"I hope you found it useful."
Then, all in a moment, the thing for which I was longing happened. He broke down completely. Instead of a man trying to maintain an insane tight-rope-balance on an indeterminable moment of time, there pitched against me, crushing me against the wall and bringing down a shower of Trenchard"s photographs, a man who could be met on common ground of normal experience. His arms were folded over his face. I heard his groan within them.
"Lord have mercy upon me!... I oughtn"t to have talked--I oughtn"t to have talked ... all unsettled again ... but I _can"t_ let sixteen go ...
perhaps it won"t let me go...."
"For heaven"s sake forget that nightmare!"
But he mumbled despairingly on. "Shall have to be thirty ... no way out of it ... why did I let myself talk!... Give us a hand, there"s a good fellow----"
I got him into his chair again. I soothed him. I talked to him as if he had been a child. I told him he should be whatever age he wished, should write any kind of book he pleased, should come abroad with me. Then for a minute or so he seemed to go to sleep. I watched him. The sounds of car-washing had ceased, up the yard somebody whistled, and I heard a voice call "Good night." Past Trenchard"s cretonne curtains that star of an incandescent on the upper landing went suddenly out. It must have been half-past eleven. A more peaceful beauty stole over and possessed his face.
But he was not asleep. He opened his eyes. He smiled faintly at me.
"Well, George----" he said with a heavy sigh.
Then he told me the history of his past three weeks.
II
Of his past three weeks or his past two or three years, whichever you like; for it was both. And now that he was in comparative peace I wished to spare him questions. That ill.u.s.tration with the flash-lamp on the table"s edge had scared me half out of my wits; and if the determination of "ratios" or what not meant much of that kind of thing, for the present we were as well without them.
He had gone back to the point where, returning that afternoon to Cambridge Circus to fetch a book, he had seen me coming out of his house and had turned tail again.
"The Gland book, you said?" I asked. "But I thought you"d decided that that road led nowhere."
"So I had," he replied, "but in the meantime I"d seen a doctor."
"Ah! You"ve seen a doctor? When was that?"
"Not quite a fortnight ago. I"d been in here just two days; I"ve now been fourteen in all; I"ve got every day and hour down in my diary; as you may imagine, I"ve studied myself with the greatest care and tried all sorts of things by way of experiment. I simply must know how much is exact repet.i.tion, and if it isn"t where the variations come in, you see.
But it all ends the same way. There"s always an unaccountable "x" that"s constantly shifting, I suppose," he sighed.
"But tell me about the doctor. I thought you"d decided that this was quite out of their line."
"So I had, and so it is," he replied promptly. "I didn"t go to a doctor to ask him to cure me."
"Then why----?"
"Well, I"d several reasons. One was that I"d met this man just once before, and for that reason alone he was part of my investigations. So far I"d experimented on people who"d met me twice, or three or four times before. I"m still experimenting, but at present the result seems to be that the better people know me the less they recognise me, and those who only knew me slightly take me for granted, I suppose."
"And did this doctor recognise you?"
"Well--there you are. I simply couldn"t tell. I waited for him in the full light of a window; I gave him every chance; but--well, I"d had to send my name up, and he was expecting me, you see. He simply said "How d"you do, Mr Rose" and shook hands. Probably he never looked at me. He knew that Mr Rose was waiting, and therefore the person who was waiting must be Mr Rose."
"So that was a wash-out. What else did you want to see him about?"
"Next, I wanted to be thoroughly vetted--as a man of thirty-three, you understand. It"s all very well looking young, but you want to know whether you"re really as young inside as you look. So I told him some sort of a yarn about an insurance policy and wanting to be overhauled for my own satisfaction before going to the company"s doctor. So he asked me my age--thirty-three, I said--and ran all over me; and he was good enough to say that I was a very fine man and needn"t worry about not being pa.s.sed as a first-cla.s.s life."
"And then?"
"Then I told him another c.o.c.k-and-bull story. It was as an author that he"d met me before, you see, so I told him I was writing some fantastic sort of a book, and wanted one or two medical facts right. I had to go rather carefully here, of course, but I gave him, as nearly as I dared, an outline of what had happened, and asked him what about it."
"And what did he say?"
"He saw nothing very extraordinary in it," said Derwent Rose.
I jumped half out of my chair. "_What!_ What madman was this?"
Then I saw the faint flicker of his smile, and sat down again.
"Quite a distinguished madman, George; incidentally he"s a Knight....
But I don"t want to pull your leg, old fellow. He didn"t put it quite that way. What he actually did say was that the more a man studied these things the less he would swear that anything was an impossibility. And he"s a remarkable man, mind you. I"ve not much use for the average doctor, but this fellow"s big enough to use plain English and when he doesn"t know a thing to say so. His knowledge isn"t just how to conceal his ignorance. And he might have been a novelist himself from the way he instantly grasped what I wanted to know."
Not an impossibility!... I couldn"t have spoken. I waited enthralled.
Derry continued.
"So he began to talk about the ductless glands. Not just the thyroid.
Everybody"s got thyroid on the brain nowadays, but the thyroid"s only one of them. There are a dozen others. And then he told me that practically nothing was known about them."
As I hadn"t the faintest idea what a ductless gland was I continued silent.
""Well, Mr Rose," he said at last, "if you want something of that sort to happen to one of your characters I should put him through the War and let him get a bash over the pineal gland."
""Where"s that situated?" I asked.
""Here," he said."
And Rose tapped the middle of the back of his head with his forefinger.
""And what would the effect of that be?" I asked; and he laughed.
""Heaven above knows. You can say whatever you like. It might be anything."
""Would it account for actual morphological changes of tissue?" I asked.
""I wouldn"t say it wouldn"t; that would depend on the changes; but I should be very pleased to look through those portions of your proofs, Mr Rose," he said....
"So that was that. I went straight off to Cambridge Circus to get the Blair-Bell book, but, as I say, I saw you across the road, so I got the book somewhere else."
"The pineal gland!" I murmured, dazed.
"Yes. One name for it"s The Third Eye. Don"t ask me to explain it. But if I understand my doctor-man the idea"s something like this: There are these degenerated organs that man in his present stage of development has outgrown. A lizard"s got what they call The Third Eye, and so has a lamprey, and lots of creatures. And the whole thing"s the wildest nightmare imaginable. Takes you right back to fecund mud and the first seminal atom. One fellow, I forget his name, has a most hair-raising theory. He says that what they call the "ancestral type" lived in the sea, rolling about like a log I suppose--anyway it doesn"t seem to have mattered whether he was upside-down or not. So its back and front were both alike. But as time went on it was more often one way up than another, and the creature began to adapt itself. It grew new eyes where it found them most convenient and stopped using the old one. Very likely the old one"s the pineal gland. Or words to that effect.... So if you"re now a "bilaterally symmetrical animal with forward progression," and your front"s where you back used to be, and anything goes wrong, you"re a sort of Mr Facing-Both-Ways, with two memories like me and all the rest of it.... And a whole philosophy"s been built up on it. Roughly, a man"s spirit and matter interpenetrate throughout every particle of him so that there"s no dividing them--everywhere except in one place. There they exist independently and side by side. All the mystery of life and death"s supposed to be located there. And that place is the pineal gland."
Remember, please, that this conversation took place, not in Bedlam, but in South Kensington. We were sitting in a commonplace loft over a garage, on ordinary chairs, with two half-emptied gla.s.ses of everyday lemonade before us. A gas-jet in an incandescent mantle hung from the ceiling, and in the neighbouring houses average people were beginning to think of their accustomed beds. They had pineal glands too, and might "get a bash over them," or fall downstairs, or collide with something, or meet with a street accident. Would they, respectable ratepayers of South Kensington, revert to that dim time before the waters were divided from the dry land, when they had rolled about like logs, slumbering and amorphous and unspecialised types, creation"s first blind gropings towards the glory that at present is man? Would they develop an "A"
memory and a "B"? Would these "bilaterally symmetrical animals with forward progression" resuscitate that degenerated Third Eye in the backs of their heads and do this Widdershins-Walk back to their beginnings?
Rose"s friend the doctor had said that n.o.body knew anything about these things. Man was only on the verge of this knowledge. It belonged to to-morrow and the days to come.