XIX
Brandonwas alone. The spinal chair had been set in the oriel that was so dear to him, and now he was propped up, with a book in his hand and his favorite view before him.
The vicar’s greeting was full of kindness, but the stricken man met it with an air of pain, perplexity and secret antagonism.
“The very man I have been hoping to see,” he said in a rather faint voice. And then he added, almost with distress, “I want so much to have a talk with you about this miserable business.”
“Don’t let it worry you in any way, my dear fellow,” said the vicar in a tone of reassurance. “Proper and ample provision can easily be made for the poor man if we behave sensibly. At least Whymper thinks so.”
“Hidebound donkey! What has he to do with it?”
The abrupt querulousness of the tone was so unlike Brandon that it rather disconcerted the vicar.
“I have always found Whymper a very honest man,” he said soothingly. “And he is also a magistrate.”
“Oh, yes, a localShallow.”
The vicar was hurt, but the high sense of duty was with him in his task. And that task was to tell Brandon in a few concise words of Dr. Parker’s visit, of his opinion of John Smith, and his views concerning him.
“And I felt it my duty to come and tell you,” said the vicar, in a slow, calm, patient voice, “that Parker will meet a specialist in consultation. But the question now is, who shall it be? To my mind the point does not arise, but Joliffe, who I am sorry to say is not as helpful as he might be, is making difficulties. Parker would like Murfin, but Joliffe thinks Moriarty. But Murfin or Moriarty, what does it matter? They are both first-rate men; besides the case is so clear that it doesn’t present the slightest difficulty. It is really a waste of money to pay a big fee for a London opinion when a local man like Sharling of Brombridge would do quite as well.”
Brandon shook his head. A look of grave trouble came into his eyes. “No,” he said, “this is a case for the best man the country can provide.”
“Well, you shall choose him, my dear fellow,” Mr. Perry-Hennington’s air was all largeness and magnanimity. “Murfin or Moriarty, or why not such a man as Birdwood Thompson? He is in quite the frontrank, I believe. But before you incur an expense that I’m convinced is unnecessary, I should like you to realize my own position in the matter. To my mind, it will be far kinder to have the man certified and quietly removed, rather than ask the law to take a course which may stir up local feeling in certain directions, and breed undesirable publicity in certain newspapers. Still that is neither here nor there. One is prepared to face all consequences, be what they may.”
“Mr. Perry-Hennington,” said Brandon in a hollow tone, “I can’t help thinking that you are making a tragic mistake.”
“The matter hardly admits of discussion I’m afraid. My duty lies before me. Cost what it may it will have to be done.”
“But what possible harm is the man doing?”
The vicar deprecated the question by spreading out his large, strong hands. “We can’t go into that,” he said in a kind tone. “We don’t see eye to eye. Believe me, a matter of this sort doesn’t admit of discussion. Besides it will only excite you. A man has to act in these things as his conscience directs.”
“Yes, of course. But with all submission, one should try to keep a sense of proportion, shouldn’t one?”
“I fully agree.”
“Then why immure a constructive thinker?”
In spite of the watch he was keeping on himself the vicar caught up the phrase almost with passion.
But Brandon held his ground. “In common fairness,” he said, “I feel you ought to read his noble work before you take any action.”
“Words, words, words.”
“Here are words also.” Brandon indicated the open book beside him.
“The Bible!” The vicar could not conceal his surprise. It was almost the last thing he expected to see in the hands of so distinguished a skeptic.
Brandon was secretly amused by the air of sudden perplexity. “You see I am making my soul,” he said.
The vicar was puzzled. It was hard to forbear from being gratified. But fearing the ironical spirit of the modern questioner, he kept on his guard. Brandon, he knew, had a secret armory of powerful weapons. A primitive distrust of the intellect knew better than to engage him at close quarters.
“Our friend, John Smith, has led me back to the Bible,” said Brandon, with a simplicity which Mr. Perry-Hennington greatly mistrusted.
“John Smith!” The tone was frankly incredulous.
“Until the other day I had not opened it for twentyyears. But that wonderful work of his has suddenly changed the angle of vision. And in order to read the future by the light of the past, which is the advice he gives to the world, I return to the fount of wisdom.”
The vicar was more and more puzzled. To be led to the Bible by John Smith was like being inducted by the devil into the use of holy water. If Brandon was sincere he could only fear for the state of his mind. On the other hand an intellectual bravo of the ultramodern school might be luring one of simple faith into a dialectical trap. Therefore the vicar hastened to diverge from a perilous subject.
The divergence, however, was only partial. All the vicar’s thought and interest played upon this vital question of John Smith, and he was there to carry it to a crucial phase. At this moment, he must see that he was not sidetracked by one whom he could only regard, at the best, as a dangerous heretic.
“Whom do you choose, my dear fellow?” said Mr. Perry-Hennington, after a wary pause. “Murfin? Moriarty? Birdwood Thompson?”
“I decline to make a choice,” Brandon spoke bitterly. “It would be an insult and a mockery.”
“But don’t you see that it offers a protection, a safeguard for the man himself?”
“In the eyes of the law, no doubt. But, in my view, John Smith stands above the law.”
“No human being stands above the law.”
“That is where I dissent.”
Brandon’s tone simply meant a deadlock. The vicar needed all his patience to combat it. One thing was clear: a change for the worse had set in. It would be an act of simple Christian kindness not to argue with the poor dear fellow.
“Very well,” the vicar’s tone was soothing and gentle, “Joliffe shall choose. He is acting for you in the matter.”
“I beg your pardon. No one is acting for me in this affair. I won’t incur the humiliation of any vicarious responsibility.”
“But one understood from Joliffe that you would abide by the decision of a London specialist.”
“That is not my recollection of the exact position I took up. In any case, I withdraw from it now. Second thoughts convince me that you mean to destroy a very exquisite thing. I am further convinced that as the world is constituted at present you can work your will, if not in one way, in another. History shows that. But it also shows that you will only be successful up to a point. Immure the body of JohnSmith if you must. Kill his soul if you can. In the meantime go your ways and leave me to abide the issue.”
The vicar was distressed by this sudden flaming. He apologized with Christian humility for having worried one in a delicate state of health with a matter which, after all, did not concern him. Soothing the dear, excitable fellow as well as he could, he prepared to withdraw from the room. But Brandon was not in a mood to let this be the end of the matter.
“Before you go,” he said, “I would like to speak of something else. It has a bearing on the subject we have been discussing.”
Although conscience-bitten by the sudden recollection of his promise to Millicent, the vicar allowed himself to be further detained.
“I have just had a visit from the new tenant of Longwood.”
“Yes, I met him in the avenue as I came here. He has very simply invited me to dine with him on Wednesday.”
“Be sure you do. A very remarkable man. We had a most interesting talk.”
“A great scientist, I hear.”
“One of the forces of the material world. A modern Newton, the discoverer of Murdwell’s Law.”
“Tell me, what is Murdwell’s Law exactly?”
“At present it can only be rendered in terms of the highest mathematics, which I’m afraid is beyond a layman’s power. But Murdwell himself has just told me that he expects soon to be able to reduce it to a physical formula.”
“And if he does?”
“It will be the worst day this planet has known. For one thing it will revolutionize warfare completely. Radioactivity will take the place of high explosives. It may become possible to wipe out a city like London in less than a minute. It may become possible to banish forever organic life from a whole continent.”
“But surely that will be to abrogate the functions of the Creator.”
“Quite so. And science tells us that Man is his own Creator, and that he has been millions of years in business. And now this simple, gentle, peace-loving American of the Middle West comes along with the information that, Man having reached the phase in which he bends the whole force of his genius to destroy his own work, successes of that kind are open to him beyond the dreams of his wildest nightmares. As the learned professor said to me just now: ‘Anyfool can destroy. We are near the point where it will be possible for the infant puling in the arms of its nurse to press a button and punch a hole through the planet!’”
“No doubt he exaggerates.”
“He may. On the other hand he may not. He is a great and daring thinker, and he declares there are hidden forces in the universe that man is about to harness in the way he has already harnessed electricity, which, by the way, less than a hundred years ago was a madman’s dream.”
“I hear he is subsidized by the government.”
“He takes no payment for his services. He believes our cause to be that of civilization. Two of his boys are with the French Army, as he says, ‘doing their bit to keep a lien on the future.’”
“His country can be proud of him.”
Brandon could not repress a smile. The assumption of the tone was so typical of the man who used it that he was tempted to look at him in his relation to those events which were tearing the world in pieces. Had any man a right to sit in judgment on the actions of others in that calm, confident way? There was something far down in Brandon which asked the question, something deeper still which answered it. The self-complacency of this sublime noodle was not a thing tosmile at after all; he had a sudden craving for a tomahawk.
“It seems to me,” said Brandon after a pause, “that modern materialism has at last managed to produce the kind of man it has been looking for. This charming church-going American says he hopes presently to be able to establish war on a scientific basis. So far, he says, man has only been toying with the subject.”
“If he can bring the end of this war a stage nearer, all honor to him,” said the vicar in a measured tone.
“He certainly hopes to do that. He says that his committee of Allied scientists, which sits every day in Whitehall, is already applying Murdwell’s Law to good purpose. It has every hope of finding a formula, sooner or later, which will put the Central Empires permanently out of business.”
“Really!” said the vicar.
“He says that so awful are the potentialities of self-destruction inherent in Murdwell’s Law that future wars may involve the planet, Earth, in cosmic suicide.”
“Really!” said the vicar.
“He says that science sees already that warfare cannot remain in its present phase. Moreover, at the present moment it is an interesting speculation as to which side can first carry it a step further. Enemyscientists are already groping in the direction of the new light. They will soon have their own private version of Murdwell’s Law; they know already the forces latent in it. If we are the first to find the formula we may be able to say a long farewell to the Wilhelmstrasse, and even to deep, strong, patient Germany herself. And if they find it first it may be a case of ‘Good-by, Leicester Square,’ because the first intimation the world may have is that there is a small island missing in Europe.”
“Really!” said the vicar.
“It sounds fantastic. But there is not the slightest doubt that Murdwell’s Law opens up a mental vista which simply beggars imagination. And there is no doubt, in the opinion of its discoverer, that by its means Man will get into touch with unknown elements capable of sealing the doom of the group of things to which he belongs.”
“We’ll hope not,” said the vicar. “At any rate, if that is so, it seems to me that Murdwell’s Law impinges upon the order of divine providence.”
“There we enter upon the greatest of all questions. Just now all creeds are asking: What is Man’s relation to God and the universe? Theology has one interpretation, science another. Which is right? Philosophy says that each has a glimpse of the truth, yetit is now inclined to believe that we have touched a new stratum which literally turns all previous theories inside out. Of course, it is not so new as it seems. Plato reached similar conclusions by a different road, but the world of empirical science has hitherto been content to regard them as brilliant but fantastic speculations. Gazelee Payne Murdwell claims to have brought them within the region of hard fact; he says science and philosophy are already half converted to his view. We enter a new era of the world’s history in consequence, and very amazing manifestations are promised us.”
“Whatever they may be,” said the vicar stoutly, “I will not allow myself to believe that Man can abrogate the functions of the Deity.”
“But what are the functions of the Deity? Would you say it was the exercise of those functions which saved Paris from being blown to pieces by the Hun?”
“Undoubtedly!”
“And yet permitted him to sink theLusitania?’
“Undoubtedly. Don’t let us presume to question that God had a reason for his attitude in both cases.”
“Well, in my view I am bound to say that T. N. T. and the U-boat abrogate the functions of the Deity in their humble way, just as surely as Murdwell’s Lawmay expect to do in a higher one. However, discussion is useless. We shall never agree. But if on Wednesday you can persuade Professor Murdwell to talk, you may hear strange things.”
“No doubt he exaggerates,” said the vicar robustly. “It’s the way of these inventive geniuses. On the other hand, should it seem good to the Divine Providence to destroy all the inhabitants of this wicked planet, let the will of God prevail. But in any case, my dear fellow, I hope you will not allow the ideas of the American to excite you.”
“They are far from doing that, but it was very civil of a man like Murdwell to take the trouble to come and see a man who couldn’t go and see him. He is one of the forces of the modern world, and in the near future he will be the problem for the human race.”
“It may be so,” said the vicar. “I know nothing of science. But to return to this problem of John Smith. Shall we say Birdwood Thompson? Parker is waiting to know?”
“As you please,” said Brandon in a voice of sudden exhaustion.
“Very well. I’ll telegraph. We must be scrupulously fair in the matter. And now let us dismiss anunprofitable subject. I’m afraid you have been talking too much.”
“A little too much, I’m afraid,” said Brandon rather feebly.
“Well, good-by, my dear fellow,” said the vicar heartily. “And forget all about this tiresome business. It doesn’t in any way concern you if only you could think so. Whatever happens, the man will be treated with every consideration. As for Professor Murdwell, I’m afraid he draws the long bow. These brilliant men of science always do. Good-by. And as I go out I’ll ask the nurse to come to you.”