THEFORBIDDENGARDEN
Page 32
"What?" Vartan exclaimed. "Then you knew of the rock valley and the hot springs?"
"Yes. It was recorded on their map."
"But, Miss Driscott, you did your best to delude me into believing that the place was unknown to you."
"Why not? You distrusted me, although I did not distrust you – in the same way. I merely questioned your discretion and your ability to keep a secret. However, let that pass. Heindricks and Van Sluys returned empty handed, because they considered a descent into the valley impossible. They had no suspicion, I should say, that their goal lay just ahead of where they turned back.
"On their return, the Academy decided that it would be wisest to suppress all records and reports of the expedition until the source of the spores was discovered and sterilized. May I ask Mr. Vartan, why you went on where our men gave up?"
"I think I have told you sufficiently. The fossil beds of our I914 expedition were beyond all rational explanation until recently. Thousands of new species were crowded into those strata, the richest ever discovered. Evolution, I guessed, had been hastened in that particular region. Not only hastened," he added emphatically, "but turned into new channels."
"The recent ray work on creating new species of insects gave you your clue?" she asked.
"Not altogether. It merely made my hypothesis of intense radiations causing sudden jumps from one species to another more reasonable. When we found those butterflies and beetles, I knew I was on the right track. The blistering water was radioactive. And, finally, those poor deformities in the valley were no doubt partly due to the intense radioactivity of their surroundings.
"Their very germ cells were permanently changed, so that they, and all of their descendents for generations, would be mere parodies of human beings. If the fire had not destroyed their valley, they would probably have continued to produce new, permanent 'sports', each one less human than its predecessor. I think," he concluded with an air of quiet satisfaction, "I can now face old Grimsby and tell him I wasn't as crazy as he said I was. And I can tell him something of more importance. All that mass of radioactive minerals is so deeply buried that it will never do another living thing any harm. Unless," he concluded with a wry smile, "some federation of scientific geniuses and moral imbeciles invents a sort of super-mining to get at it and sell the stuff for making bombs and radioactive gases to the next lunatic who wants to run the world to suit his own crazy ideas."
Like an unexpected pistol shot, Jamieson's question when Vartan finished, made more than one face go white.
"Do you suppose," he asked, "that our germ cells were affected by our stay in the valley? If any of us marries, will his or her children be freaks with four thumbs – if nothing worse?"
Vartan swallowed hard before he found his courage and an answer.
"We probably were not exposed to the radiations long enough to make any difference. It takes a long time, compared to the nine day life-span of the fruit flies, to make them breed freaks by spraying them with X-rays. I think we are safe."
"But you are not sure?" Jamieson persisted.
"Of course I am," Vartan blustered, with a furtive glance at Marjorie.
In the awkward silence which ensued, Brassey sat studying Marjorie's profile.
"You have not yet told us who the investigator was who gave his own reason to discover so much about those seeds of madness."
"He was my father."
Even Jamieson had nothing to say. At last Brassey broke the hush.
"I understand. Your loss and mine have brought immunity for the world. That place is destroyed."
Marjorie roused from her revery.
"Not yet. But the sacrifices of your brother and my father shall not be wasted. Mr. Shane! Make Jamieson strip to the waist."
Ransome jumped to his feet, but made no attempt to knock the automatic from Shane's hand. Jamieson naturally refused to be bullied even by a pistol.
"Strip him!" Shane ordered Ransome. "You have not been any too polite to Miss Driscott yourself. That's it. Now the vest. Fine. Don't be afraid of the shirt. Pretty good; we're getting down to his hide. Now the undershirt. Is that what you want, Miss Driscott? That black bag affair, like a huge bologna sausage tied around his middle? Better take it off him then, while I've got him covered. Hold still, Horse Face, or I'll pepper your legs for you. Got it, Miss Driscott? All right, Horse Face, consider yourself free to froth at the mouth. Vartan and Ransome can handle you, I guess. If not, I'll shoot."
"Spores?" Ransome demanded sternly, taking the long black bag from Marjorie. "Don't curse so, you fool," he snapped at Jamieson. "There's a woman present. Now then, who are your employers?"
They grilled him for an hour without result. While Vartan and Marjorie buried the fatal spores in the glowing embers of the fireplace, and heaped fresh dry wood on the roaring fire, Ransome and Brassey questioned and cross-questioned the sweating wretch in an endeavor to make him confess. At last, unexpectedly, he broke down and cried like a child. They thought fear at the consequences of his treachery and the inevitable disgrace, professional and personal, which must follow him through life, had unnerved him, but it was not so. Babbling incoherently that his friends must remain slaves forever, and that their last chance of total victory had been consumed before his eyes, he bade them do what they liked with him.
"Look here, Jamieson," Ransome promised, "I'll not prosecute you or any of your friends if you tell us who they are and what their motive is. If you like, I will take my oath to let you all go."
"But that is absurd, John," Brassey protested. "They may raise the devil in some more hellish way."
"No, they won't, Charles. I know my business, and so does the Indian Government. This man was – and still is, for that matter – the Chief of their Secret Service. Pretty strong evidence, I think, of some silly plot. Now then, Jamieson, who are these deluded friends of yours? Immunity for you all, if you tell. Then, perhaps, when you have shown that you are not an utter idiot, you and they may have a chance to make good again in more congenial work."
Finally convinced that Ransome was to be trusted, although he himself was not, Jamieson revealed the names of the leading members of the Liberators.
"I thought so," Ransome remarked disgustedly when Jamieson finished. "Of all the silly fools – trying to go back to the good old Stone Age. If they would attend to their provinces, instead of listening to the first madman who tickles their ears, they might do a lot more for their wretched people. Your Liberators are even stupider than I suspected. Well," he concluded, lapsing into his usual practical tone, "you had better take a hot bath and go to bed. We can talk things over in the morning, when you've come to your senses. Don't try jumping out of the window, or any foolishness like that. You'll only break your neck if you do."
When the hapless Jamieson had departed, Marjorie stole up to Brassey.
"Do Mr. Vartan and Mr. Shane get their reward?"
"No," Vartan answered before Brassey could reply, and Shane echoed him.
"Why not?" Brassey demanded.
"We didn't bring you back that shovelful of black dirt."
"Yes, you did. You and Marjorie just destroyed it in the coals there."
"But Jamieson brought it," Vartan objected.
"Oh well, if you would prefer to have Jamieson collect the reward–"
"We're hanged if we do. All we stipulate is that Miss Driscott share equally. She brought Jamieson in."
"In that case Brassey replied, "I shall be glad to increase the original amount by half."
THE END
Copyright 1951 John Taine. Reprinted by arrangement with the Ackerman Agency.
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