Number 87

by Harrington Hext

  We laughed at our archaic friend and reminded him of the Washington Conference; but he held it no laughing matter; and then, two days later, our interest was aroused by the Jugo-Slav’s letter to The Times. It did a thing as yet not done, and directly linked the death of Alexander Skeat with the destruction of the Albert Memorial.

  I transcribe this important communication, for those best able to judge considered it a valuable statement, calculated to throw considerable light on the problem, now conflicting with other and more vital social difficulties that disturbed England.

  [To the Editor, The Times]

  “SIR: One aspect of the singular occurrence in Hyde Park should be the subject of special examination. And as such a line of inquiry may prove fruitful, I venture to propose it.

  “Briefly I am of opinion that some connection exists between the death of Mr. Alexander Skeat and the destruction of the memorial to the late Prince Consort; and my reason for this suspicion will be found on examination of the details in each case. For what do we learn? The monument and the man were alike obliterated by some unfamiliar means, and while the remains of the work of art bear testimony not only to destruction but transmutation of constituents, so, in the case of the man, a profound and inexplicable alternation is recorded in the physical material of which his body was composed. The bone and the blood alike afforded examples of an extraordinary alteration.

  “We find, then, that to the familiar substances of stone and iron, flesh and blood, there has been applied a force, or energy, to which in human knowledge they have never before been exposed, since it produces upon them unfamiliar, but parallel, phenomena; and we may therefore assume, not unreasonably, that both the monument and the man were subjected to different charges of a similar application.

  “‘We have obtained evidence,’ says Professor Soddy, our greatest living authority on radio-active elements, ‘that in the atoms of matter exists a store of energy beyond comparison greater than any over which we have obtained control. In the slow changes of the radio-active elements there is known to be an evolution of energy nearly a million times as great as has ever been obtained from a similar weight of matter before.’

  “Now, sir, I submit that something very like this has happened, and I venture to believe that a close connection can be established between the two events above mentioned. Granted that both acts were the work of conscious intellect, and deliberate, not accidental, then a considerable step may be made along the correct line of investigation; though since no conceivable connection of motive can be established between the murder of Skeat (if murder it be) and the downfall of the monument, we may have to wait for further manifestations before it is possible to prove deliberate purpose.

  “In connection with the unknown properties of the radio-active elements still to be discovered, I may conclude with a brief reference to one famous product already known and employed. Spectrum analysis revealed its existence before any of its properties were appreciated and still much concerning them is doubtful; but one thing appears established. In all radio-active changes two ultimate products appear: helium and lead. Chemists have established the existence of lead in the blood of Mr. Skeat and in the dust of the monument. Of radium, the best known radio-active element, the story is fairly familiar; but few of the intelligent public yet appear to be aware that helium, which can be easily produced in vast quantities, has already been harnessed to the service of man. Having discovered the existence of this element in the sun, Science began to hunt for it on earth, and was speedily rewarded. Palmieri found traces in the lava of Vesuvius; Hillebrand, in the United States, extracted small quantities from a rare mineral, and in 1895, Sir William Ramsay also found it. Yet, until 1918, but a few cubic yards of helium had been collected. This was, however, enough to determine its qualities and prove that, after hydrogen, helium furnished the lightest gas known to Science, and — a greater asset — that it was non-inflammable and non-explosive. These facts may possibly throw light on the event in Hyde Park. Subsequently vast stores of helium gas were discovered amid the mineral products of Alberta and New Brunswick, and means invented for their extraction and purification. Ten million cubic feet of helium can now be annually obtained from Alberta alone — a quantity sufficient to keep at least two large airships in regular commission.

  “Here, then, is one mighty available force familiar already to Science, and who shall declare that some other and still more tremendous energy has not already been discovered by the mind of man and revealed in the recent extraordinary occurrences? Unknown states of matter of course exist, and the conditions and properties of even familiar elements under those states — e.g., of extreme heat, or cold — offer rich ground of research as yet unexplored.

  “Faithfully yours,

  PAUL STROSSMAYER.

  “(Of the Jugo-Slavia Commission.)”

  This letter excited a good deal of interest and elicited considerable correspondence, though it led to nothing practical in connection with the mysteries responsible for it. Various learned men agreed with Strossmayer; others differed from him; but in many minds he certainly succeeded in connecting the two disasters. Inquiry along that line, however, threw no light whatever on the agents of either, and not a shadow of clue rewarded the professional exertions of the police, or the amateur activities of many individuals. There remained only the voice of Science, to prove those curious atomic transmutations of the destroyed substances in man and stone already recorded.

  As for the effect of Strossmayer’s letter upon our little community at the Club of Friends, it did not serve to change opinion, but if anything, increased the suspicion generally entertained against him.

  “He would not know so much, if he did not know a great deal more,” declared General Fordyce. “Rest assured his letter is merely bluff — a blind to distract suspicion from himself.”

  “So I think,” added Merrivale Medland. “There appears no method in his madness yet; but wait and see.”

  “While we are waiting he may overrun civilization,” declared Bishop Blore. “It is a grave question in my mind, whether we should not impart our suspicions to the authorities and at least put the man under surveillance.”

  “What on earth could we say?” I asked; and Sir Bruce agreed with me, that no reasonable ground existed for such a step.

  “I, too, distrust and dislike him,” he confessed; “but for reasons profoundly different from your own, Bishop. I do not suspect that Strossmayer is responsible for these operations; but I do think he may be on the track of a vast unknown energy capable of overturning civilization, as you suggest. And did such awful power fall into his hands, I am convinced that he would put it to no altruistic or honorable purpose. That I believe; but I also believe that he and his friends have not yet reached the goal, and heartily I hope they may never do so.”

  CHAPTER V

  JOSEPH ASHLAR

  EVENTS which now rose on the forefront of national politics, darkened the future and threatened to precipitate in storm the clouds long hanging heavily over our industrial progress and content. Their tragic promise banished every lesser consideration and it is not too much to say that the curious incidents already recorded had been entirely dismissed from thought by the mass of mankind, when a new sensation suddenly linked the social unrest of the hour with things already receding to forgetfulness in memory.

  In the welter of the times and the slow and difficult readjustment of understanding and good will between Capital and Labor, dangers that had promised to dissolve suddenly increased ten thousand fold and society was plunged into ferment of doubt and fear by the threat of direct action from a key industry.

  It was the mightiest, weightiest threat that Government had been called to face, and as a result of indifference to the well-known Bolshevist activities, that had spent a hundred thousand pounds upon propaganda in the country and deluged every industrial center with undesirable aliens, often introduced under a crafty system of false passports, the ruling authority found itself at las
t within measurable distance of revolution — a revolution, moreover, not destined to follow democratic lines, but such an upheaval as the usurper who reigned in Russia had openly indicated to his supporters of the United Kingdom. Other nations, more acutely alive to the awful peril, had set up barriers against it. Italy, France, America were safe, thanks to the exertions of longsighted and steadfast men; but England drifted steadily into the extremity of peril, and no hand was lifted to arrest or denounce one member of the industrious throng now working in secret for their master.

  Labor had entered upon a phase of assertion and dictation which could only end in one thing. Convinced that the nation, as a whole, was now alive to the hopeless futility of a Labor Government and conscious that pre-war ambitions in that direction might be dismissed from any practical scheme, Labor set forth to formulate demands that the other ranks of society could not concede save by an act of suicide.

  Absolute Trade Unionism was on its way to become uncrowned king and destroy the fabric of the Constitution; indeed men among its leaders, until now contented to advance their ideals by rocognized means of progress, abandoned their former attitude and openly declared that the ‘Constitution’ itself was an elastic term capable of wider interpretation and other values than those accorded to it in the past.

  The Prime Minister, the Hon. Erskine Owen, had undoubtedly encouraged this poisoning of the fountainheads by the process of private interviews followed by public concessions, and at this moment, aware perhaps of the abyss above which he stood, Owen suddenly took a firm stand with the opposing forces. It was high time, yet his definite and final attitude had occasioned acute surprise among the representatives of Labor; and Joseph Ashlar, their protagonist, who bulked large in the public eye, found himself in a quandary. He had already claimed a victory of stupendous significance; but he had spoken too soon and now stood in a difficult position supported by his own side, but without any national sympathy.

  Joseph Ashlar was a demagogue of genius, sprung from the ranks of the Electrical Engineers. He had won immense concessions for his own trade and incidentally for others. He had already lessened the powers of Parliament and reached a point in his career when he believed the battle won. As in Russia the Duma had been destroyed by the Bolshevists and their Soviet system, so now in England the elected of the nation began to lose their authority under the ceaseless pressure of a resolute and remorseless trades unionism that leant steadily to the left.

  Things were come to a crisis, and upon no question concerning his own union — upon no question directly involving Labor at all — Joseph Ashlar had thrown down the gauntlet. He stood proclaimed as a dictator for the whole of the workers, and he had chosen a subject for the challenge well calculated to rally many independent interests to his side. Upon the general question of British foreign administration, Ashlar demanded and, of course, secured an opportunity for debate. The Foreign Estimates offered an occasion, and armed with the authority of Labor’s millions, Ashlar, who led his party in the House, declared the intention of calling a universal strike did the Government decline his demand to leave Mesopotamia and modify its control of India and Egypt.

  It was a deliberate intention to establish minority rule, and England understood that no alternative could be submitted. Battle had been joined once and for all, and many thinkers rejoiced that suspense was at last at an end and the long threatened trial had to be faced and fought. Then, upon the night before the giant trial, Joseph Ashlar perished suddenly.

  He resided at Battersea, and it was his custom at all seasons in the year to walk in the local park for half an hour, or longer, before retiring. A level path that ran near the ornamental waters was sacred to the great leader and had long been known in the district as ‘Ashlar’s Walk.’ And here, where he had perambulated and revolved his projects for many years, death overtook him.

  Just before nine o’clock on the evening before the vital debate, a policeman, upon his beat not far distant, heard a single loud cry and responded swiftly. He had already seen Joseph Ashlar proceeding to his accustomed exercise, saluted him and given him ‘good night.’ What followed appeared a repetition in almost every respect of the events that attended the tragedy in St. James’s Park. The officer found the victim lying face downward beside the ornamental waters. His arms were stretched out and his cap had fallen into the lake. He was either dead, or unconscious, and as the policeman knelt, to lift him and satisfy himself that it was indeed the famous demagogue, he became sensible of an extraordinary, animal smell heavy in the air around him — the reek of some living, carnivorous creature. The fox-like odor emanated from no particular quarter and, lowering Ashlar to the ground again, the constable turned his lantern about him. It was a clear, starry night with frost in the air, but as yet no resultant fog.

  A clump of bamboos stood by the water’s edge at a distance of thirty yards behind the fallen man, and turning his light in this direction, the constable was aware of some dark object behind the thicket. He hastened to obtain a nearer view, then became conscious of a pair of large, fiery eyes at the height of a tall man, as he described it, watching him through the canes. He hesitated, but conceiving it his duty to proceed, did so, vigorously blowing his whistle at the same time.

  Now he distinctly saw a black mass ‘as large as a horse’ squatting in the bamboos. Above it was lifted a sloping head on a long neck and, from this, shone the luminous eyes of a living thing. It was clearly alarmed and made no effort to attack the constable. Instead, as he asserted, it laid back its ears and appeared to shorten its neck, then leapt forward twice, crunching the canes and splashing the mire in which they grew. It now stood clear and, just as the sound of running feet came with welcome to the policeman’s ear, the black monster opened a pair of wings and shot aloft. It zigzagged like a gigantic snipe, and disappeared into the sky, leaving an odor behind it that overpowered the air for an hour.

  The constable declared that he heard no sound save the hiss of the air against the creature’s body. It was like the exaggerated stroke of a carrier pigeon’s wing. Otherwise, to use the watcher’s own words again, ‘it was silent as an owl.’

  Turning to the fallen man, the police, for three were now upon the spot, lifted him and carried him to a seat. There seemed little doubt that he was dead, and they conveyed the inert, stalwart body between them to the constabulary station. But a doctor could only pronounce life extinct, while subsequent examination repeated in every particular the extraordinary phenomena reported on the death of Alexander Skeat. The dictator of the people had been stabbed in the breast by some pin-point weapon which had penetrated to the lungs. A thread-like wound could be traced from his right nipple inwards; while subsequent chemical analysis proved a repetition of the changed constituents of every bone in Ashlar’s body and a profound disorganization of the flesh. Either some transmutation had taken place and matter pertaining to lead actually been created by the impact of the unknown energy, or else the energy itself had introduced a mineral into the dead man’s tissue in a form outside all experience. That the latter theory was reasonable won denial from Science, and those best able to judge declared for transmutation. But such details occupied little general attention before the greater sensation of Joseph Ashlar’s end and the reappearance of the nocturnal monster already reported and derided. Now the few who had believed in ‘the Bat’ triumphed, and of our circle Merrivale Medland claimed attention and gave himself great airs for his faith.

  “Only an obstinate idiot can hold out longer,” he declared. “We have the word of the most skilful surgeons that the wound contains some sort of stuff deadly destructive to animal tissue, and that it is only of a thread-like nature, having length but no breadth. What known weapon could inflict such a wound? Even a hat pin would have created something more conspicuous. So it follows this vampire, as I believe it to be, has a natural weapon, perhaps a sting — perhaps a stabbing tongue — something with which it can instantly destroy its prey. But the poison so far evades analysis and, as we kn
ow, infusions of this infected blood produce death and similar symptoms in a milder form in inferior, hot-blooded animals. The cause of death in every case is immediate syncope; but the reason for such collapse cannot be explained any more than the operation of this unknown venom which causes it. Twice the creature has slain a victim, and twice been driven away the moment afterwards. Then who can longer doubt that it kills to live, and will soon make a further attempt with better luck?”

  Yet many, of course, continued to doubt, for the destruction of Joseph Ashlar could not be considered a coincidence, or any unpremeditated action, whatever the agent responsible for it. Not only did this murder serve to dispel the idea of chance, which had guided argument on both sides in the problem of Alexander Skeat, but by doing so, lifted the whole mystery on to a higher and more terrible plane. For this stroke indicated many things directly calculated to oppose the theory of some unknown matter accidentally loosed upon civilization. It indicated deliberation and purpose. Joseph Ashlar had been slain for very sufficient reasons, and a conscious hand was responsible for his destruction. Men, not an animal, had killed him. ‘The Bat’ merely confused the issue. The mystery from the first challenged England far less shrewdly than the fact itself. That Joseph Ashlar was dead, on the eve of his great battle, appeared a more tremendous event than any details of his end. A wave of feeling swept the United Kingdom and a very ugly temper developed in the North. For the proletariat argued that this stroke was official — a direct retort to their own threat of direct action, and an indication that two, if necessary, could play the same game. The immediate effect at least proved salutary, for the extremists were cowed by the loss of Joseph Ashlar; the result of his death proved a definite setback for the ‘Red’ Labor Party and fear crept into their councils. Some return of peace marked the social situation and the threatened danger receded behind the horizon of politics for a season.