at length. "Alexis is right. Thismalady has taken the ambition out of me. I may be Immortal, but if I am,then I am an Immortal without ambition. I seem to be lost, to besuddenly diffused into space or time, to be a kind of vapour. Somethinghas dissolved in me--something hard, bright, alert. I do not know why Iam here. The car came round as usual to take me for my morning run. Igot in--why I don't know."
Sarakoff was studying her attentively.
"It is very strange," he said. "You used to arouse a feeling of strengthand determination in me, Leonora. You used to stimulate me intensely.This morning I only feel one thing about you."
"What is that?"
"I feel that I have cheated you."
"Cheated her?" exclaimed the policeman. "How do you come to thatconclusion?"
"I've destroyed the one thing that was herself--I've destroyed desire inher. I've left her a mind devoid of all values tacked on to a body thatno longer interests her. For what was Leonora, who filled the hearts ofmen with madness, but an incarnation of desire?"