by Philip Wylie
They went quietly to the dining room when the luncheon bell rang. Amy began and ended the meal’s conversation.
“Any word about Miss Carpenter?”
“Not yet, Amy.”
“That’s too bad. Indeed it is.”
Once, during the luncheon, they heard Baxter’s voice raised in song and again they heard him muttering—but whether it was anathema or mere babbling, they could not ascertain. After that, there was silence in the study.
They had just finished the meal when the windows shook and the house vibrated with the concussion of a not far distant explosion. Voices were raised instantly on the street outside.
Mrs. Quail’s words that broke a short silence were tearful. “Oh, Howie, he’s beginning again.”
“I’m afraid so, dear.”
“What do you suppose happened this time?”
“I don’t know.”
“You better get Bromwell.”
The Professor shook his head. “Never mind. It’ll only worry him. Let him sleep.”
They waited with the patience that is a virtue of the mature until four o’clock when the first extras were hawked in the streets. Quail did not wish to investigate, as it would leave Baxter unguarded. He locked all the doors and windows and sat in the parlor with a revolver on the table beside him. Early in the afternoon he rose from his chair, tore up several Sunday newspapers, and scattered them on the floor. No one could walk in the house now without making a sound—and if Carpenter was back in the city—it was well to be prepared.
When the extras were noisily announced, he went out cautiously and procured one of them. It displayed Carpenter’s second ultimatum and told the terrible story of the destruction of Grand Central Station.
In a flat, almost resigned voice, he read it aloud to his wife.
IT IS NO HOAX
“This is the second message from the man who has come to rule the world. A week has elapsed since the first—the week of grace which I permitted for deliberation. My commands have not been taken seriously. Instead of considering making a peace with me, the Government of the United States of America has taken absurd and puerile steps to prevent further demonstrations of my prowess.
“Subsequent to the mailing of this document, I shall, in broad daylight, completely destroy the Grand Central Station. If within twenty-four hours the powers of this nation do not announce their willingness to come to terms with me, I shall take measures which will lay huge sections of this country low. The few thousands who have suffered from my necessary operations will be forgotten in the death of millions.
“Remember that I am invulnerable and implacable. Remember that I am science and represent the highest ideals of mankind. I shall force virtue and progress upon this blind and stubborn world. In committing itself to me the world will realize retrospectively the colossal benefit of my dominion. But to defer an exact obedience will be fatal to innocent and innumerable people. Act at once, people of the United States!”
This was followed with a reporter’s account of the pogrom at the station.
“Precisely at one o’clock, when the great terminal was jammed with persons leaving the city and others arriving on the recently reconstructed roadbed, an explosion that vastly exceeded those of the past two weeks literally lifted the monumental Grand Central Station into the air and razed it to the ground with an indescribable roar and with an appalling loss of life.
“For a few moments smoke, dust and falling debris prevented survivors of the disaster in the vicinity from approaching the spot. Every window of the Chrysler Building, the Grand Central Building and the many hotels in the district poured into the street in a hissing, crashing, lethal cataract. Pedestrians were decimated by the glass, buried in it, and their blood flowed through the half choked gutters and emptied into the sewers.
“Every available ambulance in the city, every piece of fire apparatus and rescue machinery was rushed to the spot. The great fragments of stone and metal which had comprised the structure lay in a gigantic, confused pile. Beneath them were no one knows how many persons, whose lives were snuffed out instantaneously.
“This situation is one, however, with which the police are finding difficulty in gaining control, although they are assisted by thousands of soldiers and marines. At the time of this writing it is said that a panic-stricken mob is moving down town along Fifth Avenue, breaking into buildings and store fronts by virtue of its pressure, screaming and shouting, without leader or destination, and immune to the fire hoses and tear bombs which have been used to arrest its progress.
“On this evening New York City is dominated by Fear. Fear holds every heart in its frigid and bloody fingers, fear walks in the streets—fear of that incredible person or thing who styles him or itself ‘the man who has come to rule the world’ for it is now beyond question that a deliberate agency is behind these mighty horrors.
“No one knows who he is or what his plans may be. Every one knows that individuals, mobs, property, the proud skyscrapers are entirely at his mercy and that if any one in the wide earth knows who he is or what he is—that person is guarding the secret closely. This morning in Union Square radical leaders profiting by the shaken psychology of the city, were urging large crowds to give in to the demands of this individual or—whatever it may be.
“Many persons of note, most of them scientists, are subscribing to the growing opinion that the nation should immediately submit to the first demand made—the second issue of which is reprinted on this page. It is maintained by persons of high authority that this marks the beginning of the scientific millenium, the new revolution which will repossess the world for man’s intellect instead of his disorganized ambitions. Among those who adhere to this opinion are James Harvey Phelps, Professor Ogden Gleason, Miles Firestone, Jacques Butterworth, Eric Yeats, Morris Binbein, Dr. Emanuel Rosso, and Conrad Bintner.
“At the White House a brief statement was issued this morning: ‘Every effort is being made to quench the danger which has threatened the nation in the past two weeks. It is expected that at any moment announcements of great importance may be made. As the week set by the public enemy draws to a close the President urges every citizen to turn a stalwart and resisting countenance toward any unforeseen occurrence. He must and will be brought to justice. Americans will not be slaves.’
“Various foreign dispatches indicate that London and Paris have a full understanding of the extraordinary peril under which New York and all of America has been placed. A number of picked men from Scotland Yard and the Paris Prefecture had already been sent to this country. A delegation of Berlin scientists is on its way to make an investigation of the ‘raid phenomena.’
“It is not known, of course, what the reaction to the Grand Central disaster will be either in the White House or abroad. At this hour it is said that the station was thickly populated with uniformed and plain-clothes guards and that no explanation can be given for the presence in or near the terminal of the quantity of explosives necessary to produce such a titanic upheaval—a condition of affairs to which the public is already accustomed.
“Further information states that the mob on Fifth Avenue has reached Twenty-third street and is milling in Madison Square Park. A panic within a panic was started when the rumor was spread that the Metropolitan Tower would fall in fifteen minutes. Thousands fled at once and other thousands remained stoically and deliberately beneath the Tower.”
Quail’s voice, as he read, had grown hoarse. Now, at the abrupt end of the swiftly composed news account, he whispered.
“He seems to be—invulnerable, as he says.”
His wife was in deep thought. “Can’t we tell every one now—who he is?”
“Dorothy! Don’t be a fool.”
“But if his identity was known——”
What Professor Quail would have said remained forever unknown. The telephone rang.
Daryl was wakened on the fourth morning by the knock at her door—the beginning of the daily routine.
&
nbsp; Her face was drawn and pale, but the voice she lifted was gay. “All right!”
“Coffee’s ready.”
“Good!”
She dressed hastily and called when she was ready. The door was unlocked. As she walked through it an arm was slipped through hers.
“Sleep well?” Carpenter’s deep voice was modulated to a fatuous warmth.
“Quite well.”
“Still fond of me?”
“I’m getting to be a little fond of you.”
“But not enough yet?”
“Soon—perhaps.”
“Oh—Daryl——”
She pulled away from him and opened the door to the up stairs living room. It was the room in which the family who had built Chrome Gables spent most of their time—a long room with a fireplace in the center of one wall, with deep and well worn divans, overstuffed chairs, a massive table in the center, warm brown wall paper, and, like the house in Sinkak, its windows were sealed. These windows, however, were sealed on the inside with metal sheets so that the effect from the out doors was that of drawn blinds. Its single door gave on the hall balcony and the door was also reinforced. The room had been Carpenter’s provision for Daryl—made after her arrival.
His skill in handling materials had enabled him so to fortify the chamber that no man, however strong, could possibly have freed himself from it without the key which he possessed. It had been difficult—from his point of view—to explain to the girl that he intended to keep her a prisoner—although she had readily agreed to it. The necessity hurt his conscience. But, while Daryl had been sufficiently acute to set up a barrier at least temporarily between Carpenter and herself, she had not even attempted to obtain by the same measures a right to go and come freely.
There were bars on the bed room window. During the time she had been in Chrome Gables, she had slept in one prison, marched each morning with Carpenter to the larger jail, and for diversion submitted to his escort for short walks through the yard in the twilight, shorter strolls on the waterfront.
The big room served at once as a kitchen, a dining room, and a place to live in. Frequently, during the day time, she was left there alone. At such times Carpenter would lock the door from the outside and for hours he would be absent. Occasionally she could hear sounds of his labor in the cellar. More often she heard nothing until the soft shuffle of his feet announced his return.
In the evening, they had held long conversations. She had learned a great deal from him and about him. On one such occasion they had discussed his finding of her.
She asked the question point-blank to the empty room.
“How did you find me, William?”
Space chuckled. A book settled from its position in the air to the center table.
“That was easy, my dear. I followed your clothes from the Clariena. Consider. If I had not been fortunate enough to be in the hotel at that time—the many means at my disposal. I could have gone over the list in the front office and found who had called and at what rooms. I’d have learned that a messenger had stopped at your room. I’d have gone to the messenger’s office of departure and found your address from the files there. Consider this. I imagine that Baxter has been vehemently investigating my past to find a clue to my present.”
“Yes. He failed.”
“Of course he failed. I did not wish him to succeed. And I——”
“You are wonderful!”
“I thank you, my dear. But I could have picked up his path by investigating my own past until I traced him—to you. There were a dozen ways.”
On another occasion he said, “Did you see my announcement in the newspapers?”
“I did.”
“Was it well phrased?”
“Very. Of course, you didn’t go into details about the exact things you would do——”
“How could I? Why should I? Blind submission is necessary.” There was a sound of a fist whacked against a palm. “And blind submission I will have. I intend to do my work by committees.”
“Committees?”
“Certainly. I shall appoint the committees that are to govern the country. I shall always work from a distance. Through the mails. Any one who fails to act on a committee—or any one who fails to follow my scheme and those of my collaborators—will be eliminated.”
“I see. But mightn’t the country go bankrupt?”
He laughed. “That is an economic problem which I cannot discuss. I shall make my own stabilization of money. I have already chosen a few people to manage that. And—you know—as time passes and the people realize that I am absolute—the fact that my work is really intelligent and infinitely progressive will begin to be perceived. I shall hire propagandists to win people to me.”
“You mean that they will know your name and what you are?”
“I could not live,” the voice replied soberly, “in content if many people with whom I have existed did not eventually know that the world’s new estate was the work of William Carpenter. And his bride.”
“Me?”
“Certainly, my dear. The time will come when your every public appearance is a triumph, when the streets are strewn with flowers for you. Although that time is far off. There will be wars——”
“Wars!”
“Why—of course. I cannot conquer the world single-handed. By that I mean—I cannot spend my precious organizing hours in the forceful subjugation of other peoples. Once you and I control America, we will declare wars—which we shall easily win. Hitherto wars have been fought by metal. The man who could throw the greatest weights of metal in the least time with the most violent terminal explosions at the farthest distance was the eventual winner. It was war by hurling matter—war on as old a principle as there is—the throwing of stones is scarcely less primitive.
“The new wars will be waged by the innumerable other weapons that man can command. By psychology, by emotion, by propaganda. War by bacteria, war by civil destruction. War in which the mechanical part is done almost exclusively by airplane. My dear, the greatest thing I will do will be to abolish harangue and govern by fact. Today you see nations haggling over the size of their fleets—when it is a demonstrated fact that billions of dollars’ worth of tonnage could be sunk by a few thousands of dollars’ worth of planes.
“A fact. Yet we have fleets which are built through votes that are levied by the propaganda of navy men who want to keep their antiquated jobs and by steel manufacturers and ship-builders. It has been a nice convention that only the soldiers fight and the civilians, who feed the fire of war, shall remain inviolate. I shall attack them first. Imagine the result of wiping out a national capital with bubonic plague—invisible bacteria—I know something about bacteria—and imagine the interest there would be in a war if the politicians, the manufacturers themselves, and the propagandists were not the last but the very first to be bombed, burned, gassed, slain.
“Hitherto war has been conducted by the army and navy—men trained in the primitive cults of Julius Caesar. Now—I shall leap through and over their armies as if they were chalkmarks. My war will be conducted by sociology, psychology, economics, bacteriology, biology, chemistry.”
“It sounds very logical.”
“Sounds? Sounds? Is this a hypothesis? Over there”—she could not see the wave of his long arm—“over there is the largest and the richest city on earth. Three weeks ago it was safe, sane, prosperous, peaceful. To-day it is trembling, disorganized, baffled, impotent. Why? Because of one man who looked upon the art of war in the light of modern knowledge instead of the darkness of medieval textbooks. I tell you, the soldier is already a myth.”
“But—the people——”
“What people?”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to let them come to these conclusions slowly, by themselves?”
“Why?”
She could not find an answer.
“Why?”
“They—they don’t want—to be managed. They——”
“Want?
Want? What does the want of the individual have to do with nature? Even so—are these people happy? Ask yourself. Are they enjoying the evanescent moments of their minute presents? Are they making any effort to build for the future—to build their races, their cities, their brains for the future? Are they? Aren’t they rather grabbing every instant to get what they can and letting the future care for itself?
“Mankind breeds better dogs than men. If there is damnation—that is it. It is inexcusable—asinine—unbearable. Mankind digs up every lump of gold, every ton of coal, every ounce of oil he can find—just to clog the roads with automobiles on Sunday afternoon. Can you tell me the name of one individual who is perfectly adjusted to his environment? I expect sleeping maniacs in straight jackets. Tell me one. Tell me a person who is efficient, effective and happy. Every one—scarred, flat-chested, pimpled, sniveling with colds, flabby, hiding under his clothes the shameful and secret disorders of his body—every one. There is no perfect physical specimen. Yet—rigorously imposed law could change that in two generations.”
“But that’s a long time. And you——”
“I won’t live forever. No. But I shall find some one to take my place and so perpetuate my autocracy until the world has been forced to take care of itself, forced to act according to fact instead of according to prejudice, taboos, man-made law, religious precept. Bah! I’m sick enough of this world!”
Daryl turned her head from him. His arguments—and they were not new—were sound. Only one factor prevented their triumph—man himself and his invincible desire to live his own life for better or for worse without advice on those matters which are of the greatest significance to the race and hence those matters in which he considers himself automatically an equal authority to any other man.
She even entertained transiently the hitherto foreign thought that if Carpenter could accomplish the program he outlined the world might be immensely better for it. She did not, however, concede that Carpenter might win his prodigious conflict—one man against two billions.
Such had been their conversation. Besides his fanatical outbursts, besides her quiet hours alone and their unprofitableness, one other thing had resulted from the three days of their association. Daryl had learned a great deal about the business of his invisibility. She had learned to detect by the smallest indications precisely where he sat or stood in the room.