The Empty World

by D. E. Stevenson

  “It took a little while to find the right spot to land, in spite of the sheets of steel painted with radium, which had been spread on the surrounding hills to guide us home, but by midnight we were anchored safely on the ground and the work of unloading commenced. Most of my patients were conscious by this time, but somewhat dazed; you see, I had been obliged to give them a good deal of dope to keep them under for such a long period.”

  “I should think so!” exclaimed David. “What on earth did you give them?”

  “A little invention of my own,” said the doctor, laughing. “I have always been interested in anæsthetics and this stuff is the result of my experiments over a number of years — shall we call it Gloverine?”

  “Can you use it for operating?” David enquired.

  “Yes, in slightly different proportions,” replied the other. “For operation purposes you require a short period of complete anæsthesia, for the stratosphere expedition I required a long period of semiconsciousness — more like a deep sleep. Are you interested in these matters?”

  “Very interested,” David replied. “But the balloon is more in my line.”

  “I can’t tell you much about the balloon. I was too busy with my own part in the arrangements,” said the doctor. “And, as I said before, I am not an airman. The balloon itself looked like a gigantic onion. It was the shape and colour of an onion, and about as big as the Professor’s house. The cabin part of the thing was attached to the actual balloon by nets of silver rope —”

  “Aluminium steel,” David said. “They can draw it out to threads like silk. It is as flexible as silk and as strong as steel.”

  “It must have been something of that sort,” agreed his host. “The cabins were made of the same silvery-looking material, very strong and light. There were struts across the inside of the cabins from side to side.”

  “I wonder what gas he used,” David said.

  “I can’t tell you. You would have to ask Franklin,” replied Glover. “There was a strong smell of cloves in the air, if that is any help —”

  They were still discussing the stratosphere balloon when Jane and her hostess appeared and announced that dinner was ready.

  “It’s frightfully late,” said Mrs. Glover. “I never realised how late it was. I hope you have given Captain Fenemore something to drink.”

  “I have done my best to entertain him,” said Dr. Glover, laughing. “He has had sherry and cigarettes and a complete account of our trip to the stratosphere. I hope you have done equally well by Mrs. Fenemore.”

  “All but the sherry,” Mrs. Glover replied, “and she can have some now if you haven’t drunk it all. But she isn’t Mrs. Fenemore — not yet — She’s Miss Forrest.”

  Jane was not surprised when her host reacted to this news in exactly the same manner as her hostess had done. She had ceased to be surprised at anything. They went in to dinner and David smiled at her across the table.

  “It was a brilliant inspiration,” he said.

  Dinner was a pleasant meal. Jane liked the Glovers more and more; they were kind and tactful and obviously delighted to entertain their unexpected guests. After dinner Jane helped Mrs. Glover to clear the table and put away the plates and cutlery in a specially fitted steam washer — there was no trouble of washing up, you simply turned on the steam and the dishes were cleaned.

  “I wish we had a thing like that at Bardsholme,” Jane said.

  “There would be no difficulty about that,” Mrs. Glover replied, whisking about the little kitchen and turning switches off and on. “Everything is run by electricity here — you have only to ask Mr. Brown — he’s our electrical expert — he could fit up your kitchen in a few days.”

  “What are all the switches for?” Jane asked. “Don’t you get muddled?”

  “I do sometimes,” replied Mrs. Glover, smiling. “Or rather I did. I’m getting used to them now. There are switches for the cooking and the washing up, and for hot water, and for heating the rooms — or cooling them if they are too hot. There are machines for cleaning shoes and brushing clothes, and special cleaning machines for cleaning the rooms —”

  “Like vacuums?” enquired Jane.

  “Something like that,” agreed Mrs. Glover, “but much easier. Each room is fitted with one, and when you want to clean a room you just shut it up and set the switch and leave it for half an hour — when you come back every bit of dust is gone. I don’t understand it, of course, but it certainly makes things easy. The Professor won’t have anything of that kind in his house. He hates electricity — he has electric light, of course, because he has to, but he won’t have anything else. Marker and his old cook run the house between them in the funniest old-fashioned way. It’s the queerest house you ever saw.”

  Jane agreed with her. “It smells musty,” she said.

  “Musty and dusty, and dirty,” said Mrs. Glover, “but he likes it like that — he is quite mad — but I told you that before.”

  By this time Mrs. Glover had completed her arrangements for the night. She offered to take Jane upstairs to see her boys. “They will be asleep, of course,” she said, “but I always go up and see them —”

  Jane said she would like to see the boys, and followed her hostess upstairs. The bedroom, which the two boys shared, was in keeping with the rest of the house, it was not large, but it was airy, and furnished with built-in cupboards. The corners of the room were founded so that there was no harbourage for dust. Mrs. Glover turned on a dim light and showed her guest the two beds.

  “This is Jack,” she whispered, “and that is Ronald —”

  Jane looked at the sleeping pair; they were good-looking boys, more like their mother than their father. Like all children, when asleep, they wore angelic expressions.

  “They are darlings,” she said, quite truthfully.

  Mrs. Glover laughed softly. “Yes, but they aren’t as good as they look. They are full of mischief, you know. Sometimes Jim and I get rather scared in case they fall foul of the Professor — do anything really naughty, you know.”

  “Why, what would he do?” Jane asked. “Doesn’t he understand that boys will be boys?”

  “He doesn’t understand anything human,” Mrs. Glover replied passionately.

  It was late by now, and Jane was so tired after her long and exciting day that she asked if she might go to bed.

  “Of course!” cried her hostess, “I’ll show you your room; it’s very tiny, I’m afraid.”

  It was a small room, but there was plenty of space in it; like all the rooms in the Glovers’ villa, it was clean, and airy, and sparsely furnished. The bed looked deliciously comfortable. Mrs. Glover made all the usual enquiries regarding the hour when Jane would like her bath, and whether she liked tea or orange juice before she got up. Then she hesitated a moment.

  “I do wish you could come and live here,” she said wistfully. “There’s an empty villa next door; it would be lovely!”

  Jane did not answer at once, she did not want to be unfriendly, but, after what she had heard about the Professor, she felt she would rather not place herself under his jurisdiction — besides, there was Sir Richard — she could not see Sir Richard here.

  “I see you don’t want to,” Mrs. Glover added with a sigh. “Well, I can’t blame you. It would be nice to be free.”

  “We can see a lot of each other,” Jane said comfortingly. “You can come and stay at Bardsholme. I’m awfully glad we found you.”

  They said good night after that, and Jane lost no time in getting into the comfortable bed.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  “A Most Extraordinary

  Document”

  The Professor sent for Jane and David at ten o’clock the next morning. Dr. Glover walked across the fields with them to the big house.

  “Do you think he will let us have Sir Arthur?” Jane asked. It was a question which had tormented her all night. It seemed impossible that any man should refuse such a reasonable request, impossible tha
t, after all their trouble in finding this place, such an unexpected obstacle should arise. Sir Richard’s life hung upon the whim of a lunatic; it was a ghastly thought.

  “Don’t be too urgent about it,” Dr. Glover said quietly, “if you will allow me to advise. I know Boddington; I have known him for years. If you press the point he may refuse unconditionally. He enjoys the feeling of power. Your best hope is in Sir Arthur Willis; leave it in his hands.”

  “You think Sir Arthur will want to come?” Jane asked anxiously.

  “I hope so,” Dr. Glover replied, “I hope so, not only for your sake, but also for his own. If Willis does not make a determined effort to save this life he will be contravening the most sacred law of his profession. But Willis is in a strange lethargic condition just now; he seems to care for nothing. He blames himself for making no attempt to save his wife and son.”

  “He did not believe that the disaster would come,” Jane said.

  “No. He thought Boddington was mad. He is blaming himself now. When he awoke from the narcotic and found what had happened he nearly lost his reason.”

  “It must have been dreadful for him,” Jane said thoughtfully.

  Jane was absolutely determined to get a surgeon for Sir Richard. It seemed to her that she loved him more since she had promised to marry David. She felt a protecting mother-love for Sir Richard, tender and passionate. He should have a surgeon, if she died for it.

  “Propitiate Boddington,” the doctor continued. “There is no hurry. It will be better for the patient to recover from this attack before operating. A few days are neither here nor there —”

  Sir Arthur Willis had been closeted with the Professor for some time; he was still with him when Jane and David were announced.

  Jane looked at him with interest. It was upon this man that everything depended. What was he thinking? She saw a man of middle height, a small-boned man with a thin sensitive face and grey hair smoothly brushed. His eyes were wide apart and deeply sunk. They were the eyes of a dreamer whose dreams are full of pain.

  The Professor seemed in a better temper this morning. He unbent so far as to introduce Sir Arthur to Jane, and David to Sir Arthur, in the approved style. Then he waved them to chairs with a kingly gesture.

  “Sir Arthur knows Sir Richard Barton,” said the Professor. “He is anxious to hear about your adventures —”

  “I want to see Barton,” Sir Arthur said, interrupting the Professor with a surprising lack of ceremony.

  “Well, well, we shall see,” said the Professor. “I will think it over. Meantime I want to know more about you,” he continued, turning to David. “I have an idea that you might be useful to me. You realise, I suppose, that this is an ideal community; that is to say, everybody gives his or her services for the good of all. There is no payment, of course, because there is no need for money. Each person receives what he or she requires. Now you, I understand, are an experienced pilot, and I might have a use for you. I was speaking to Franklin last night; he is our expert in stratosphere balloons, but his experience of aeroplanes is limited. Franklin knows you by name. He says you would be a useful man to have. He would like to have a talk with you.”

  “I should like that,” David said.

  “Would you be willing to settle down here with your wife?” enquired the Professor.

  David thought for a moment — nothing would persuade him to settle down here under the ægis of a madman, but perhaps it would be wiser not to say so outright. They were in his power, and, from what they had seen and heard, the man was absolutely unscrupulous. David said slowly, “We should have to consult Sir Richard.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he is our leader. We chose him. We owe him our allegiance.”

  The Professor made a sound of impatience and disgust. “Faugh!” he said. “The world belongs to me. Your colony is a contemptible affair — a mere accident. You will die off in a few years without the necessary knowledge to combat the new conditions. You have no animals, no birds. How do you propose to live? Do you realise that I can take you if I want you?”

  “I should be more valuable to you if I came to you willingly,” David said, meeting the Professor’s eye with a frank straight look.

  “I will see,” said the Professor, moving things about his desk in a fussy manner. “I will think it over and consult with Paignton.”

  Nobody said anything for a few moments. Sir Arthur stared out of the window; he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Jane wondered what he was thinking about; probably about his wife and son lost in the terrible cataclysm. She felt very sorry for the man.

  “Well,” said the Professor at last, “you can go now, Willis, and take Mrs. Fenemore with you. I have something more to say to Fenemore before I settle down to work.”

  When Jane and Sir Arthur had gone the Professor raised his eyes and looked searchingly at David.

  “I have a proposition to put before you,” he said, “a very favourable proposition from your point of view. You have seen enough of this place and the way it is managed to realise how fortunate these people are — the people whose lives I have preserved. I can offer you a place here — a house in Arcadia.”

  “I have told you that I should have to consult Sir Richard,” David reminded him.

  “And I have told you that it is unnecessary,” replied the Professor. It was obvious that David’s argument meant nothing to him, that he did not recognise any obstacles when his own wishes were at stake. “I am making you a magnificent offer — a magnificent offer — you would do well to consider it very carefully. You would have to pull your weight in the community, of course,” the Professor continued, “to put yourself at my disposal, and, in return, I shall feed and clothe you and your wife, and keep you in comfort for the rest of your lives. Your children will be fed and clothed and educated — you will have no worries of any kind — what more could a man want? This place is absolutely perfect — as perfect as science can make it, and science is the most powerful factor in civilization — my world is not the hugger-mugger world of yesterday; it is a completely new world, purged of vice and ugliness, purged of germs, controlled by men who have brains — the best brains that have existed. There never was such a chance for human beings to live in happiness and prosperity and peace. All the knowledge in the world is at my disposal, and I have the ability to use that knowledge for my people’s welfare. You will now realise that my offer is not to be refused.”

  David gazed at the Professor helplessly. He saw that the man did not intend to take no for an answer — he visualised himself and Jane prisoners for life in Shallowdale — it was most disquieting.

  “Perhaps you are wondering in what way you could repay me for all these benefits,” continued the Professor, with a singular lack of discernment. “I will tell you. There are various instruments in the world which I require, and which — since the electric disturbance has denuded this planet of its surplus population — are mine for the taking. I have an elaborate observatory under construction on the hill above Shallowdale, and I intend to fit it out with the cream of astronomical instruments. Your first task will be to fly over to New York and bring me the Hutchin telescope — you may have heard of this telescope, for I am told that is marvels have been described with a strange lack of accuracy in the daily newspapers. That is beside the point, however. The telescope has just been finished; it has a mirror three hundred inches in diameter — I say mirror, of course, to pander to your ignorance. The reflector of the telescope is made not of glass but of an entirely new and different material — I shall not particularise. Suffice it to say the reflector is lighter than glass and truer and more satisfactory in every way. It must be brought over here most carefully, for it is — in my opinion — the most valuable object in the world. With it I shall be enabled to discover the system by which the locks are worked on the canals in Mars. I shall also be able to detect any further dangers to this planet from stray comets.”

  “Isn’t it very heavy?” David asked,
in a bewildered voice.

  “The whole telescope weighs about 100 tons,” replied the Professor complacently. “You can take it to pieces if you wish, and bring it over in parts — that is entirely your problem. Solve it for yourself. I will give you a year to complete the task — after that I shall have another task for you. I intend to gather all the treasures of the world, and house them suitably at Shallowdale.”

  “I see,” said David. He felt dazed at the magnitude of the idea. — “All the treasures of the world.” He had no intention of collecting them for Professor Boddington, but the idea was worthy of an Alexander. What an extraordinary man he was! Mad, of course, mad as a hatter; but there was something great about him — his very madness was the madness of a great man. It seemed as if the Professor had read David’s thought. “I am the greatest man that ever lived,” he said calmly and complacently. “The greatest and most powerful potentate the world has ever seen. All the treasures in the world are mine — it is merely a matter of time before I collect them here — merely a matter of time. You can go now,” he added, turning to his desk, which was littered with papers. “I have given you too much of my valuable time already — go and see Franklin and discuss things with him —”