New Title 1

by Campbell, J R

  “ Gladys! You are a treacherous serpent and it is high time you paid the ultimate price for what you did to me!” I snarled, much to the alarm of a small number of pedestrians who happened to be in earshot. I hailed a cab that now appeared in the traffic and ordered the driver to take me to the house of Gladys and her insignificant husband; and I sat back and attempted to enjoy the ride as much as I could, for I knew that soon I would be in prison and unable to enjoy another ride for a long time indeed, if ever.

  *** And this is how events proceeded. The cab dropped me off at the address I had specified and I strode up to the front door of that house and rapped on it with a firm series of blows. At length the door opened and the scrawny clerk blinked out at me. So contorted was my face with my barely repressed fury that he did not at first comprehend who I was. “Yes?”

  “Is Gladys at home?” I hissed.

  “She is out,” he stuttered, and his blink rate increased.

  “Where is she?” I demanded.

  “She went to Trafalgar Square to look at that new statue that everyone’s talking about. But aren’t you the chap who—”

  “Yes, it is me, her former ardent lover, Ed Malone.”

  “Well, I don’t think you ought—” I turned on my heel and walked ten paces. Then I turned again, my right hand groping inside my coat for the inner pocket. I took out the wrapped parcel and tore off the paper. The clerk continued to blink at me, but now there was a little excitement in his expression, because he saw that I was opening a present and he might have even hoped it was for him.

  As indeed it was. Once revealed, the box fascinated him as I opened the lid and extracted the longest of the blades. I am no expert at throwing knives at targets and indeed I had never even attempted such a feat before. But I had lost a sweetheart and my dignity to this man and felt I had little more to lose. So I flicked my wrist and sent it flying in his direction.

  Either I am a natural or just a very lucky man, for although he was merely a shadowy figure in the doorway the blade caught him in the throat. A death blow for certain! He staggered back, gurgling, and then I heard the heavy thud as he keeled over backwards. I felt no need to gloat. I walked away; my passion for vengeance barely assuaged one iota by this victory. It was the deceitful Gladys I primarily wanted dead.

  I hailed another cab and set off for Trafalgar Square. The streets were full of traffic, for it seemed that everyone in London had chosen the same time to go and take a look at Professor Challenger’s statue. Eventually the driver was close enough to my destination that I was able to climb out and proceed the rest of the way on foot. The crowds surged around the plinth on which the statue stood and I knew it would be difficult to locate Gladys among such a multitude; but it was worth a try. I simply must make her suffer for her mortal insult. She had to pay with her life. There was no other alternative.

  That was the state of my thinking; and although it now seems to be incredible and mad, at the time I felt sane and normal. Or rather, I felt as if I was doing what a man should do, despite the fact it was unpleasant. It was my responsibility as a grown man to get revenge.

  I struggled to peer over the heads of the people in front of me. Then I saw a woman who might have been Gladys, but her face instantly disappeared in the ocean of other faces that surged like an excited tide pulled by an agitated moon up the shore of an anxious landmass. Quite like that anyway. I pushed hard and the mob yielded before me. Men turned to see who it was that was shouldering them aside, but they raised no complaint when they saw my expression. I must have looked exactly like a pantomime villain, eyes blazing, teeth grinding, my breath hissing through my tight lips like the steam of a forgotten kettle. Then I saw her again and I reached into my pocket.

  The box of knives was in my grasp. I opened it and took out the second longest of the blades. Without any hesitation, I flung it in her direction and saw it embed itself to the hilt in her head. Elation flooded my veins. I almost gasped with unholy joy, but then as she continued standing and blinking, I understood the dagger had penetrated the crown of her hat without actually puncturing her skull. She had not even noticed the attack! The jolting of her hat she attributed to the jostling of the crowd. My joy instantly turned back to hate, a hate greater than before, because satisfaction had been denied me. I needed to get close for a third attempt. I began this task when suddenly—

  Several people began laughing, a merriment that rapidly turned hysterical and then turned into cries of alarm and screams! The way before me opened out, the mob parting conveniently to allow me to continue my progress unimpeded; and I strode forward to take full advantage of the removal of the obstacle to my goal. But I completed no more than half a dozen paces before I saw what the people were fleeing from. The statue on the pedestal had come alive and was making threatening gestures with its powerful stone arms! Opening its stone mouth in a shout that was silent and yet deafening in its emotional impact, it jumped to the ground...

  People fell over each other in their haste to get away from this bizarre and unexpected enemy, for although the statue had not yet harmed anyone there was no doubt that it intended to. I was amazed at how closely its gestures mimicked those of the flesh and blood Professor Challenger and I was convinced that if he had been present he would have been appalled, and perhaps just a little flattered, to observe a solid mirror image of such remarkable fidelity. Now it was walking on its stone legs, advancing towards the thickest part of the fleeing mob, which became even more disordered in its growing panic.

  I was fascinated by this spectacle; and yet I still was more eager to locate Gladys in the crowd, so that I might make her pay for her treachery. I alone was the only one present to move towards the statue, rather than away. This attracted the attention of the stone creature, which stopped and turned its massive head in my direction. The enormous beard, so cunningly replicated in stone that it was a miracle of the sculptor’s ingenuity, could not really bristle; but I imagined it did and felt the psychic-electrical energy of it and the hairs on the nape of my neck responded by standing on end and then curling.

  The statue raised an arm and pointed at me and mouthed silent words and I thought it said my name, but this could not be. It was mechanical, not alive, an elaborate toy created by an insane and possibly drunken artist who had plenty of original talent but little sense of what constituted proper behaviour in society. I scowled as I attempted to tear my attention away from this granite abomination and back to the crowd that harboured Gladys.

  One more knife! One final chance to sever an artery and bleed her dry! I would choke her to extinction if all else failed. The crowd dispersed rapidly and only those who had fainted in the crush were left behind. Most of these unfortunates were women in clothes that were too tight and with bodies and minds constricted politically and socially too, so it was hardly unexpected that they swooned so easily. A few gallant men managed to carry some of them off, whether for purposes of rescue alone or rescue with a touch of ravishment is unknown, but enough remained behind, unclaimed and at the mercy of the living statue of the Professor.

  I had known Challenger for a long time and I appreciated his devotion to his wife. He was no danger to women at all. But whether his statue would be so harmless in its intentions was impossible to state with confidence. It might have a very malign ambition against the entire human race. Who knows what Rodin Guignol had designed it to do? But one thing was certain, namely that it could never compete in viciousness with me when it came to Gladys. And with a yelp of triumph, I spotted her among the fallen.

  Yes, she was one of the fainted, one of the swooned!

  Now she was entirely at my mercy... Like a hunter stalking his prey, I moved stealthily but with determination, walking on the balls of my feet. The handle of the smallest knife was in my grip but I would not throw it until I was close enough to be sure of striking her in a vital spot. But I saw that the statue was also approaching her, that it would come between her and me; and that probably it wished to trample her to de
ath with its ponderous stone feet. How could I permit myself to be cheated of vengeance by a mineral replica of a man! Gladys belonged to me; her death was something I alone had the right to give her. How dare she be killed by some other being! It was unjust. With a screech, I broke into a run.

  Challenger was standing over her and bending forward, his stone muscles grinding and creaking as his inflexible spine curved with geological difficulty. It sounded as if the pyramids were being rebuilt, the massive stone blocks rubbing up against each other as they were slotted into position. I supposed he planned to stamp her head so it burst like a ripe melon.

  I could not allow this! I had to be first to slaughter her! I threw the knife at the region of her heart; and I feel sure it would have met its target, but with a casual movement the statue raised its right arm and opened its hand to intercept the trajectory of the missile. The blade connected with its broad palm and with a tinkle it shattered into countless slivers of metal.

  “You interfering imbecile!” I cried. The statue now raised its other arm and turned to face me. It made a very grotesque face that seemed to signify some mighty internal effort. Cracks began appearing all over its surface. It screwed up its face even more; and these cracks widened. Pieces flaked off and fell to the ground. Finally with a grunt that really was audible, the statue completely burst open.

  Standing in its place was the real Professor Challenger!

  “I don’t understand!” I gibbered. The brawny but comparatively short man before me dusted himself down with considerable aplomb and said, “Mr Malone, you appear to have lost all the scraps of decency that made you better than other journalists. My regard for you must therefore plummet into a bottomless abyss of contempt. Why did you wish to terminate the life of this prone lady?”

  I frowned and wiped my brow with my sleeve. I was perspiring heavily as if I had a fever; and in fact I did feel sick. But I explained who she was and why I hated her and my hatred seemed to fade.

  “ I can understand passion,” Challenger boomed when I had finished, “in uneducated men, but I cannot approve of it being discharged in the manner you wished. And yet, despite the fact you are uneducated, you have qualities that incline me to believe the situation is not quite straightforward. We must discuss the subject and get to the bottom of it, but this is not the most appropriate place. I suggest you return with me to Rotherfield.”

  With a deep sigh, I slumped my shoulders. “That is a pleasing offer but I must decline, for I have to give myself up at the nearest police station. I have murdered a man today and must face the consequences.” And I confided in the Professor the whole of what had happened.

  He stroked his luxurious beard with brows knitted in fierce concentration and then he bawled,“Nonsense, Mr Malone! There is a solution to your trouble. There is always a solution to any trouble when I am around! But come, there is no point standing here. We must be on our way.”

  He strode off and I followed, stepping over fainted ladies.

  *** The aftermath of this odd adventure can be related easily enough. I went with the Professor to Rotherfield and he settled me comfortably in a spare room. I told him everything I knew without holding a single detail back and he seemed almost grateful, as if I had goaded his scientific mind along new research lines. He insisted on taking a sample of my blood.

  I did not protest at this strange request, for I had long ago learned that a man who doubted Challenger in anything whatsoever was automatically a fool. My trust in him was absolute. After taking a drop of the red liquid from the tip of my thumb, he bustled about in his study for a short time before heading back to London. I had the entire house to myself.

  And I remained there safely while he sorted out my difficulties. He was away for one day and when he returned his eyes sparkled and his beard crackled with static electricity as he stroked it. I felt it would be rude to ask him what he had been doing, but in fact he volunteered the information. He had been to pay a short but productive visit to Rodin Guignol.

  “That devil in human form!” I growled in disgust.

  Professor Challenger laughed. “ I persuaded him,” he said grandly, “to construct a perfect replica of the husband of Gladys and have it transferred to their house. She will never notice the difference. It is a marvellously exact simulacrum in every way. There was enough time to accomplish all this, for she was taken to the hospital with mild concussion after swooning and they are keeping her under observation tonight. She is thus unable to return to the marital home until tomorrow noon at the very earliest. Everything has worked out well.”

  “I am amazed and grateful,” I managed to babble. The Professor waved a dismissive hand. “That Guignol has a peculiar and unique talent which he mainly employs for evil, but it has been put to very good use finally, in saving you from scandal.”

  “Conceivably from the gallows too!” I shuddered. “ There was no danger of that,” Challenger smiled, “because even if you had committed a murder in such circumstances I know that a plea of insanity would certainly have been accepted by the judge.”

  “Even if I had?” I was baffled. “But I did!” The Professor ignored me and continued, “I personally would have stood as an expert witness in your defence. You see, the extended fit of jealousy you experienced made you temporarily insane, and that fit was entirely due to a virus.”

  “You mean that I am contaminated?” I cried. “ No longer, Mr Malone. Your strong immune system has destroyed it. It is a disease you picked up on your travels. I guessed this the moment I put that drop of your blood on a slide under the microscope. I did not see the virus itself at such a low magnification, but there were alterations in the consistency of the fluid that suggested very strongly indeed that you were the victim of an invasive organism that had distorted your mind. I seem to have discovered a pathological source for all the vendettas on that island!”

  “Corsica will never be the same,” I remarked wistfully. “ Come, Mr Malone! Nothing must ever be permitted to stand in the way of progress! Humanity marches forward. We are here to conquer disease, space and time. We are here to evolve towards the divine, to meet the godhead, merge with it and to become one with the universe. Some imbeciles may regard all this as mystical claptrap, but it is not, I assure you!”

  I was assured but not reassured. “What about the body of the husband? The statue might be in his place now, but what about the real man’s corpse? It was sprawled in the hallway when I left. And that is not the main problem. I have murdered a man, another human being, who had no hatred for me, who offered me no violence. My conscience will never let me rest.”

  Challenger beamed. “I was waiting for you to say something along those lines and it vindicates my faith in you! Although you were not in any way to blame for your fit of lethal fury, the husband was not killed. It seems that the blade of the knife glanced off his throat rather than plunging into it. He fainted from shock. When he awoke he ran from the house and is currently fleeing the country too. The timid response of a meek man.”

  “How do you know this?” “ I made enquiries with the assistance of Professor Summerlee. It is not difficult for men of science, accustomed to collecting and analysing mountains of data, to penetrate such simple enigmas as the course of action of a frightened clerk. He has abandoned his wife, therefore the statue is still a valid substitute; and it may turn out to be a manlier one too.”

  I smiled as I recalled the figure of Summerlee, acidic in his attitudes but always reliable in his actions. Of our band of four adventurers, he was perhaps the most out of place, gaunt and elderly and seemingly frail but actually tough and tenacious and an authentic member of our quartet. There was one last thing on my mind now. I wondered why Challenger had been inside that statue, how he got there, and what his purpose had been.

  “ Why! Merely to thwart the diabolic schemes of Guignol!” he roared, as if stating the obvious to an obstinate child. “He planned for the statue of me to run amok and kill people. He wanted to discredit me! I guessed as
much during my sitting for him when he measured me. His conversation, although cryptic, gave away his plots. When the statue was finished, I waited until the night just before it was due to be transferred to Trafalgar Square; then I stealthily broke into his studio, removed all the machinery inside the hollow sculpture and put myself in its place. This way I was able to control its motion to my desires and therefore not slaughter innocent multitudes.”

  “He must be absolutely livid,” I said, “so how did you persuade him to make a replica of the husband of my Gladys?” “ I had some help from Roxton. He climbed one of the trees in Guignol’s garden and aimed his new rifle at the doorway, so when I knocked on the front door and the sculptor answered, I only had to jut my chin at one of the highest branches for the scoundrel to see that eight foot long barrel pointing directly at his bohemian head. He knew then that he was a marked man and that even if he succeeded in avoiding being shot now, Roxton would get him in the end. It was easier for him back down and do what I asked.”

  “This would make a wonderful story for McArdle,” I said.

  “Yes, my lad, but it never will.” “True. I have no desire to ruin my reputation.” “ Write it anyway and keep it locked up safe until after your death and it can be printed when you are lying in your grave. By that time, Gladys might be dead too, so there will be no harm.”

  He was right, as he always is, and I wrote the piece but kept it hidden. If you are reading it now, it means I have gone to my final resting place. If you are not reading it, then I am still here amongst you. I hope you are not reading it. Or if you are, then I hope it is far in the future and you are living in the 21st century among your robotic servants and synthetic food and personal jet packs that carry you from one leisure activity to another.

  THE LADY AND THE PROFESSOR