Джон Пристли - The Doomsday Men

“That couldn’t happen, I suppose?”

“Not a chance!”

Malcolm was persistent. “Look here, I’m completely ignorant about this atom and electron stuff. I can’t imagine how you even start knowing they’re there at all-”

“You can photograph their tracks. I could show you dozens of ’em.”

“All right. I’ll take your word for it. But isn’t it just possible that this uncle of Andrea’s, Paul, who’s a scientist, and you say yourself a good one, isn’t it just possible that he’s got on to something you don’t know about, something”-he gave a vague wave in the air-“that if you let it loose, full blast, might make a mess of everything?”

Hooker suddenly looked grave. “Quite apart from the sheer damned lunacy of the idea itself,” he said slowly, “he’d certainly have to know a lot more than I do about atomic structure and behaviour even to dream of such a thing. Curiously enough, Darbyshire, that’s just what I’ve been wondering all afternoon-whether he’s just going quietly off his head or he really has something.”

“It might be both, y’know,” said Malcolm. “That would explain it.”

“I’ve thought of that, but he’d have to keep pretty sane and have all his wits about him to work out a really long jump like that in atomic physics, though I don’t say one part of him couldn’t keep fairly steady on the job and the other part be going mad.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Hooker, you’ve got to find out about this. Why did he send for you?”

Hooker described his morning with Paul, the calculations and the promised experiment. And all this seemed to Malcolm a confirmation of Andrea’s wild statement, and he told his companion so.

“The ironical thing is, of course,” he added, “that we haven’t the least chance of persuading anybody else-say, the authorities, if we told them-that we’re not simply off our heads ourselves. They simply wouldn’t believe a word of it.”

“Sure thing!” said Hooker. “That fellow Edlin told you that, if you remember, when you asked him why he didn’t try the police. Say-his yarn fits in pretty well with this stuff you’re telling me. I wonder what became of that fellow. If they brought him up here, they’re keeping him pretty close.”

Malcolm suddenly shuddered. “Do you suppose-they might have killed him? My God!-we sit here, coolly talking it over-and we don’t know what’s happening. Hooker, we’ve got to do something. I know-I swear-there’s some kind of evil madness here.”

“I believe there is,” said Hooker gravely. He waited a moment. “Listen! There’s a car.”

Looking over the balustrade, they saw five men getting out of the car. One of them, the tallest, was carrying a bundle of some kind. “I wonder if that’s what Paul’s been waiting for,” Hooker whispered, as they continued to stare down. “Hello! Who’s that? The fellow who’s limping and cursing. Is it Edlin?”

Jimmy Edlin did not see them. He was far too busy now, limping and cursing and groaning. So they were going to take him to Father John, were they? Father John couldn’t understand how one of his brethren could have given away secret information to a stranger, couldn’t he? And he wanted to ask Jimmy all about it, did he? Well, Jimmy decided, Father John would get a piece of his mind if it was the last thing he ever did. And he went limping into the house, guided by the bleached young man. Kaydick had hurried off at once with that precious piece of apparatus. Told to wait in the entrance hall, Jimmy looked about him, with grudging appreciation. Some money had been thrown around here! A small fortune just in tiles and rugs and curtains and furniture and carved woodwork! Like a little Spanish palace. And a lot of damned fine games they were up to inside it, weren’t they? Pretending to be religious, probably pulling gold like mad out of the hill-side, and cheerfully kidnapping and murdering! A nice crowd! And wouldn’t he tell the reverend Father so!

Meanwhile, above on the balcony, before they could decide how to get into touch with Edlin, who had plainly gone into the house under escort, Hooker had received a message from Paul MacMichael asking him to go to the tower at once. Left alone, Malcolm at once thought of Andrea, only to find her standing farther along the balcony, outside her room. These two were now in that highly-magnetised state which irresistibly draws two persons together, compels their eyes to meet, instantly entangles their hands; and now they came together on the balcony, and Malcolm explained what had happened to Hooker and what had been said before he went. They were still whispering, standing outside the little sitting-room but in the light from its open window, when they were disturbed by a heavy, fierce-looking, oldish man, whom Malcolm guessed at once, before he was hastily introduced, to be Andrea’s father, the fabulously rich Henry MacMichael. Like Andrea, he was dark, and in his older, heavier, masculine fashion, he had something of her square build, but otherwise Malcolm in that light could see no resemblance. He was undoubtedly a formidable personage, obviously used to command, but Malcolm made up his mind to stand up to him. But would Andrea stand up to him? This, he felt instantly, would be the final test of her feeling.

It came almost at once, just after Andrea had hurriedly introduced them. “Well, Mr. Darbyshire, it’s interesting to know that you’re one of Andrea’s friends, but as I’ve never given her permission to bring her friends here-as she’s never even asked if you might come along-I don’t quite understand why we’re having the pleasure of your company.” He said this in a rough, heavy tone, as formidable as his whole weighty personality.

“I appreciate that, sir,” said Malcolm steadily. “And I feel I ought to explain at once. Is that all right, Andrea?” And he looked at her.

“Yes, Malcolm,” she replied, very quietly.

“Just a minute,” said her father. “We’ll go inside for this. Can’t see out here.”

This made it much harder, of course, and probably he knew that, but as Malcolm followed them both into the little sitting-room, he kept his courage tightly strung.

“Well?” enquired Mr. MacMichael looking curiously at them both, for involuntarily they had drawn closer together and now stood facing him. He did not appear any the less formidable in the light, with his heavy-jowled brooding face, like that of some ancient and incredible despot, some conquering emperor who had watched a thousand enemy cities sacked and burnt and was weary of all such spectacles, weary of everything.

“You see, I’m not just one of Andrea’s friends. I’m-well-I’m in love with her.”

“You might easily be that,” said her father, shrugging his heavy shoulders. “It’s of no consequence, but I might point out that at one time it used to be quite a habit of good-looking young Englishmen, with not very bright prospects, to find themselves falling in love with rich young American girls-”

“This is different, Father,” Andrea flashed at him. “And I love him too.”

“How long’s this been going on? All news to me.”

“It started when I went down to Beaulieu, you remember,” she explained rapidly, not blushing but very bright-eyed, “and Malcolm and I played together-and I knew, of course, it was useless-and I tried to discourage him-and myself too-but that wasn’t any good, for either of us, because we’ve both been thinking the same things all the time, as we discovered to-day. If people possibly could be happy together,” she ended wistfully, “we’d be happy, I know.”

He shook his head, but the heavy hard look softened a little as he regarded her eager young face. He was clearly very fond of her in his own fashion. “If this had come earlier, it might have been troublesome,” he said, it seemed more to himself than to them, “but now-what does it matter-what can it matter? A day or two, to be happy in, young, and thinking that love’s everything and lasts for ever. Perhaps this is a good thing in its way, Andrea, if Paul’s in such a hurry as he seems to be. I shan’t have to wonder what you’re doing and thinking, if this young man is what he says he is. Young man,” and he looked hard at Malcolm, and his tone was very grim, “if you’re not as good as gold to this girl, if she’s not happy with you every minute, if she’s one complaint against you, d’you know what I’ll do? I’ll have you shot.”